The snow in Sorn was powdery and deep, unlike the frozen drifts of Duvachelle. Maleah ordered her riders to dismount and wrap their steeds in blankets to fend off the chill air as they trudged on through the waist high snow. The only reprieve they could hope for was reaching southern sorn near the Wraith Wood, still several days away. Their march swung them deep into the Sorn interior, as close to Aglae as they dared to get some much needed intel on the region, leaving a somber mood over the company.

  Maleah had thought it odd that the Duvachellian soldiers had chosen Clydesdales at the outset, but as her own horse struggled and stumbled in the snow, she saw the logic in their choice. If combat were to occur, the fact that they were primarily draft horses would matter little for this terrain.

  Beside her, Rassvette’s face was hidden by his hood as he clasped his hands in his frocks sleeves. She shivered as a sudden gust whipped her hair about her face, and shot the monk a frown as he continued on serenely, unfazed by the cold.

  “Why are you so comfortable looking over there monk?” She jeered as she tightened her muffler.

  Rassvette turned to face her, tilting his head to see her from under his hood. “Me?”

  “You’re the only monk here.” She replied dryly.

  “You forget, I am from Hallthor, a city of perpetual winters.” He gestured towards the expanse of white. “This? This is summer weather, and that is no exaggeration.”

  Maleah shivered again. “Which is why I shall never go to such a country monk.”

  Rassvette smiled. “It seems you have also forgotten my name. I am Rassvette, it is a pleasure the second time as well.”

  Maleah shook her head with an exaggerated sigh of disgust, attempting to hide her own amusement. “Do you have any replies other than smartass?”

  “Do you?”

  “You tell me.” She shot back, equally tongue in cheek.

  Rassvette laughed aloud, and Maleah joined in, despite her best efforts not to. His good humor was frighteningly infectious.

  “You realize this is getting us nowhere, don’t you?” He cut his smiling eyes towards Maleah. “And if I recall, northern Xanavene is not all that warm of a place either.”

  “Oh?” Maleah began, still giggling though decidedly less graceful than the monk. “Am I to take it that you’ve been?”

  Rassvette was silent for several moments, his face obscured by his hood. “Not exactly.”

  Maleah set her eyes to the empty fields of snow before her, content to let the issue drop.

  “My first assignment was the waystation at Marik Pass, blessing travelers and providing a place of rest for the weary. Miserable assignment really.”

  “And why is that?” Maleah asked, feigning offense.

  She was all too familiar with Marik Pass and the waystation he spoke of. A Narrow canyon that never reached above freezing, it was the only viable road west out of Xanavene. It was also the major source of contention between Thiudoricus and Xanavene.

  “Not to speak ill of your beautiful kingdom,” Rassvette said with palpable insincerity, “but it was the people.”

  The humor had abruptly left his tone, causing Maleah to clench in anticipation, for what however, she wasn’t sure.

  “All who passed through the buffer zone,” Rassvette paused to exhale “they were the poorest of the poor, the broken and forgotten. If a child did manage to make it to our checkpoint, it was almost a guarantee they’d perish before exiting the canyon. I can’t even fathom how many simply starved on the way there.”

  Maleah looked away, well aware of what he referred to. Xanavene cared little for its frontiers, so many a poor peasant thought to make the two-hundred mile journey through empty tundra with hopes of a better life elsewhere. A barren stretch of land where not even animals tred and only weeds dared break the frozen soil, it was meant to starve or at the very least weaken any invading forces. The wasteland served its purpose of preventing enemy incursions well, but it also prevented people from getting out. Even if an enemy force did manage to break through, the surrounding villages had nothing to pillage. The bandits saw to that.

  “Perhaps I should have kept my peace…”

  Maleah shook her head. “Why? Truth is truth, no matter how unpleasant. My brother sought to make such journeys unnecessary, at least, he did in the beginning.”

  Silence hung between them as they trudged along. Maleah’s toes were beginning to go numb, and her thighs were soaked and freezing. She was regretting her decision to wear a skirt and leggings instead of a thick pair of trousers.

  “The impression that I get from his former students and essays,” Rassvette said carefully, “Is that your brother is a methodical and pragmatic man. One who looks at the world on a macroscale and is not afraid to do what need be done, no matter how unsavory it may be.”

  Maleah laughed. “My brother is a stubborn ass and idealist.”

  Maleah glanced back over her shoulder and was dismayed to find that there was considerable distance between them and the rest of the company. She contemplated issuing a short halt, but decided against it. They needed to cover as much ground as they could, and keeping the blood flowing would help stave off frostbite. Besides, she found herself enjoying the conversation.

  “Tell me,” Maleah asked at length, “Can a man such as him be saved? Is there redemption for my brother?”

  Rassvette scrunched his face and rubbed his chin in thought. “Not in the eyes of men, they’ll want blood. Hell, I want blood.”

  “I shouldn’t have asked…”

  “But the Eloi aren’t men. The taint of the Dusk weighs no heavier on him than you or I.” He said reassuringly. “Abigor is a vengeful and cunning beast, no doubt he appealed to Osric’s intellectual desires, making promises it had no intention of keeping. You must remember, he is jealous of us for escaping the Realm of Dusk, his is a spirit of spite and misery in want of company.”

  Maleah pondered his words, wondering if they were spoken in truth or simply for the sake of comfort.

  “Your brother must do much to offset the lives he’s stolen and the evil deeds committed, not to say it is impossible. He won’t see Elysium when this life is through, though he can still prevent his soul from being damned to the Dusk.”

  “Do you believe that? Honestly?” Maleah asked, her eyes misting over.

  “No.” Rassvette said flatly. “They are words of comfort for those that fear their mortality, or that of the one’s they love. Are you comforted?”

  “Not at all.” Maleah chuckled as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

  Rassvette nodded, his face concealed by his hood. “It generally only works on those that readily choose ignorance, or children who’ve yet to learn any better, by which point it’s too late anyway.”

  “I did not expect such intelligence to come from a man dressed as you. Impressive.”

  Maleah froze in her tracks as the blood drained from her face. There was only one man who could utter such a backhanded compliment and lace it with both honey and venom so effortlessly and naturally. Beside her, Rassvette spun around and let loose a string of Thiudorican curses. Behind them, her brother stood atop the snow, looking refreshed and unfazed by the cold. Never before had Maleah felt such terror.

  He wore his black robes and violet sash, his Lavender hair spilled out like silk ribbons from his hood. His golden eyes were ravenous, though his expression was one of apathy and mild annoyance.

  “Sister.” Though he spoke softly, though his voice was drier than the frigid air. “Why are you here?”

  Maleah stood, trembling in fear. The Army was still some ways away, no doubt they thought she had merely stopped so they could catch up. She would be dead by the time they did however, and they would all quickly follow.

  “Did you bring these men to raise arms against me?” Osric asked with a hint of humor.

  “How…?” She stammered, still petrified.

  Rassvette broke away and began frantically signaling the men and shouting for them to hurry. Osric sighed and brushed a strand of hair from his face.

  “I’d rather you didn’t…”

  Osric waved his hand and several violet symbols flashed before him, sending black ribbons of malevolent energy hurtling towards the Monk. Finally taking action, Maleah snatched her lance from the saddle and leapt between the spell and Rassvette. Osric clicked his tongue and redirected the spell, sending the ribbons to cut through the ranks of the fast approaching soldiers. Maleah looked back in horror and rage as at least a third of her forces were felled in an instant.

  Osric turned a disappointed glare on his sister. “Idiot girl, have you learned nothing?”

  Osric casually waved his hand and sent her careening into a nearby snowbank. Rassvette slowly edged away towards where Maleah had landed, freezing as Osric turned his cold gaze on him once more.

  “Oh bollox…”

  Osric smiled and swirled his finger in the air, leaving tracers of various colors. “What are your intentions with my sister Monk?”

  “Well...” Rassvette swallowed hard, certain he had breathed his last. “I am obligated to help the injured…”

  Osric’s eyes filled with a cold humor as he held out his hand. “Then by all means.”

  Rassvette paused, unsure of whether or not the fiend was merely toying with him or not. Exasperated, Osric shooed at him, and Rassvette tumbled in the snow in his haste to get away.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “She has a boyfriend you know,” Osric called out indifferently, “unless of course Séverin already killed the poor boy.”

  By now, the soldiers had covered sufficient distance to unleash a volley of arrows as the infantry steadily advanced. Osric walked calmly towards them atop the snow, unconcerned as the arrows impacted impotently around him. A soldier charged slowly through the snow with his saber drawn. Though it only came up to his knees, he may as well have been running through waist high surf. Osric reached out as if to grasp the air and squeezed. Blood erupted from the soldier’s nose and mouth as he fell face down into the snow, his heart having burst in his chest.

* * *

  Rassvette had nearly reached Maleah’s side as she pulled herself unsteadily from the snow. He paused, the look in her eyes was the same one held by her mad Brother. She shook her head upon spotting him, preempting the questions that hadn’t yet formed on his lips.

  “Can you fight Monk?” She growled, her eyes fixed on her brother.

  Rassvette looked back towards the black robed figure walking towards a bloodthirsty company of soldiers as if it were a leisurely stroll through the park. He swallowed and shook his head.

  “Not in the facilities you require.” He replied wanly.

  “Then stay out of the way.”

  Before he could respond, she thrust her spear into his arms. “I told you, I can’t fight!” Rassvette protested.

  “Not to use, fool, to hold.” She rattled the charms affixed to the lance head. “It’ll protect you from spells.”

  Without awaiting a reply, she drew the short sword at her waist and charged off to meet her brother, and quite possibly her death.

* * *

  Osric lazily drew in the air, the simple motion manifesting as an intricate layered glyph, which he poked his index finger. The five closest soldiers were sent flying through the air before their heads exploded, raining down blood and brain matter. The rest continued to close in, though visibly more cautious as they attempted to flank him. Osric paused briefly to regard them before continuing, a smirk on his lips.

  A soldier chucked a javelin at him, and it passed right through, leaving Osric’s image to fade into wisps of smoke. Osric reappeared mere inches away from the startled soldier and placed a ringed finger to the man’s forehead. The soldier screamed in pain and terror as he shriveled up like a grape in the summer sun, collapsing into a heap of skin and bone.

  To Osric’s left, a soldier fired his crossbow. Without even looking in his direction, Osric snapped his fingers and the man was pulled inside out through his mouth as if by an invisible hand, leaving a steaming pile of organs and blood in the snow. Osric turned his apathetic gaze on another soldier, causing him to stop in his tracks and drop his weapon. The Rhodarcian mercenary backed away as he pleaded for his life. Osric frowned at the display and his eyes flashed as if a light was shone on the eyes of a cat. The mercenary was lifted from the ground by an invisible force, and his body contorted in unnatural angles, the sound of every bone in his body shattering resonated in the still, cold air.

  A flicker of sick glee spread across Osric’s face as the other Soldiers turned to flee. He drew a small red rune and dropped it into the snow, and it quickly quadrupled in size at his feet, morphing into a glyph. Osric took a step back and held out his hand, manually tracking the symbol so that it fell beneath the feet of the fleeing soldiers. He held out his other hand towards the sky, as if summoning something from the heavens. The symbol flashed brightly and doubled in size as the clouds split overhead. The men screamed and attempted to flee, but were locked in place by the glyph at their feet.

* * *

  A flaming star hurtled through the atmosphere, crashing with a deafening roar atop the symbol and the soldiers it targeted. The snow turned to vapor and the frozen soil was sent cascading in all directions. Maleah lost her balance in the accompanying quake, falling face first into a ravine as the superheated vapor and boiling mud washed over.

  After the ground ceased to tremble, she stood, her ears ringing from the blast as the steam swirled around her. She crawled her way out of the ravine and spotted her brother, and he her. He slowly approached and suddenly vanished, reappearing several feet closer. Maleah stumbled back in shock, nearly falling into the ravine once more. Her brother did his vanishing trick several more times until he stood before her.

  She recalled the first time she had seen him teleport, he had collapsed upon arrival, unable to perform even the simplest of spells for the remainder of the day. Now, he did it effortlessly, and several times in succession. She realized now that they had no chance of defeating him.

  Maleah forcefully shook off her doubts and memories, taking up an awkward fencing stance. Osric frowned and waved his hand as if swatting a bothersome fly. Maleah had the vague sensation that the weapon had become warmer and suddenly heavier, though not uncomfortably so. Her brother’s expression explained it all, it was a spell, and one she knew. “Grudge” it was called, a black magic spell that summoned the vengeful spirits of all slain by a weapon to attack the wielder. It would have likely killed or severely maimed her had she been using her lance, fortunately, the sword was relatively new. Though simple by black magic standards, the spell was relatively complex and took time to cast. Her brother had not uttered a word.

  Two Xanavien soldiers charged in screaming, and Osric raised his hand, engulfing them in fire that appeared from nowhere. Maleah edged as far back as she could without falling into the ravine. Her brother had become a demon.

  “Why are you here Maleah?” He asked calmly, as if the screams of his burning countrymen were no more than birdsong.

  “I’ve come for you!” She screamed as she gripped the weapon with white knuckles.

  Despite her bravado, Maleah found her limbs unresponsive from fear. Her eyes frantically searched for a route of egress, but all she could see was her brother, coldly watching her with his omnipotent gaze.

  “What has become of you? Why do you-”

  Osric held up his finger, and despite not wishing to remain silent, Maleah found her voice gone. “Enough sentimentality sister.” He gave a disinterested wave, not bothering to look at her as he spoke. “I know of the Sorn woman the dead knight sent to search me out. She has been harmless enough, though I’d be a fool to allow an invasion force to be assembled in my proverbial backyard, now wouldn’t I?”

  Maleah remained silent, though she could feel that he had removed his hex. The few remaining soldiers had regrouped and mounted up in the distance. Though still far away, it appeared they were coordinating another charge, of which Osric was well aware of, but seemed not to care.

  “If you had but remained in Marquez, I could have guaranteed safety for you and your little group, the knight included.”

  “And allow you to continue this madness?”

  Osric frowned, and to her surprise, his features softened. Before she could counter, he had pulled her into his arms, and cradled her head in his hands. Maleah wanted to break away or shove the forgotten short sword into his back, but found herself crying as she clutched at his robes, the weapon half buried in the mud at her feet. She buried her face in her brother’s chest as she held him tight, sobbing freely now.

  “Why did you leave us Ozzy?” she stammered through sniffles. “Don’t you love me anymore brother? If you hate me so much, please, just kill me now and be done with it. I can’t….”

  Osric stroked his sister's head and shh’d her softly. “Maleah, for all the anguish I have caused you, I am deeply and truly sorry.”

  His words struck her like a fist, and were equally as shocking. In spite of her rage, or perhaps because of it, hot tears tung her eyes and she no longer fought his touch.

  “Despite my best efforts to deny it, I do love you, and I always shall. I may have lost my way, but all I do, I do for you.”

  Maleah looked up to her brother, wishing desperately for his words to be true. Yet even in this tender moment, his gaze was cold.

  “Is…is it because of what we did to momma?”

  Maleah felt Osric tense and pull away, so she tightened her grip upon him. They had promised to never speak of that night, deep in the woods. But she remembered it vividly, the smell of blood, the steam rising from the despoiled corpse of a woman sacrificed. The desiccated remains of their mother laying on a circle of ground bones and an orphan childs blood, the black candles flickering in the chill Bloodmoon air. Though the words her brother spoke to call back their mothers spirit were forgotten, she would never be able to forget the gravelly voice and red eyes of the creature that rose in their mother’s place. Nor could she forget the sight of their mother’s summoned soul being dragged to the Dusk.

  “It was what I did.” Osric said definitively.

  Osric shoved her away and retreated, apathy once again filling his eyes. “Go. I’ve wasted enough time on this distraction.”

  What remained of the cavalry was now upon them, approaching from three sides. Osric turned to face them, silently and efficiently flinging spells and hexes into their already thin ranks. Maleah screamed, a culmination of all her fear, rage and frustration, charging blindly and unarmed at her brother.

  She was suddenly halted by two gangly arms that shot up from the ground, gripping her legs tightly, preventing her from moving. She fell to her knees as the tears occluded her vision, thrashing and screaming, cursing and clawing impotently at the wraiths that fixed her in place. The air was thick with the smell of death and ozone as black tendrils of lightning danced from Osric’s fingertips.

  A horse cried out and charged at Osric from behind. Almost instinctively, he whipped around and slashed at the beast with his fingers, sending a blade of wind to cut the creature in half down the middle, tearing through both flesh and soil.

  His face contorted into a mask of horror and regret as it dawned on him what he had done. The two halves of the black mare with a chocolate colored mane collapsed into a bloody heap in the mud at his feet. Time seemed to freeze as an earsplitting cry of anguish and sorrow filled Maleah’s consciousness. She stood with a perplexed look, staring at a woman with lavender hair screaming in the mud, and it took her several moments to realize that it was her. She was suddenly back in her body, shuddering as she tried to draw breath through the sobs. She felt warm, and looked down to see she was covered in blood. She gingerly touched her face and stared blankly at the red that stained her fingertips, then looked to the vacant eye of Cookie lying motionless in the mud. It was the horse's blood. Cookie was dead.

  The Arms at her feet released her and retreated back into the soil, but she hardly noticed. The blood was thick, and tasted strongly of iron. It burned slightly, but it could have simply been her imagination. Maleah was vaguely aware that her brother had removed a satchel from his robes, and laid it out on the ground. It was his “medicine” bag. He began to rapidly mix together various ingredients and paint symbols upon the two halves of her slain mount, friend, and pet.

  Maleah was suddenly aware that someone was screaming “No!” over and over again in Xanavien, as she scampered over to protectively clutch the horse. It was her again.

  “Step aside. I can bring her back.” Osric hissed.

  He always pretended otherwise, but he loved that horse as much as she did. He was the only one Cookie allowed to ride aside from herself. He and Séverin had helped birth her, and he had sold his services as a mage to purchase her when old man Makarov was going to put her down for being unruly. That horse had been with their family since she first became a woman, she had grown up with Cookie.

  “Maleah, time is of the essence.”

  “Why?” She blubbered. “So she can be like Momma?”

  Instantly she regretted her words, as Osric dropped his pack into the mud. The fundamental laws of magic state that the dead cannot be resurrected with a soul. That’s what the little blonde girl with black skin had said, before she took him away. She awoke in her bed the next day, and when Osric returned, he wore the mark on his forehead. It wasn’t even their mother that came back, but something else. Maleah remembered riding off to the river where she stayed long into the night. A dangerous act in that region, but she knew she was safe so long as Cookie was there. If horses had souls, she couldn’t let him do that to her. She didn’t want to see the blonde girl with hollow eyes again either.

  “I…I tried to save her…I’m more powerful now, I can bring her back!”

  Maleah adamantly shook her head as she buried her face into the blood slick mane of the slain beast. “Just go! You’ve done enough.”

  Osric quickly regained his composure and held out his arm. After several moments, Rassvette came shrieking through the air and into Osric’s grasp, still clutching Maleah’s lance.

  “Monk. Were you intending to leave my sister here to die?”

  Rassvette shook his head as he sobbed uncontrollably. “No! Please, please don’t kill me!”

  Osric disgustedly dropped him into the snow, and two wraithlike arms kept him from scampering away. Osric looked down in contempt of the sniveling monk, but he sighed and emotion found purchase in his features again upon glancing at his sister.

  “Monk, she will not die. Even if you must perish to sustain her, she will not die. Am I clear?”

  Rassvette nodded, certain he had no other choice.

  “If perchance, you should live and she does not, know that I won’t kill you. No, death is simple. Instead, I want you to contemplate an eternity, an eternity of suffering, of having your body and spirit ravaged by unspeakable beasts, of having your flesh torn from your body day after day, with it regrown when the last strip has been pried from your body with rusted implements and shit stained claws. Contemplate this fate monk, and know it is well in my power to subject you to this and other horrors should you fail.”

  Rassvette began to cry uncontrollably. There was no way they’d make it out alive, it was freezing out, they had no supplies and were in the middle of nowhere. If he hadn’t been so intent on flirting, he could have likely found a quick death with the others.

  “Pitiful fool.” Osric spat.

  “What the hell do you expect of me?” Rassvette stammered.

  “I expect you to head east.”

  Before he could reply, Rassvette was enveloped in a vermillion light and everything went black.