In the depths of the blizzard, Kat had almost lost the trail.

The footprints were massive, misshapen and monstrous, and formed a crooked path for her to follow. She had concluded they belonged to no natural creature. The claws suggested a wyvern or a gryphon, but they were too large, and this was not the climate for such beasts. In truth, she did not know. This was her first contract alone, and she had always been beside her father when she had been on the hunt. But her father was dead, and she could surmise nothing about the beast. Kat knew she should feel fear at the thought of the abominable creature, but all she felt was excitement.

The onslaught of cold consumed her, and she could not feel her feet because of the biting numbness. Even her furs were freezing, though less cold than the blazing ice storm, so she tucked her arms under her armpits. It was supposed to keep her warm, or so she was told, but to her, it made no fucking difference.

The storm increased with each passing second, and she did not know how much longer she could go on. For a fleeting moment, Kat began to question the nature of her profession, but she soon cast the thought from her mind. I have a job to do.

The footprints soon veered off to the left and then faded into nothingness. That was when the fear truly set in.

It was becoming dark, and yet the winds of winter did not let up. It was then she saw something. No, she thought, it's nothing. But as she walked, a circle of deep darkness amongst the encroaching night appeared, shrouded by wisps of white from the storm. It was a cave.

She hurried her step as much as she could against the snow’s fury. Her body was growing weak, and her world became a daze of white. She had never known such a cold. Just as she thought she would not make it, the cave veered in front of her, and she simply collapsed inside.

When she awoke, she found she was next to a campfire that was cast ablaze, bathing the cave in an orange glow. The storm had died, and nothing but darkness encroached from the mouth of the cave. She was too busy observing her surroundings to notice the man that sat beside her.

“You're awake. I thought you would have died in that wrathful storm.”

She sat up and moved closer to the fire. Heat had never felt so good. “I was about to,” Kat said as she fanned her hands through the flames.

The man grinned. He had long golden hair, haunting blue eyes, and a smile that cut. “I’ve seen men bigger than you succumb to the cold making their way up that bloody hill. Why does your kind always choose to come in winter?”

“Because that’s when creatures are forced to hunt farther afield,” she said, frowning at the man. “Why are you up here?”

“Is not liking people a good enough reason?”

She chuckled. “Aye, that it is.”

The man walked over to the fire and flipped the charring rabbit. “So, what about you?”

“Work,” she said as she hastily reached for her satchel, now reminded of it. “I was on the trail of some… beast that led here. I lost the tracks though, gods be damned. It can’t have got far.”

“A beast… interesting. There are none that I know of around here. I’d know if there was. It is my home, after all.”

“The trail says otherwise.”

He took the rabbit from the fire, looked at it, and passed it to Kat. “What do you plan to do then? It’s frightfully cold out there, and I don’t suppose you’d have much luck trying to find the trail again.”

“I’ve survived worse.” Kat knew she could find the trail again if it was there. Her half-elven eyes were used to the dark.

“I’m sure you have.” He grinned and then looked around. “This cave is plenty large for two, however. Large enough for us to not even see each other if you so wished. You’ll be safe here for the night. That is, if you want to stay.”

Kat looked at the man and contemplated. If she stayed the night, she knew she would not find the trail again: it would not survive another storm (if it was there at all). But the man was right. She could so easily die in that terrible chill. “Fine,” she said. “But if you try anything…” She tapped the dagger at her waist, nodded to her crossbow that was ready to fire beside her, and smiled.

“It did not even cross my mind.”

After she had eaten her fill, she stood up and grabbed a dry stick from the pile in the corner. After casting an incantation that set the top of the stick ablaze, she walked into the depths of the cave.

Her shadow danced as her impromptu torch flickered and waved. The cave was strangely warm, considering how vicious this winter was. She could see moss and thick azure lichen growing on the walls, and she swore she could even see it pulse. Kat shook her head and moved on.

As she walked, doubt plagued her. Why is that man truly up here, in the blistering cold, away from everyone? I don’t buy what he says. If he wants to hide, why do it so near to the town? He doesn’t seem the type to go grocery shopping. Then there was the trail. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw it veer towards the cave. If the beast was trying to escape the storm, it would have gone here. And yet that man insists there is no such thing. It doesn’t add up; there is something more at play here than he lets on.

After realising there was nothing of note to be seen further onwards, she turned around, now desperate for answers. Whatever secret that man was hiding, she would uncover, suddenly aware that her life may depend on the answer.

She found the man still resting by the fire, reading a strange old tome that he closed when she arrived. “Find it to your liking?”

“It doesn't end,” she said, sitting by the fire and peaking at the book he was reading. It read: “The Hidden Secrets Of Transmogrify.”

“Oh It does, trust me.” He stood up and put the book on a table in the corner of a cave.

After the silence grew thick, the questions she had pondered once again flooded her mind. Kat had to get answers. “So, why are you really up here?”

“What, don’t believe me?” He smiled his cutting grin.

“No.”

He fiddled with the medallion around his neck. “I’m hiding.”

“From who?”

“The likes of you.”

Kat felt her hands drift ever closer to her dagger as she prepared to cast an incantation. The man himself, though, did not move. “Does that make you scared?”

“Alert, more like.”

“They are one and the same.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”

“A bastard, a sorcerer, a monster to some. A hero to others.”

“That’s what, not who.”

He smiled. “Emerick Jostel, though I did take my mother's name.”

Kat laughed at herself, remembering the book. She finally understood, or at least she thought she did. “So, why is there a bounty on your head? What, thought you’d spend the winter killing commoners to pass the time?”

“Monster to some, hero to others, like I said. My methods may be… unorthodox, but they get results.”

“I thought that type of magic had been outlawed.” She had heard of transmogrify before from the many books she read; the dark art was considered evil and to be scourged from existence.

“Outlawing something is a concept of man, and not of nature. Magic is a part of this world, its essence, if you will, and this lost art form is of the arcane. I do not submit to the laws of man, only to that of nature.”

“One could argue that it is in our nature to impose laws upon ourselves.”

He chuckled. “You are smarter than your colleagues, I’ll give you that.” He stood up and stretched. “If you are here to complete your job, then you must do what you must. But I warn you: I will not go quietly. My claws are just as sharp as yours.”

Kat drew her blades and sighed. “Before this dance begins, why take the form of some-”

“-Eldritch creature? Folk run at the sight of their worst fears, they don't run at the sight of-”

Kat struck mid-speech and slashed with her sword and dagger at his eyes. The first cut lacerated his left eye, but he pulled back from the second strike just in time. She then pirouetted and cast a fork of lightning towards the man as he crashed into the wall and sent shards of rock stumbling from the impact.

She heard maniacal laughter, and then the cave suddenly grew frightfully cold.

The campfire died just as the winds howled outside once more, and darkness flooded the cave. A blood-curdling screech cried out, fusing with the twisted sounds of bones shattering and flesh tearing to form a twisted cacophony.

Her eyes soon adjusted thanks to a spell she cast under her breath, and she looked upon the monstrous shape in front of her. His back had elongated and formed a large, crooked shape, and hairs jutted out all over his body in the places where jade scales had not formed. His head had transmuted into the twisted visage of a hairy wyvern that writhed with tentacles. He had large reptilian legs with the paws of a gryphon, and a scorpion's tail wildly lashed from behind. It was simply the ugliest thing Kat had seen.

The beast charged, its jaws dripping thick, viscous green saliva as it roared. Kat was ready and leapt aside as it rampaged toward her, slashing with her blade at its abdominals. It cried in agony, turning and spitting at her with a sizzling viscous goo. She gritted her teeth as the acid melted her skin. She had to stay focused; one misstep and she was dead.

She concentrated the air in the room into a violent blast at the creature and quickly grabbed her crossbow, which lay beside the dying embers of the campfire. Whilst it staggered to its feet, she fired. The arrow whistled and lodged itself deep into its chest. However, that only seemed to infuriate it, as it then roared and charged at her once more. But the creature had learnt from its mistakes and anticipated Kat's dodge; cutting her off and slashing wildly with its twisted paws. The wound cut deep into her shoulder as a gout of blood spewed over the floor of the cave.

She grimaced and stumbled, and then it pounced. The sheer mass of the monstrosity bore down upon her, and she heard something crack. She brought her forearms just before her face as it slashed once more, lacerating her arms viciously. It bit down hard and crushed her arm beneath the jagged layers of teeth and the vice grip of its jaws. She had never felt such pain.

But her other hand was free. She summoned what remained of her energy and cast a great geyser of flame directed at the abomination. It yelled a dreadful scream as a tide of fire consumed it, running and pathetically trying to roll away from the flame's wrath as it burned in writhing agony. As the flames danced upon the charred ruin, what was once Emerick slowly and brutally reverted to his human visage.

*

“So, let me get this straight. This… creature that was terrorising us for weeks was, in fact, a sorcerer? Listen, girl, I don’t know if you take me for a fool, but-”

“-No,” she said, grimacing from the throbbing pain in her desolated arms. “I don’t take you for a fool. But I did my job. I got rid of your problem for you. I nearly got killed for you. Cough up the money and be quick about it. I should get these wounds properly tended to.”

“The job, if I recall correctly, was not for a monster, not a supposed man,” the fat village elder said, his greasy grey hair falling in tangles from his head.

“They are often the same thing.”

“I am not here to debate philosophy, girl.” He paced around the hut, his belly bouncing with each step. “And where is the proof? You can’t expect me to take you on word alone. Those wounds could be from anything!”

Fuck… I knew shouldn’t have left his head. But at the time, when she had awoken to the greatest pain she had ever known, taking the comely man's scorched head was the least of her priorities. Survival was all she cared about. “So I am going to go unrewarded.” She felt a dormant rage slowly building in her, and once again she prepared to cast an incantation.

“Perhaps we can spare a bit to cover those wounds. They do look ghastly after all. But I’m afraid we can’t take you at word alone. A professional would have brought-”

“-Don’t question my professional integrity, Kruz.” She hated people thinking she was not good enough. They wouldn’t have pulled anything like this when she was with her father, but now she was alone…

“And I don’t like to be threatened, girl… You can either take this coin, find some old crone who could help nurse your wounds or, well…” He nodded to the corner of the fire-lit hut, where three seated men clad in furs and holding axes and maces stared at her.

Kat knew she could not take them, no chance. She was simply too weak. Kat cursed and looked Kruz in the eye. “Fine.”

The grin on Kruz’s face made her want to cut off his lips. “Then I might say it was a pleasure to do business with you.” He reached into the deep pockets of his jerkin, grabbed a sack of coins, and pulled a select few from it. “Here you are. Might I recommend old Hesi? She got good practice bandaging up our boys after the wars with Balstraad. She’ll treat you right. If not, you could always try the chapel, if you dare heed those brazen beggars.”

Kat took the coin, spat at the man's feet, and walked into the blistering cold.

*

Fury coursed through her like a rampant tide.

This had been her first contract alone, her chance to forge an identity separate from her father, and she had fucked it up. Kat missed her father dearly. Her human mother had died when she was born, so her elven father was all she knew. He had taught her to fight, installed a love of reading and knowledge in her, and fostered her arcane abilities. But most of all, he had kept her safe during the gruelling years of the elven onslaught when hatred for elves was at its highest. Now he was dead, slaughtered by a rampant tide of peasants, angry at him for little more than his elven heritage. “Run,” he had said to Kat before the swarm tore him down. And she had. Though she regretted it every day since.

The town of Juril was snow-clad and built mostly of grey stone. Its streets were squat and narrow; silent and empty. Orange glowed from the panes of the windows of the squat houses, and over the town loomed the veiled peaks of the mountains. She hated every bit of this town. She despised the people, the architecture, and especially the fucking snow. As she walked through the maze-like streets, hoping to stumble upon the old crone the man had spoken of, she found she was completely and utterly lost.

The cold infiltrated her bones, and the wind had picked up once more, whistling wildly. The wounds on her arms hissed with pain, and her ribs throbbed, making it hard to breathe. She did not know how she had survived that encounter on the mountain, but she had, having hastily crafted a makeshift bandage to quell the torrent of blood that wept from her wounds. She had shattered her ribs, though, at least a few of them; as well as her right arm.

The walk down the mountains was the single most gruelling task she had ever done. The storm had died down, but the cold had only grown worse. Snow had amassed thick on the ground, and each step took almost all the energy she had. She had felt shattered, and submerged in the freezing cold, Kat grew weaker with each step. Though somehow, be it by the whimsical will of fate or blind luck, she had survived and made it to the town of Juril.

Truth be told, she was expecting praise from the townsfolk, not apathy. They met her with cold eyes from their fire-lit homes as she walked through the streets. Mountain folk rarely liked outsiders: a bitter fact that she had come to rue.

As she now walked through the town, a spire adorned with the star of Byzan atop it reared above the squat stone huts. At once, she knew it was her destiny; places of religion almost always doubled as places of healing. It's not the hut of that old crone, but they have to know some sort of doctoring there; at least how to splint an arm properly.

As she approached, the details of the building emerged; it was some kind of chapel, crafted of the same dull grey stone as the rest of the town. The spire shot up from the heart of the chapel and gargoyles perched on ledges. Kat shivered, not knowing whether it was from the cold or the unsightly visage of the gargoyles.

After walking through the ice-covered grass that covered the graveyard laying at the foot of the chapel, she reached the great oak door. Her arms were too weak to knock, so she simply kicked it as loudly as she could.

After the fourth kick, the door creaked open with a shrill shriek.

A man clad in a thick, rough spun brown robe opened the door; his head was round and plump. He took one look at Kat before he beckoned her in.

The chapel was large and ornate, and trinkets of gold and silver adorned the altars. Rows upon rows of pews stood, whilst brothers looking very similar to the man at the door walked in between them. The windows showed a palette of colours, the likeness of what she assumed to be saints and martyrs painted upon them. Kat had never cared much for religion; her father had called it: “a convenient excuse to drain folks of their money,” and looking at the extravagance, she believed him.

“Thanks,” she said through her chattering teeth.

“Who would I be to refuse a sister in need?” he replied as he put on a warm smile, which soon faded as he saw her make-shift splint and torn furs. “Trouble on the road?”

“Not quite.”

“Come, let us see to those dreadful wounds, and replace that poor excuse of a splint.” He beckoned her through the chapel and down a flight of stairs into a basement. After he lit a brazier on the wall, the monk spoke. “I trust you have the coin? As much as I would like to help you for free, I’m afraid a chapel can’t run on kindness alone.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be the point?”

“Ah, a cynic I see. Byzan's mercy doesn’t discriminate; believers and non-believers alike receive his aid, as per his teachings, all those centuries ago.”

“And I see he also taught you to charge for it.”

The brother smiled. “What was that saying? Oh yes, I remember. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you. There is wisdom in old adages, girl.”

Her father always said her tongue would get her in trouble, and now she sensed he was right. “I apologise. It’s the pain; I’m not thinking straight,” she lied.

“Of course.” He gestured to one of many straw beds in the corner of the damp, cold cellar. “If you would be so kind.”

She hobbled over to the closest of which, took off her fur jacket, and simply collapsed onto it. Kat was used to sleeping on the ground, so any bed, even the most pitiful, was like laying on the clouds of the afterlife to her. She let out a sigh of relief the second she touched the straw. The brother then walked over to her and shook his head when he saw the impromptu splint in detail. “That most likely has done more harm than good,” he said as he dismantled it. Kat hissed in pain as he prodded the wounds on her other arm. “Acid burns, teeth marks, shattered bones… What exactly were you doing?”

“My job.”

He chuckled. “But I ask again, what exactly were you doing?”

“I tracked… aghh… that hurts. I tracked a beast to the mountain. You know the beast, don’t pull that face. The unsightly monstrosity that plagued your quaint little town.”

“Ah yes, I remember.” His face made it clear he knew what she had been doing all along. “The common folk were quite scared; many came to the chapel for the blessing and protection of Byzan.”

And I'm sure they paid heartily for that blessing… “Yeah, well, I found its lair. But inside, there was only a man; a quite handsome one at that. Well, we talked, and he was…. nice, but there was something off about him. Turns out, he was a sorcerer, a powerful one, I think, that delved in forgotten, dark arts. He had taken on an Eldritch form to rob and pillage to his heart's content. Or at least that's what he told me. I believe there's something more to him. A sorcerer, even a banished one, could make a living anywhere. He needn’t rob to survive.”

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The monk stopped tending her wounds and looked at her for a moment. “Are you sure it wasn’t just as it first seemed? The mind often yearns for an explanation more elaborate than what is often true. Could it simply be that he was indeed a, albeit more extravagant, common thief?”

“No,” she replied. “I know it in my gut.”

“Then who am I to question you?” His face grew stern. “But I shall give you a warning, girl. Where dark arts are enacted, one would be wise to stay clear of its path. There is a reason it is outlawed.”

“Laws are a concept of man,” she said, closing her eyes and making herself comfortable on the bed.

He smiled. “I once knew someone who thought the same.”

*

She dreamt of her father. It was an old, pleasant memory where they trained on the road and he taught her how to fight. They were outside the ruins of an old castle, the summer sun glaring down at them as their swords clashed. “Parry,” her father called. “Pivot, now ripos-, aha! Well struck!” She remembered feeling the happiest she ever felt during those days on the road, with nothing on her mind but the dance of swords.

But the happiness soon faded, and darkness consumed the dream. Blackened clouds amassed to blot out the sky, the sun bled crimson, and the wind howled.

Her father was gone.

She looked around as fear pumped through her heart. The once emerald forest that surrounded her had wilted and become jagged and barren. The grass died, and the stench of decay and death filled the air. She ran into the forest. Then she heard that feral roar of that monstrosity. Kat turned, but it was only the comely man, his eyes burning red. “Come back,” was all he said before a cloud of darkness washed over the dream.

*

Kat awoke in a panicked sweat, and her heart pounded viscerally. She shot up from her bed and looked around the cold, damp room. A few brothers slept and snored as loud as hibernating bears, whilst others threatened to choke on their spit. All is fine, she told herself, but she still could not shake the foreboding fear that had consumed her.

Her small clothes were drenched in sweat, and her furs were torn and ravaged, but she had packed no other clothes. She sighed and put back on the ragged furs that stunk of acid, sweat, and death. Afterwards, she stood up, snuck past the brothers, and ascended the stairs.

It was night, she could tell from the darkness that infiltrated through the window, but aside from that, the chapel hall was very well-lit; braziers burned on all four corners of the chapel. The room was still deathly cold, however, and the gruelling journey up that treacherous mountain haunted her. Trying to cast the thoughts from her mind, she sat on a pew and allowed her mind to race.

There is something off about all of this. About the contract; about this chapel; and most certainly about that brother. What did he mean? “I once knew someone who thought the same.” The man didn’t seem far travelled, brothers of his kind scarcely leave the town in which they are born. Maybe the sorcerer came through here before he decided to turn bandit? It would make sense, but why would he express such familiarity with the man if he only briefly met him? Maybe you're overthinking this, delving too deep into the semantics of his words. It could be as he said: maybe I want an elaborate expla-

“Can’t sleep?” the voice of the brother said behind her.

She looked at him and frowned. “Nightmares.”

The brother came and sat down next to her. “Some say dreams and nightmares are the gateways to the soul; what you truly desire and fear.”

“And others say when the moon is full, werewolves come out to play. What of it?”

“Perhaps there is truth in it. Most stories originate for a reason, and there are forces in this world at play far beyond our recognition, let alone our control. Like I said: don’t belittle old adages. There is more wisdom in them than you know.”

“Say what you mean already.”

“Listen to what your dreams tell you, girl. The fantasy in which it presents itself may just hold the truth. A holy man would say it is the message of Byzan, but you are not of the faith, so I won't ordain to force his teachings upon you. But if you heed one thing, heed this: listen to yourself, in whatever form it takes.”

Kat stood up, reached into her satchel, and grabbed the coin pouch she had. She chucked it to the man.

“Where are you going?”

“To get a drink,” she said as she walked out of the door and into the cold snow.

*

“Another,” she demanded, slamming the flagon of foul ale on the table. She had only had one, but it had already got to her head. Her father had never let her drink. “It turns you into a slow fool, not fit for one of our profession,” he had always said. But he was dead, and the warm embrace of the ale felt good; it made her forget.

“I trust you have the coin?” the pretty, fair-haired bar-maid said. “You wanderers tend to have the habit of not paying.”

“I’m good for it.”

“That’s what they all say, darling.” She sighed as she poured another flagon.

That night, the small, squat stone tavern belonged to only ghosts. The moon was at its zenith, and yet despite the early hours of the night, none were drinking. Strange, she thought, the thirst of men is usually greatest during the cold of winter.

“So,” the barmaid continued. “What brings you to the edge of the world?” She passed Kat the flagon, who promptly downed it all in one prolonged gulp.

“Work,” she said as she wiped the foam from her lip.

“Work, huh? And what is that? The only women to travel up here for work… Well, they don’t look like your kind,” she said, nodding at her sword and crossbow.

Kat smiled. The ale had made her head buzz, and the barmaid was looking particularly attractive. “I hunt things most folks are too afraid to hunt.”

“A monster hunter? So you are the one folks are talking about. In truth, I thought you’d be a bit more… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“Size doesn’t matter against a beast ten times your size,” she said, signalling for a drink. “Agility does. Where's my drink?”

“Are you sure you can pay? Brewing ale is expensive, darling. I can’t give it away for free.”

Kat leaned in and put on her most ribald smile. “I’m sure we can find a way.”

The barmaid chuckled and then matched her smile. The air in the room grew thick and hot. Just as Kat was leaning further in, the door slammed open. A man dressed in black walked in. Kat sighed and shook her head at the barmaid, who giggled once more in response.

The man took the seat next to Kat, and when he slung his hood back, fear consumed her once more. It was the comely man from the cave, with his aureate hair and deep azure eyes. He put on that grin of his when he saw Kat. “Surprised?”

“But… but you’re-”

“Dead?” he finished as he signalled the barmaid for two flagons, and threw her the exact amount of coin to cover the drinks and Kat’s debt. “Your idea of death and mine are two separate things.”

The barmaid looked between them. “Should I leave you two-”

“No,” answered the golden-haired man. “In fact, I would like your opinion on something. Would you think it good etiquette to, when in a conversation, violently lash out and try to cut out one's eye?”

“Is this a trick?”

“No trick,” he said; his gaze was stern. “Answer the question.”

“Then… then no.”

“I thought not.” He turned back to Kat. “We were having such a stimulating conversation back at that cave; it was quite rude, though admittedly cunning, of you to attack me in such a way. Though I am a forgiving man, I will not hold it against you.”

“Why come here?” asked Kat, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

“A man comes back from the dead, and that's what you ask? You are full of surprises, girl.” He smiled. “I came here for a drink. Death does create such a thirst.”

That foreboding sense of dread that once tickled her now engulfed her, and with the buzz from the ale, she meant to take action. She stood up, kicked the stool underneath the man, and as she drew her blade, spun a pirouette and slashed at his throat. This time, though, the man was ready. He slipped back and dodged her initial strike. After, he stepped in and trapped Kat’s sword arm as he sent the butt of his skull crashing into her nose. She collapsed to the ground with a thud.

“Fool me once…” The man smiled, grabbed Kat's sword from the ground, and examined it. “Fine steel,” he said. “I recognise the maker's mark; It's dwarven, is it not?”

She said nothing and let out a vicious cry as she cast a stray ball of fire towards the man.

He flicked his wrist, and the raging torrent of fire dissipated. “I would very much like to speak with you, girl, when tempers are less flared. You know where to find me if you wish to continue this conversation.” He nodded to the barkeep, flicked her a gold coin, and walked out the door.

The barmaid simply stared at Kat, fear painted clear on her face, and ran.

*

Kat made her way back up that gruelling mountain pass. The veil of snow was melting, revealing the grey rock beneath as miniature rivers of dew formed. Behind the rocks, mountains jutted from the earth like jagged spires clad with snow. Kat even thought it beautiful in the day, but knew she would not want to be here when night fell and shadow and cold claimed the land. She would not go through that again.

Pine trees adorned with flakes of snow revealed themselves in the dawn's light that she had not seen when she was here prior, and the trails of elk and snow hares indented what remained of the snow. On top of those, she saw the layered paw prints of a pack of wolves, and she could even make out the trail of what seemed to be a bear. Winter has made the predators brazen; they rarely come this far down the mountain. Man-folk have made them weary and for good reason. Food must be scarce for them to brave the journey.

The sun was at its zenith, and clad in her thick furs, she found herself sweating. Even she had begun to not be able to stand her smell. It was times like this when she wished she was a true sorcerer and not some lowly girl who had just begun to master the basic elements. A real mage would have no problem fixing her clothes or the stench, and they most likely would be able to even conjure up new clothes. But her father had died before she had completed her training, and the books of magic she read just confused her. She thought multiple times about training at the Court, but every time the train of thought occurred, she dismissed it. I can teach myself what I can learn there through books alone if I ordained to commit myself. But she had never bothered; or had never had the time, as she often told herself.

And then, as the mouth of the cave reared on the horizon, an enchanting melody being played on a lute sang from the entrance. At the sight of it, doubt overcame her; she knew she could not come back out if she went in. But despite those encroaching thoughts, she found her legs leading her to the entrance all the same. Curiosity had always been her bane.

When she reached the cave, she found herself unable to move as she stared into the black abyss. She could see nothing, but she knew someone was waiting there. Kat took a breath, gripped the hilt of her sword, and walked into the dark.

On the other side of the wall of darkness, light filled the void. A fire was ablaze, spitting out flecks of flame as it danced and waved. From the walls of the cave, murals now hung from it, depicting battles across the eras of the continent. There were paintings of great castles crafted from sandstone and had an alien design. Kat had seen nothing like it before. He had arranged a table in the centre and layered it with a fine, ornate tablecloth. Two full glasses of wine sat atop it, and on the right side of the table sat the golden-haired man.

He wore a regal doublet embroidered with gold lace and tied back his hair in a loose knot; from his neck hung necklaces of silver, gold and bronze, all adorned with gemstones.

“I was debating whether you would come,” the man said as he put down his lute and gestured to the seat opposite. “Please.”

“Why’d you summon me here?” Kat said and gulped the glass of wine before she sat.

“That’s not the question you should be asking, girl. I get the impression you are not one who likes to be told what to do.”

“I was curious.”

He smiled that cutting grin of his. “About what?”

“I killed you. I saw your corpse, all scorched as it was. And yet you now walk as if nothing happened. There's not even a scratch on you. Who would I be if I wasn’t curious?”

“Have you ever heard the adage, ‘curiosity killed the cat’?”

“Enough with these adages already,” she spat. “I’m sick of them.”

Emerick chuckled. “I see you’ve met brother Thornwold. Astute mind for business, that one.”

“So, you are in bed with him? I thought as much. Strange business model: scaring folks into accepting Byzan’s blessing. Which, of course, they pay heartily for. How much is he paying you?”

“Nothing. It’s good entertainment.” Emerick cast a spell to make her wine cup full. “Now, enough about me. I want to know about you.”

She just stared at him and drank.

“You interest me,” he continued. “You track me all the way up here, for all intents and purposes kill me, and then don’t take proof? It was impressive. I’m not insulting you, girl, don’t pull that face. But you couldn’t have got a reward for that, am I correct? Well, as a token of my gratitude...” He grabbed a pouch of coins from his doublet and threw it on the table.

“Gratitude?” Her hand slowly tightened over the hilt of her sword.

“Gratitude. It was a good fight. That’s almost all I can ask for these days.”

She looked at him as if he had gone completely insane. “What are you on about?”

He smiled. “Girl, our ideas of death are two separate things. Death to me isn’t final: it’s a comma instead of a full stop. I learn from it, and sometimes I even yearn for it. I’ve travelled to continents you haven’t even heard of and fought wars you didn’t even know were waging. I’ve been a mercenary, a thief, a whore, and a lord. I’ve killed thousands with steel and sorcery alike, and I've saved hundreds more. Death is many things: cruel, warming and also informing. It’s all a matter of perspective, girl.”

Kat just stared at him. It’s his eyes, she realised. They are a thousand years older than the rest of him.

Emerick chuckled to himself. “You think I’m insane. You may well speak true, girl. I can’t honestly tell anymore.”

“Does it hurt?”

“That...” His face grew solemn. “Never changes.” She thought she saw him shiver.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I learn from death; it’s another chance at life that won’t reenact the mistakes of the past. For example, I won’t allow you to trick me again.”

Kat put on her ribald smile. “Are you sure about that?”

Emerick grinned back. “Positive.”

The fire seemingly grew hotter. They just stared at each other for a moment, and then Kat once again leaned in.

Shouting soon erupted from outside the cave.

Why does this always happen to me? She thought to herself as five men burst in from the cave mouth, and behind them, Kat saw the pretty barmaid as she cowered in the corner.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” Emerick asked.

“Get out of my way. We just want the witch, not you,” the burly bald man at the head of the column growled.

“She's my friend; I cannot allow that.” As he said it, the room grew darker and colder, and Emerick's voice became abyssal. “Now leave.”

The bald man at the head of the column then grew so incredibly frightened that his body trembled. “I think… I think we should leave, lads.”

“He’s bewitched him! They’re both fucking mages!” cried one of the men behind them.

“Don’t be frightened, there's only two of them. We can take ‘em,” another one said behind him.

“Look, we don't want no trouble…” the bald man at the front said, quivering.

“Ah fuck, he’s turned Gorl into a craven! You bastard!” a tall, gruff man with a woodcutter's axe in his hand cried as he charged at Emerick.

Emerick swiftly dodged the attack, ducking out of the way and kicking him towards Kat.

She swiftly pulled her sword from the scabbard with her good arm, cursed, and slashed at the stumbling man's neck, coating herself in a torrent of blood as he crashed limply to the floor.

Kat then charged towards the next attacker. She struck low behind his knee and followed through with a swift strike across the chest. Emerick cast a spell, and chaos ran rampant amongst the enemies as they viciously struck one another. That was all but one man who instead charged Kat. He was gargantuan, hairy, and held a large mace.

The man let out a feral roar, and Kat ducked low and followed through with a pirouette, striking as she spun. The man blocked the blow with his shield and brought his mace up in a savage arc above his head and down at Kat. She only barely deflected the momentum, and the force of the blow sent her stumbling.

Just as she brought her hand up to cast a spell, one of the attacker's comrades, who just finished slaughtering his friend, charged him. The large, hairy man turned, and for a while they duelled, until eventually, they both collapsed onto the cave floor, wounded by the other’s steel.

She turned to the fight to see Emerick brutally slashing at the enemies with an axe he picked from the floor. He fought with a feral rage and let out a roar as he viscously cut his opponents, turning the cave into a canvas of blood.

After the battle had been won, the girl was all that was left. She cowered in the corner and screamed viscously. Kat felt sorry for her. After the two turned and faced her, the girl stood up and ran back out of the mouth of the cave.

She turned to Emerick and found that he had begun to run after the girl as his hands glowed with a vengeful heat.

She grabbed his arm, pulling him closer. “Don’t.”

Emerick turned to her; his face consumed by rage. He whispered a few words in a language she did not understand, and she soon grew tired and fell into the dream realm.

*

When she awoke, the fire had died, and she violently shivered. The cave was empty. Kat pushed herself to her feet, cursed, and headed out of the mouth of the cave.

The night sky above the town of Juril burnt a shade of orange as flames danced on the thatched roofs of the stone huts. Kat could hear muted screams coming from down below. She cursed. Why? she asked herself, drawing her blade and chasing them down the hill.

Snow must have fallen during the night, and each of her steps drained her as she trudged through the snow. There were faint footfalls, crossing over one another and going in opposite directions. But she could see the ones that belonged to her target; it was clear which one it was, for it was a cloudless night and all the stars were out to play. She remembered her father had once taught her all the constellations, and she could not help but wish he was here now. He wouldn’t have allowed himself to be fooled...

After making it to the foot of the mountain pass, she saw the mutilated body of the tavern girl. There were acid burns, jagged teeth marks, and crushed bones. The bastard… A rage slowly grew in her as she approached the town.

Corpses amassed at the foot of the town as trails of crimson seeped into the snow. Some had tried to fight back, though futilely; swords, sharpened hoes, axes and spears laid half-submerged in the snow, unbloodied. They had not even touched the beast.

It was then she heard a frantic scream rise from amidst the town. She cursed and headed towards its source.

Juril was a scorched ruin. The once-grey stone walls donned coats of black, and desolation claimed the timber huts. The fire could not have been waging long, and yet almost all the town was ablaze. Kat questioned how it spread so fast: the buildings were stone, not wood, and the fire should not have spread on the wind so quickly. But then she realised it was no natural fire.

Burnt corpses rested at the foot of doors as the inhabitants had futilely tried to escape, and the miasma of death became too much. She vomited. A man then ran out in front of her, fear painted on his face. “Run!” he cried as he pushed past her. “It’s the demon!” Kat cursed again and kept following the source of the screams.

*

She found the beast at the foot of the church, and a pile of corpses rested at its feet. Flames danced all around them, and Kat circled the creature.

“Why did you come?” the beast growled, morphing cruelly into his original form. Emerick now stood in front of her, covered head to toe in a layer of scarlet.

“To stop you.”

He laughed a sinister laugh. “Why? They would have hunted you to the ends of the earth; you would be labelled a witch, and if you were caught you would be tortured, raped, worse. I’m doing you a favour. There are fates far worse than death, girl.”

“And that gives you leave to slaughter innocents?” Her grip tightened on her sword.

“Innocent?” He scoffed. “No one is innocent, girl. They would have supported your death and spurred it on. View it this way: how many lives have you saved in your career? And how many deaths have you prevented? If you were to die, countless would be slaughtered as a result of your absence. Monsters would roam free, and men would fall prey to them. It’s all a-”

“-Matter of perspective?” she finished. “Enough with the philosophy. I’m sick of it. Let’s get this dance over with already.”

“That eager to meet your death, girl?” Suddenly, a sword materialised out of thin air and into his hand. The blade looked deadly sharp and pulsed with an azure glow.

“No,” she said. “But it’s better than listening to your incessant yapping.”

He smiled. “In another life, we would have been friends.”

She smiled her ribald smile back. “We wouldn’t have been friends.”

Emerick laughed. “Then I wish you fortune in this fight; may your steel be strong and spell arm stronger.”

“I don’t,” she replied as she shot a gust of flame towards the man, and in an accompanied movement spun and swung with her sword.

He deftly redirected the torrent flame skyward and brought his sword into a lazy counter. The man spun a pirouette, and on the back-swing, struck at Kat's face, cutting just below her cheek. She cursed and brought her blade in a feint above her head, and then quickly slashed to the right. He expected such a strike, countered, and on the riposte cut at her shoulder. She felt warm blood immediately contrast to the biting numbness of the outside chill.

He’s too fast, she thought, as she only barely countered one of his strikes. For a while, they circled each other, staring. Kat then summoned a fork of lightning aimed at his chest, and whilst he was distracted countering the spell, she struck viscously in an arc over her head. The wound cut deep into his shoulder, and he let out a yelp of pain.

But her fleeting moment of triumph soon shattered; she felt an immense force push her back as she crashed into the great wooden door of the chapel. She felt her ribs shatter again, and breathing became hard. Emerick quickly descended upon her and appeared in front of her in a flash, his steel raised above his head and reflecting the gleam of the midnight moon.

She rolled out of the way and stumbled to her feet just as his strike cut deep into the snow. He muttered a spell under his breath, and ethereal chains wrapped themselves around Kat as she fell to the floor. She was unable to move, and they were so tight she was almost unable to breathe. She found she could not even cast a spell.

“Why not do that in the first place if it was so easy?” she spat as she grimaced and writhed on the floor.

“It wouldn’t have been fun,” he said, his sword to her throat.

“Is that all life is for you? A game?”

“More or less.” He sighed. “It is a shame to kill you. In truth, I've grown quite fond of you. But you are an ungrateful nuisance, a nagging thorn. Albeit, a very attractive thorn. Any last words, Kat?”

“Fuck you.”

Emerick smiled. “Fitting.” He brought his sword in a savage arc above his head, and just before he could bear its wrath down upon her, the large, hairy man from the cave crashed into him and sent him stumbling into the wall. “Sorcerer!” he screamed, and hastily brought his axe down upon Emerick’s head. Though Emerick composed himself and ducked under the attack; with a calculated strike with his knee, he then winded the man and followed through with a slash across his neck.

But he had broken his concentration, and the spellbound chains had vanished. She had already got to her feet when he turned his attention back to her, and her sword flashed in her hands. One strike across his neck was all it took. His dismembered head hit the ground with a thud.

She panted and then collapsed against the wall of the chapel.

The door creaked, and the eyes of Brother Thornwold peaked out. After seeing the man dead on the floor, he fully opened the door. “Is it… is it over?”

Kat stared at him disdainfully and got to her feet. “Yes.”

“Good. I might say that was-”

“-You might say nothing.” Her voice was cold. “You caused this. You were working with him.”

“I… I was only helping the brotherhood.”

“How is conning innocents and getting them killed, helping the brotherhood?” She found her sword was in her hand again; her fist was trembling.

“The money helped heal people it-”

“-Don’t tell me you believe those lies. Look around, brother, look at the death you helped cause. Tell me: is that the work of Byzan?!”

“I didn’t know he would… It was… He said he wanted to help...”

“No. You just wanted the coin.”

“To help people… a lesser evil, frighten a few to heal many more… please, you have to believe me, I didn’t...”

“It’s all a matter of perspective, brother,” she said as brought her sword up above her head, poised to strike. He deserves it; he is responsible for this… Yet as much as she wanted to kill him, though, she found herself unable. Brother Thornwold simply looked too pathetic to be worth killing. Kat sighed and let her sword arm drop.

“Oh, thank you…” the brother began, but Kat silenced him with a vicious punch to the face. He collapsed to the floor.

Kat turned to walk away and stole one final glance at Emerick’s body. It began to writhe and wiggle. Kat did not want to wait to see what would happen, so she walked out of the scorched town of Juril and out onto the lonely road.