Author of SF and Fantasy erotica

Path of Lyssa is being written as part of a novel-writing challenge over the month of November. Please expect poor editing!

Current word count: 39,585

—

Chapter 4 – Heroes

The Dusk Ford was a tall pair of stone towers, one on either side of the mighty Dusk River. The bridge spanning the raging water’s surface between the goliaths was an architectural marvel here in the Era of Shadow, though Claire’s reading had told her that its construction had been just one of a number of such projects from that year. This had been during the Era of Magic, of course, when miracles had been commonplace and Oculus All-seeing had walked the earth. Erecting a wide, stone platform all the way across a river whose far bank was invisible save on the clearest of summer days hadn’t been so impressive in those days.

The stone had persevered all throughout the Era of Mundanity, when humans gradually had lost their respect for the sacred and the arcane and placed their faith in the observable. And the bridge had been maintained rigorously throughout that time, mostly out of need. Crossing the Dusk and passing into the jagged mountains of the east necessitated the Dusk Ford’s massive bridge, since sailing a boat across the choppy north-south flow was a risk few captains would choose to undertake. And going around would either require a trip into the icy peaks of the far north across the source of the river, or down to the southern coast and the endlessly flooding continental delta. Such was the case for Claire and her friends in the modern age, also. There were no boats left to ferry them across, and Charisse’s unpredictable curse meant they didn’t have the years required to go around. They had to take the bridge.

Claire lay on her belly at the top of the last hill before the great dip down to the water’s edge. Around her, granite slabs of rock poked out of the soil like the vertebrae of ancient leviathans. These natural shields kept her form hidden from the tall western tower and the rheumy eyes of its inhabitants, whom she was currently spying on for the little party. The supernatural sight granted her by her endless, breathy prayer to Oculus kept her abreast of the ghoul’s comings and goings. She also bore witness to the dark swishing of black cloaks through the fortress windows, the attire of the much more alive Dark Adherents who acted as castellans of the Dusk Ford in the Dark Lord’s stead.

Passing across the bridge meant also passing through both sides of the structure. Each tower’s structure was made up of three stone-walled courtyards that would all have to be navigated, leaving prospective invaders constantly out in the line of sight of the high windows at the river’s edge. Each of the heavy wooden doors separating the courtyards were closely guarded by a full complement of undead soldiers that didn’t need sleep or sustenance. And Claire had spotted three black cowls in the western tower itself, living custodians who may have access to the Dark Lord’s fearsome magic. Across the bridge, who could say? Claire and her friends would need to rush across the wide platform in full view of the eastern defences. Even Lyssa’s newfound confidence in her enchantments would struggle with that challenge. Her voice needed to be heard for her command to be obeyed, and a shot with an arrow could take her down long before she could even see her attacker.

Claire narrowed her eyes as the misty, glowing shapes of the Dusk Ford’s inhabitants moved about behind their walls in her empowered vision. There had to be a play here, but she could not see it. And with Lyssa bold as brass these past few days, Charisse his usual reckless self, it fell to her to find that play for them. Maybe if they waited for a change in the guard, the Ford’s forces would be distracted enough to let three disguised heroes through to the lands beyond. Or maybe if they took the time to fashion a canoe out of the copse of trees at their backs, they might-…

A whisper of wind across the grass atop her hillock preceded cold steel against Claire’s neck.

“Speak quietly an answer to my questions and nothing else,” came a rich, resonant and masculine voice above her. “What is your name?”

“C-Claire,” she managed. Lyssa’s encounter with the bandit camp was still fresh in her mind, and the recollection caused Claire’s prayerful focus to shatter. Why hadn’t Oculus warned her someone was sneaking up behind her?

“Well then, Claire,” said the man, savouring her name like a fine wine. “Whom do you serve?”

This was the decisive question. If a Dark Adherent was the one holding the blade at her throat, she would need to plea for the mercy of his Dark Lord. Otherwise… Otherwise, what? What other answer was there? Claire swallowed, her throat wobbling against the sharpness of her captor’s weapon.

“Only my friends,” she hissed. “My friends and… m-my god. Oculus All-seeing.”

“Not the dark?” the man teased.

And Claire, manic with fear, found herself grinning. “Fuck the dark,” she said.

And the sword’s edge immediately came away from her skin. Claire let out a long sigh of relief as the man began to laugh in his musical, mahogany voice.

“Coarsely spoken, but I cannot help but agree!” he assured her. “Well met, Lady Claire! I am pleased to find an ally of the light in these dark lands!”

Curious by nature and unable to hold herself back, Claire rolled over onto her side and glanced down her body at the newcomer. And her breath caught in her lungs. Standing over her was easily the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. Gorgeous skin that was almost onyx black, tight curls of short dark hair that would be soft to the touch, an immaculate beard just barely grazing at his full lips. He had Charisse’s broad shoulders, but a tight waist and long, lithe legs clad in tight silk that spoke of a honed athleticism. His waistcoat was a luxurious blend of red and blue stripes, audacious and magical compared to the dull tones of the usual garb of survivors of the Era of Shadow. And his blade was a curved scimitar of silver metal with a rounded sapphire worked into the pommel. A weapon fit for a hero of legend. And his smile! Claire briefly forgot to breathe in the incandescence of his lovely, boyish, handsome grin.

The swordsman extended a gloved hand for her, and she took it without a second thought. His skin was warm beneath the thick fabric, his grip unquestionably strong. He lifted her up to her feet as if she weighed nothing at all, in full defiance of the enemy stronghold now visible beyond the grassy rise.

“A-And you are?” she somehow managed around the pattering of her heart.

“My name is Delain,” said the swordsman, bending into a courtly bow at his waist and pressing his lips to the back of Claire’s hand, which he still held. His trim beard tickled her skin like a brush of silk. “I am at your service, my lady.”

Claire found herself giggling absently. But through the haze of heat in her cheeks and the giddy spinning of her belly, the man’s name broke through. A familiar name. She gasped.

“Delain of the Ten Cities?”

“The very same,” he said with an achingly charming smile.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Holy shit,” she said.

—

“Holy shit!” laughed Charisse, rocking back and forth on his seat at the edge of the fire with a silly, childlike grin. “I mean… holy shit!”

Delain chuckled, one hand demurely laid on his chest. “You do me honour, my lord…”

“Ch-Charisse!” he said at once. “Th-That’s my name!”

“My Lord Charisse,” Delain bowed from his seat. “My utmost pleasure to meet you.”

Lyssa’s ears pricked at the sound of snickering coming from deeper into the cave they were using as a shelter from the light rain outside. This fascinating Delain fellow seemed like a polite sort, but not all of his company shared his manners. Accompanying the handsome swordsman were four adventurers. A muscular woman with a thick, black bow across her lap, her face a maze of ritual tattoos. A slight girl with a wide-brimmed hat and a staff of gnarled yew leaning against her shoulder. And a pair of twins, both with Claire’s red hair but braided into matching styles, and with a matching pair of clubs affixed at their belts. It was this pair who had thought to laugh at Charisse’s feminine name. Not that Charisse had any idea he was the subject of ridicule.

And Lyssa had to admit, the gravity of Delain was undeniable. He was a superb specimen of masculine grace and strength. His dark eyes held that same bright intelligence that Lyssa recalled from Tabitha and Tomas, only magnified astronomically. When his eyes turned on her, and they appeared to be turning quite often, Lyssa felt as though she was all he could see. Delain looked up from his humble chuckling to catch eyes on her again, and Lyssa held his smile with one of her own.

“And might I have your name, my lady?” he asked her softly.

She grinned. “My friends call me Lyssa, sir. But you may call me whatever you desire.”

The curve of his lips and the widening of his eyes as he breathed in her flirtation were magnificent, careful without appearing forced. He could not have looked so lovely even if he’d had time to prepare. From somewhere deeper in the cave, someone hissed out an impressed gasp at Lyssa’s sultry words.

“You have me at a disadvantage, Sir Delain,” she continued, running one hand idly across her chest as if brushing away a stray fibre. Her target obediently let his gaze trail along the swell of her chest, made all the more obvious by the alterations she’d made to the navy dress she’d taken from the bandit camp.

“Do I?” Delain replied with a coy smirk.

“All here appear to know you as a man of great fame, but I have lamentably suffered a loss of my memory of late. I would love to hear of your accolades for myself.”

“Well,” he said with a rich chuckle, “I do not normally partake of blowing my own horn.”

“I’ll do it!” Charisse butted in at once. He was leaning forward with his hands on his knees, his dark fringe framing a grin that reflected the dancing of the firelight. “Delain of the Ten Cities is a living legend, Lyssa! He single-handedly unseated the ten tyrants of the unaligned lands to the south and restored them to peace! He duelled the evil Carnelian Swordsman on the walls of Fort Tychus and rid him of his malevolent blade! He ended the carnage of the devil-drake at Goldfields by simply staring the beast down and willing it be gone!”

“That one was me, actually.” This reedy voice came from beneath the wide-brimmed hat of the girl sitting by Delain’s side. When the hat raised, Lyssa saw the blonde girl beneath smirking. “Delain was there, though. I can attest that he didn’t wet himself on seeing that nasty brute of a dragon, so that’s reasonably impressive.”

The girl smiled for her companion to disarm her teasing, and Delain nodded with a mirthful chuckle. “Never let yourself believe that I could do well without your assistance or friendship, Ermengarde,” he said.

“Naturally,” she replied, then removed her hat so that she could fan herself with it. And Lyssa stared. Beneath the youthful curls of the girl’s fair hair, her ears were long and pointed. Not human, then. Fascinating.

“My, my,” Lyssa hummed, drawing Delain’s attention back to her with a gentle touch at her own lips. “It seems I have missed a great deal in being ignorant of your deeds, Sir Delain. How heroic you are, I see a true hero before me! What draws you and your valiant company to these perilous lands?”

“That should be obvious, Lyssa,” said Claire, and Lyssa turned on hearing her friend’s sharp tone.

Claire was scowling. Beside her, Charisse had lost his exuberance entirely. He was now staring forlornly into the campfire’s flames. Lyssa’s lip twisted as she sought to determine whether it had been something she had said.

“I believe we’re here for the same reason as you three,” said Ermengarde with a shrug of her slim shoulders. “We’re seeking the end of the Dark Lord.”

“Which means you will be looking to cross the Dusk Ford,” said Claire, nodding her head. “I would be interested in hearing what you proposed to do about that.”

“And whether we can be of any aid,” added Charisse.

Delain looked at once to his sharp-eared companion, who was stroking her chin thoughtfully.

“I have something of a scheme in mind,” the girl said with a decisive nod. Her blonde curls bobbed playfully around the points of her ears. “You three must be competent fighters to make it this far. I imagine I can make use of you.”

“You should listen carefully to Ermengarde’s words,” Delain said with a wide smile. “She shall never lead us astray.”

“Goes without saying, Delain,” the girl replied with a roll of her eyes, then addressed the camp. “You’re the brains of this operation, is that right Claire? I can tell these things. Let us put our heads together.”

“O-Oh, of course!” Claire joined the shorter girl in her rising with a hand on Charisse’s shoulder for balance. She brushed down her skirt with a quick flurry of her hands. “It would be my pleasure, Ermengarde-penka!”

“Ooh, smart and polite!” Ermengarde remarked with a trilling laugh. “Not many humans remember the proper way to address an elven seer! And cute as a button, to boot! I think we are going to get on famously.”

With Claire and Ermengarde stepping outside for their tactical discussion, the three of Delain’s band dismissed to return to a conversation of their own, evidently some sort of evaluation of Lyssa and her friends, Lyssa was left with a choice. Around the campfire to her right, the handsome Delain. To her left, her friend Charisse, still staring glumly into the fires. Lyssa had the feeling that she owed him an apology, but she couldn’t fathom why. In the end, that uncertainty made her mind up for her.

“In the meantime, Sir Delain,” she said as she took her seat beside the tall swordsman, “I would hear more of your rigorous adventuring! Have you slain any fearsome beasts in your travels? I do so love hearing the tales of a man with a good grip on his weapon.”

Delain’s dark cheeks brightened with a charming spray of blush, and his smile was coy and pleasing. “For my Lady Lyssa, I could speak all day,” he said.

The flames wafted in their direction as if blown by a sudden gust of wind. But the only thing on that side of the fire was a glowering Charisse.

—

“It’s a simple plan, all things considered,” began Ermengarde some two hours later, with the sun setting around the mouth of their cave shelter and the last of the rain dripping to a halt across the hills. “Simple enough that even the soft heads I see before me will grasp it.”

Claire spotted Charisse’s little wince and sent him an apologetic smile for Ermengarde’s words. Between them, Ermengarde had used a white stick of chalk to draw out the rough shape of the Dusk Ford on the bare stone at the mouth of their cave. Charisse and the others stood on the far side of the drawing. Claire’s dear friend had his arms folded stubbornly, his face wrought with petulant frustration. A couple of paces to his right, Lyssa was standing very close by Delain’s side. Did she really not see what she was doing to the poor boy, Claire wondered. Calling Delain a ‘true hero’ as if that wasn’t her pet name for Charisse, that had been a low blow. The rest of Delain’s band were arrayed around the floor drawing. Their casual stances told Claire that they were well used to hearing Ermengarde’s taunting and were capable of taking it in their stride. They weren’t as overblown as Claire was, even after spending a couple of hours with the little elf. But she couldn’t help it! Ermengarde was over eight centuries old! The things she must know! The things she no doubt took for granted!

Ermengarde had to prompt Claire with a tug on the sleeve of her dress, and she cleared her throat as she began.

“Our goal is to draw all of the Dark Legion forces from across both sides of the river to here, the second courtyard on the western side,” she explained. As she did, one of Ermengarde’s conjured lights bounced playfully toward the area of the map that she was speaking about. “At which point, Ermengarde can use an incantation to destroy all of them in one blast.”

“Bang!” giggled the elf with a little theatrical spread of her hands.

“Delain and his forces will battle their way through the first courtyard to the entrance of the second, here,” Claire continued, and her explanation was accompanied by a red mote of light moving through the illustration of the fortress. “Their intent will be to cause as much commotion as possible and draw the eye of the defensive forces.”

“That should be no issue,” said the handsome swordsman with an easy shrug of his wide shoulders. “The Dark Adherents know my name and face and should be quick to try and take a bite out of me.”

“Isn’t that awfully dangerous?” Charisse pointed out, frowning pensively. “There are more ghouls at Dusk Ford than we have warriors, some ten times over. And all throughout your invasion, you will be set upon by ranged fire and magic from the tower above!”

“Ah, what a splendid point,” huffed Ermengarde, hands on her hips. “Thank you so much for pointing that out, Charisse. Truly, I would have missed such an obvious issue were it not for your timely interruption.”

Charisse flushed angrily. It was Claire’s turn to put a hand on Ermengarde’s shoulder, reigning in her bite. The elf sighed.

“We’ve been through worse than this,” she explained. “My countercharms can interrupt anything those mulish hacks from the Dark Legion can cast our way. And we have the best shot in the whole continent ready to provide reactionary fire. I’m not worried.”

The woman with the longbow smirked with sly confidence at the back of the group.

“While this battle is taking place,” said Claire, “the three of us will be making use of a side entrance here alongside the third courtyard. You may recall that we had been planning on using this route to sneak our way across the bridge before we met our new friends. The distraction will mean that the usual guards will be away from their posts, though we might have to tackle a couple of strays as quietly as we can. And then, we arrive here.”

A blue light tinkled its way onto the map and landed on the bare stone at the western edge of the bridge.

“We have two objectives,” Claire explained. “First, we open the gatehouse leading to the bridge itself. Then, we find the alarm bell, which ought to be nearby.”

“Ding-ding, ding, ding-ding,” sang Ermengarde. “The Dark Legion’s signal for aid. It won’t come as a surprise, if Delain’s done his job of showing off in front of the Adherents. We’ll have gotten the word out that someone impressive is making them look bad across the water. And that’ll draw the ghouls from the eastern fortress across the bridge and into the second courtyard to aid their friends.”

“We are not intending to head them off at the bridge?” Charisse asked.

“No, moron. Remember? You let them come to us, then we blow them up.”

“R-Right,” grumbled Charisse.

“Once the ghoul soldiers have joined their fellows, we will close the door behind them and seal them in. Delain’s team can dispatch the whole legion in one swoop. The only forces left defending the bridge will be a few stragglers,” Claire concluded with a decisive nod. “We can all cross the river together.”

“Then onwards, to the Black Palace!” declared Delain, raising his fist in victorious gesture. “Together, we taste the blood of the Dark Lord!”

“Yes, yes,” dismissed Ermengarde. But beneath her wide hat, she was grinning fondly.

“We begin at first light tomorrow,” said Claire. “We should all find what rest we can in the meantime. A-And… that is all.”

“That is all,” agreed the elf.

“How exciting!” Lyssa said. She clapped her hands together with a beaming smile. “’Tis like something from a tale of myth! And we three, a part of the making of history!”

“A woman as beautiful as you would fit right in among the pages of the history books,” said Delain, and Lyssa giggled dutifully, stroking his arm.

Claire winced, and she wasn’t surprised to see Charisse hunching up his shoulders like a tortoise vanishing into its shell.

“We rest now?” he asked bitterly. “Then I should prepare something for us to eat.”

“If you wish, my Lord Charisse, we have ample supplies for sharing,” said Delain with a bow of his head.

Charisse looked away with a scowl. “My thanks,” he said, but his dark expression didn’t mean it. Fortunately, Delain didn’t appear to notice.

“We should douse these flames if we don’t want to be spotted tonight,” Claire suggested to try and break the tension, but Ermengarde shook her head.

“I have a couple of tricks to keep the light and smoke from reaching the river,” she said with a smug little smile. “It’s a chill season, after all. We can’t be freezing our bits off ahead of an important battle.”

“Of course,” agreed Claire.

“I could use a hand, though? If you fancy trying your hand at a touch of simple magic?”

“Would I?!” Claire got herself back under control with effort. “I mean, if I may, it would be my pleasure.”

Ermengarde laughed, her hands firmly on her hips. “Never let the spark of curiosity falter, Claire! It will be your light in dark times. It has ever been mine. Come, we just need a few things from my satchel.”

Claire made to follow into the cave at once. But before she did, she thought to check on her allies. Charisse looked in no mood to talk, aggressively peeling a potato as he was. The thundercloud rumbled over his head, brooking no sight through its dark coils. And Lyssa, she noticed, was already gone. Claire picked out the dark blue of her dress in the failing sunlight alongside the dynamic stripes of Delain’s waistcoat. They were arm in arm, making for the privacy of the trees. Claire was tired enough to let the woman do as she wanted. Maybe she should be happy to see Lyssa so utterly recovered from her ordeals. As she must have been, if she was willing to cling so suggestively to a man like Delain.

But as Claire turned back towards Ermengarde, she saw the little elf also following the pair’s steps. Her ancient, ethereal eyes were utterly unreadable to a mere mortal like Claire. Still, the girl broke into a sudden smile when she spotted Claire’s attention.

“Let me show you some proper magic, Claire,” she said proudly. “This is going to blow your boots off!”

—

“Of course, a man so vainglorious as he obeyed my summons at once,” Delain explained with a fun little smile at the corners of his mouth. A lesser man would have bowed to the desire to boast by now, Lyssa was sure. But Delain saved his amusement for the folly of his foes, not the strength of his own skill. “We came to blows on the walls of the fortress in front of the arrayed men and women of the Acer Movement. I remember that the sun was setting at our backs. Carnelian evidently thought to weave the dawn into the tapestry of his victory. In the end, it was the backdrop to his death.”

Lyssa held his arm tightly as they passed into the secret shadows of the treeline. “Was he a fearsome opponent in the end, this Carnelian Swordsman?”

“He would have been, were it not for the lessons of my swordmaster,” said Delain. “But I recalled the many times Sankto was able to rid me of my weapon with merely a flick of his wrist. I allowed him to do so, he always made sure to tell me after. And Carnelian provided me those very same openings, which I was thankfully able to exploit.”

“Goodness!” Lyssa gasped.

“Without his hexed blade, he was just a man,” Delain shrugged. “I would have taken his surrender, but he was ever the dramatic one. And in front of an audience, no less. I took his head instead, much as it pained me. In another life, perhaps we could have learned from one another.”

“And the cursed sword?”

“Ermengarde roasted it with arcane fire,” he chuckled. “Ever her solution for a problem she cannot think her way through. But the hex was powerful, and the flames had to match. She was truly taxed when she was done.”

Lyssa drew her partner to a halt in a little open space surrounded by sparse, dark trees. The clouds above, as ever, obscured the light of the moon and stars. If they wanted to see one another, Lyssa and Delain would need to stay close.

“You two are dear friends, I see,” she said to him, looking up into his glittering eyes.

“Ermengarde? I could not progress without her,” he agreed with a smile. “It is criminal that I am often the only one present in all the tales your allies sing of me. Ermengarde has achieved far more than I in her admittedly far longer years on the earth.”

“You respect her?”

“I do.”

“And that respect has ne’er…” Lyssa giggled, tilting her head to one side. “You have not tied a closer bond to her on any long, cold night?”

“With Ermengarde?” he asked with a laugh. “No!”

“Not at all? She is awfully fair.”

“She is several centuries my senior, Lady Lyssa! Her way of seeing the world is entirely different to mine. And I could never think to keep up with that fierce mind of hers. I would ever be holding her back in a romance, I know it.”

“Hm, well. You know her best.” Lyssa shrugged her shoulders, and in doing so brought Delain’s hand up to rest on her waist. He flushed with colour, visible even in the dark of the evening, but he didn’t pull away. “In my experience, one cannot truly know another without having a taste of them.”

“So, you and Charisse…?”

“Ah, nay.”

“And why not?” Delain asked. His touch on her side was tentative, so Lyssa pressed his palm down against her more firmly. “What is holding the two of you back, as Ermengarde and I are held back?”

Lyssa pursed her lips. Then, when she couldn’t come to a solid answer, she laughed.

“Well played, Sir Delain! Yes, perhaps it is my friendship with Charisse that would make a romance with him complicated. Friendship is the constant warmth of a lantern in a chill season, I agree. Romance, the fire of a hearth in the midst of a blizzard. The latter burns bright and then fades away, ‘less tended with care. And I would not have Charisse fade away. Not when the end of our journey is yet some distance away. Claire also, I would have you know,” she added, winking up at him. “I hold myself back from that fair maiden as much as I do her staunch companion.”

“I am glad to hear that you understand, my lady,” said Delain. He raised one gloved hand and ran it boldly through her locks with a soft smile. “Friendship is dear. We would do well not to spoil it hastily.”

“But we are not friends, as we?”

The smile grew. “No, my lady.”

“I am so very glad.”

She leaned up towards him. Her lips pressed against his, only just off to one side. Her cheek was tickled by the thick hair of his beard. Lyssa leaned back with a querying tilt of her head.

“What is wrong?” she asked him.

Delain’s smile was still soft, touching on sadness. But underneath, Lyssa could see something harder. A hunger. It was easy to spot, since she shared it with him. The difference between them was that he was trying to suppress it.

“I… I am flattered by your attentions, Lady Lyssa,” he told her. “Still, do you not think this somewhat hasty? We only met some hours ago. I was hoping for the honour of courting you now and for our onward journey. But any more would be… rash of us, I believe.”

A bolt of frustration darted through her sternum. Lyssa’s great store of magical energies rumbled greedily.

“And yet, you followed me all the way out here,” she said, pouting openly. “You departed from your familiar friends and joined me out in the dark, away from prying eyes.”

“It is a privilege to have the opportunity to speak candidly with you. To set the path of a relationship with you.”

“When we could be doing something else.”

“My lady…” He had his hands on her shoulders, and Lyssa stared uncomprehendingly up at his anxious eyes, the uncertain twist of his lips. “I wish to court you properly. I wish to be careful and steady in my wooing of you. I do not wish to overstep myself, not at all. I do not wish to squander you. Not when you are a prize that I dearly seek to win. You are worth enough that I must take my time and do things correctly with you.”

Again, Lyssa was reminded that she was alone. Alone in her cravings. Alone in the need to feed on others. Delain thought that to deny himself was a means of honouring her. He thought she would be grateful. When just looking at those shining, apologetic eyes made Lyssa want to snap out a command that he rid himself of his foolish honour! She wanted to demand that he give in to himself. With her enchantments, she could do it. And the men and women she had preyed on two nights prior proved that she wasn’t alone to want to do so. She wanted, and she had the power to take. What was stopping her?

What was stopping her was the knowledge that she would break him by forcing him so. Delain was his principles. Just like Claire, just like Charisse. Lyssa could shatter the chaste chains around his spirit and drain him like she’d drained so many ruffians. Like she’d shattered her own chains. But he didn’t believe that his principles were something to be hated. He believed they should be cherished. And Lyssa was enamoured enough by that heroic smile, and the smiles of her friends when they beheld him, that she wanted to make the effort to believe him, too. Not to agree, absolutely not! But perhaps to help him, to coax some slack into his chains and let him breathe a little. Just a little. Just a taste of the crisp night air.

“You are sweet,” she said. Lyssa stroked Delain’s cheek with one gentle hand and let her fingers get tangled in the short, curled hairs of his beard.

Delain chuckled. He ran his touch up and down her arms. “Does a sweet taste favour you, my lady?”

“It does,” said Lyssa. “Only… there is another that I prefer.”

She pushed through his grip on her and kissed him again. Fully and firmly, right on the lips. She gripped him about his shoulders and held him tightly against her. His hands twitched with surprise.

“Delain,” she whispered against him, “I am not a sweet maiden, not like Claire. I have a singular need. And it is not a need to be courted or wooed.”

“M-My lady…”

“A need to be railed, Delain!” she hissed. “A need to be penetrated! I cannot fulfil that need with my friends, for reasons we have already discussed. But I can fulfil it with you. Handsome, charming and strong! You wooed me plenty already, dear Delain! Won’t you take your reward?”

She kissed him again. He wasn’t fighting her. Because he felt the same hunger that she did. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him. Lyssa didn’t use her enchantment on him, she didn’t need to. She didn’t have to break him. She just needed him to realise that Lyssa didn’t deserve a hero.

“Please…” she said softly between kisses. “Please, Delain. Be with me. And on the morrow, when we set out for glory… we will know whether ours is a coupling that can persist. A reward for victory that will be all the sweeter for knowing that it is sweet! Please! Be with me!”

Pressed against him as she was, she could tell that he was hard. Lyssa moaned into his mouth and rubbed her body up and down on his erection. And Delain held her arms tightly as he allowed himself to be convinced by her. As parts of him stiffened, other parts relaxed. Surrendered. And when Lyssa believed he was ready, she pulled herself from him and stared up into his eyes. Even in the growing dark, she could see him. A strangely familiar red light illuminated his face for her.

And Delain laughed. He ran a gloved hand through his own hair, shaking his head with self-admonishment.

“I told myself I would be better than the other questing warriors I happened upon in the cities,” he sighed. “I believed myself above their rooster-ish prancing and predatory hunting. Not the brothels for me, nor the hayloft with a comely serving girl. I would remain chaste, I said! And now look at me. Succumbing to the wills of a… a truly wonderful, staggeringly beautiful woman in the dark of the evening. I am weak.”

“Nay, Delain,” she replied, flashing her teeth at him. “You are simply the same as I am. My same needs, my same desires. And I am not weak, am I?”

“Far from it, my lady,” he said with a coy smirk.

“Then we are in agreement.”

She shoved him. Delain stumbled backwards into the trunk of a tree. His sword clattered against the bark. And Lyssa came upon him. She fell to her knees. And the night began in earnest.

—

“Me and Delain?”

Ermengarde laughed, and Claire found herself mimicking the elf with a laugh of her own. Ermengarde’s was such a youthful sound, reminding Claire of days spent watching over the village girls while their parents were working the fields. The two of them lay together in bedrolls out on the grass. At their feet, the sparkling blue light of an enchanted campfire, one devoid of smoke and invisible beyond a stone’s throw. And above, the roiling black of the ever-present clouds. The stars lay just out of reach. But Ermengarde stared up at the night sky with an enthusiastic glint that suggested she saw beyond the atmospheric veil.

“Come now, Claire! You don’t see the issue with a romance between me and Delain?” The elf giggled, resting her hands on her stomach and interlocking her fingers. “Visibly, he is far too old for a child like me to be seen courting! We would have to keep our sweet touches to ourselves when we were in polite company, lest we incur the wrath of the morally upright. And that gap will only grow as he gets older and I stay exactly the same. No, it wouldn’t work. There is no chance of it.”

Claire, letting her head roll to one side so she could see Ermengarde fully, watched the elf closely. “But would you want to?” she persisted.

Ermengarde pursed her lips, raising a hand and waggling a finger admonishingly at her. “We aren’t at the stage in our friendship where you can make naughty suggestions, Claire,” she said. “I’ve had time to think about courting Delain, of course. And in that time, I have determined that it is not viable. That is the end of the discussion.”

“He’s awfully handsome.”

“Then you go for him!” the elf said, laughing loudly. “Was that the purpose of this line of questioning, to secure my permission? Have at thee, Claire! You get some for yourself!”

Claire found herself laughing with the ancient seer. She sighed, shaking her head as she returned her sight to the clouds above. “I think Lyssa has beaten me to him.”

“Ah, yes. Your thirsty minx of a friend. I wouldn’t worry too much.” Ermengarde shrugged her shoulders, Claire could hear it in the shifting sound of her bedroll. “Your Lyssa may be a dynamic force of sexuality the likes of which I haven’t seen before outside a port city in the dead of night, but Delain is sensible. He likes an intelligent mind, like yours and mine, not a striking figure you could bounce a gold coin off.”

“Really?”

“He doesn’t make decisions rashly,” said Ermengarde. “It’s one of the many reasons I have entrusted him with the leadership of our cause against the Dark Lord. He’s careful. He takes his time. He won’t be lulled into anything outrageous tonight.”

Claire frowned. She cast a look over at Ermengarde’s peacefully smiling face, then glanced up towards the dark line of trees where Lyssa and Delain were getting to know each other among the shadows. Ermengarde was confident Lyssa couldn’t seduce her man. But Claire had seen the woman naked and caked in fluids, eyes aglow and teeth bared, stalking between the tents of her victims. She knew that there was a point at which what men wanted became moot, where Lyssa’s appetite was concerned.

Claire opened her mouth to say something to this effect to Ermengarde. To perhaps enquire at the seer’s opinion on the nature of the strange woman who shared her company. But on seeing that adorable smile on Ermengarde’s lips once more, she thought again. They weren’t at the point in their friendship where Claire could try to unseat her convictions around the man she secretly desired. Why spoil the moment?

“I mean…” said Ermengarde suddenly, and Claire saw red in her cheeks alongside the blue of the flames, turning her skin a lovely lilac’s violet. “Don’t get me wrong, Claire. It isn’t as though I’m completely removed from romance. I know how important it is. I’m the new generation of arc penta, you know, not at all like the hermitic misanthropes of my elders. I’m no prude.”

“You have loved before, then?” Claire pried with a cheeky smile.

“I have. And with a human boy, no less.”

“Really?” Claire inched closer with an eager grin. “Do tell!”

“His name was Karaszen.”

She felt the chilling weight in the base of her stomach before the full understanding of what Ermengarde arrived in her brain. Claire’s smile dropped.

“The… The Dark Lord?”

“The very same,” sighed the elf. “Back then, of course, he was just an apprentice mage from the southern cities of this land. His academy allowed him to join the Accord of Regents in their excavation of the Athelos ruins out east, you know the ones. He was placed under me as an assistant to my studies. And I found him to be… brilliant.”

Her eyes narrowed, lips parting gently to take in a breath of nighttime air. “Karaszen was a mind unlike any I had encountered in your people before. He saw around corners in a way that was magnificent to behold. When the Athelos inscriptions had me flummoxed, I would bring him my thoughts and we would puzzle them out together. I’d never had such fun. Until, well… Until we started doing something else with our free time.”

Ermengarde smiled sadly up at the clouds. “He was a late teen in those days, so our bodies were about the same in terms of maturity. I didn’t let my advanced age get to me, and he never suggested that it bothered him. When the others in the expedition found out, they cheered us on. Those ruins were dark and foreboding after all, you know the Athelos legends. A little light was… was welcome.”

She swallowed. Claire reached out of her bedroll and laid a hand on her shoulder, and Ermengarde leaned into her touch gratefully. “We worked so hard to build the necessary fields to prevent any of the dark Athelos magic from reawakening and reanimating their ancient dead. Those brass-cased bodies in their obsidian sarcophagi never budged through the machinations of age-old traps thanks to my charms and hexes. But we neglected to protect ourselves so securely from the allures of the arcane. And before I knew it, Karaszen was replicating the old spells for himself. And, brilliant as he was, he succeeded. The raising of the dead, the halting of his own aging, the burning black flames of the Athelos Deathlords.”

Ermengarde chuckled bitterly. “We should be thankful that he seems yet unable to shackle a demon of Hell to his cause, as the kings of Athelos were said to do. Woe betide us if he ever managed that!”

“I had no idea,” Claire whispered. “I thought that there was nobody left who knew the Dark Lord before the Era of Shadow.”

“Well, there’s me,” Ermengarde said, chuckling to herself. “I’d spent so long ignoring that part of my past that I’d almost succeeded in forgetting it. But then Delain came along. He’d done his reading, knew I was involved in Karaszen’s rise to glory. But instead of judging, he asked for my help in ridding the world of him. And I accepted. Delain made me strong enough to want to face my sins. To take responsibility for the young man I knew who has so woefully lost his way.”

She turned her head and faced Claire with a smile. “That’s why I’m not worried about your Lyssa getting her hands on Delain. He’s a man of his principles, even after so long travelling with no lass to wet his dick for him. He’s not going to let anything happen that he’s not fully prepared for. Or, whatever. If he does, he’ll bounce back. He’s too strong not to.”

Then, she was blushing anew. Ermengarde looked away, down towards the wet earth. “I hope that makes sense.”

“Of course it does,” said Claire at once. “It makes perfect sense.”

I just hope you’re right, she added in the privacy of her own mind, alongside a memory of Lyssa’s glowing red eyes.

—

Getting Delain out of his breeches was a challenge. Truly, this man had not considered being ready for rutting at a moment’s notice, not like the bandits of Ducal Rout. His belt was on tight, his leather hugging his hips fashionably and restrictively. He had a pair of lightly padded suspenders on underneath the breeches that needed to be unclasped and ripped down his lithe legs. All the while, Lyssa could feel the swordsman’s resolve struggling to reassert itself. Take too long, and he’d have second thoughts. So when the throbbing length of his thick, heroic manhood was out in the air at last, she wasted no time cramming it deep into her mouth.

“L-Lyssa…!” Delain moaned. “Are you sure this is…?”

She admonished him by tightening her lips around his shaft, and the hero cut off his plea with a stuttering intake of breath. Lyssa bobbed her head greedily on his cock and let him feel the full expanse of her throat. She’d gotten good at this since Arram, and she made sure Delain knew it. She slurped on him, sucked him. She drank in his shivers of pleasure.

“Lyssa! L-Lyssa!” he breathed. “Oh, by my… ancestors!”

By my ancestors was right! This man was truly a remarkable specimen, a victory for his male lineage. Some of the men Lyssa had consumed had died believing themselves above the bar where the length of their manhood was concerned. As Delain slid over the far side of her tongue and pressed against the back of her throat, Lyssa knew that they had all been wrong. This man was magnificent. Thick without coarseness, long without imbalance. A salty taste and an organic fragrance that Lyssa found intoxicating. She moaned deliriously as she sampled him, her magical reserves reverberating with anticipation for the feeling of his essence inside her.

Delain braced himself against the tree at his back as she raised the pace of her sucking to new heights. Lyssa held tightly to his bare thigh with one hand, and with her other she toyed with his testicles. Through the jolting of his leg muscles, she could tell he was equal parts aroused and alarmed by her ferocity. He’d likely not had a partner render him to such vulnerability in a long time. Well, she felt a swelling pride that she could be the woman to do that for him. As his cries of pleasure reached electric heights, Lyssa wondered whether they could be heard back in the camp. She wondered how Delain’s party would feel about knowing he was receiving the fellation of his life right now. How Claire would feel, how Charisse…

Oh, Charisse had been jealous of her attention on Delain! That was so obvious now! Lyssa smiled around Delain’s mighty cock, and the movement of her lips appeared to be just what he needed. Holding tightly to the tree bark, Delain let out a guttural, stammering gasp of release, and then sent a wave of semen down Lyssa’s throat. She dutifully sealed her lips against his pubis to trap every drop inside her, and she lapped him up with her tongue. As always, the taste of come was a welcome one.

And his spirit! Lyssa’s inner eye widened on seeing Delain’s truest form. His bubble, his essence. Delain was shining, liquid gold. He flowed like a river of incandescent honey. What a remarkable soul! Lyssa leaned in and ran her tongue over the edge of the bubble to catch a layer of him in her mouth, just a taste, and then swallowed. Ecstasy. Pure, bright and potent. Sweet. Delain was… so sweet.

Lyssa removed herself from his cock with a strangled, garbled choke and wiped her lips dry with her sleeve. She took a few deep breaths to return the air to her lungs. And all the while, Delain was shaking against the side of the tree.

“O-Oh, my… my word!” he sighed. “That was… exceptional.”

“You enjoyed yourself?”

“V-Very much so!” Delain laughed. “Oh, I shall sleep well tonight! But… Lady Lyssa…”

He opened his eyes and looked down at her kneeling, servile form with a sad smile. “Lyssa, you did not gain anything from that, I fear.”

“Nay, I gained plenty,” she replied with a grin. “You were delicious.”

Delain stared openly, disbelieving. “S-Still, be that as it may, I cannot help but feel I owe you. Perhaps if you were to give me a moment, I could reciprocate your… g-generous gift? I am proficient with the use of my own lips, I am told.”

“Such a gentleman!” she said with a giggle. “You would like the opportunity to pleasure me, Delain?”

“I would,” he said firmly, his dark eyes aglow.

“Then instead of your mouth, put this mighty weapon to further use inside me,” she growled. Lyssa crawled forward in the grass towards him and kissed the wet tip of his soft cock once more. “This night is yet young, after all.”

“But my stamina is not!” Delain said with a laugh, even as his cock twitched with eager excitement. “My lady, much as I would love to indulge you immediately, I shall need some time…”

“Not necessarily.”

He blinked down at her, uncomprehending. And Lyssa smiled a savage little smile as she leaned in to whisper a word against the skin of his cock.

“Grow!” she commanded.

And he did. A measure of Delain’s own spirit left her and filtered into the gasping man. With it, her will. And Delain’s cock was filled once more with life and vigour by his obedient subconscious. In mere moments, he was once more at the fullness of his length. And Lyssa gazed past the great rod and into his lovely, dark eyes.

“Ready?”

Delain snarled. “I am.”

This time, they switched their positions. Delain held Lyssa’s hips with his gloved hands, her skirt pulled up over her waist, while she leant forwards with hands and elbows pressed against their tree. She laughed and sang her pleasure as Delain rammed her from behind with his great cock. No resolve left now, she could tell through the frantic growling of his breath, the dripping of the sweat from his brow onto the cheeks of her rear.

But my, so skilled! Delain’s swordsmanship gave him a startling insight into creating just the right angle to skewer a villain like her. He used this insight to penetrate her pussy all the way up to its limits. It was even a little uncomfortable. Evidently, he’d not had this experience in a long time. He was pent up, the poor man! But still, Lyssa sang as she was pounded by the hero. As his knees weakened and her arms began to ache, she sang. She moaned out her joy loudly. Let the others hear! Let them hear the celebration of her sex with a man who really knew what he was doing!

“Come for me, hero!” she demanded unsteadily. “A-Ahh, come for me! Come inside me!”

“My lady!” he snapped. “Oh, my lady! My… l-lady!!”

Delain sheathed himself inside Lyssa as his cock unloaded anew into her. Lyssa felt her eyes roll back at the victorious sensation of semen against the depths of her vagina. She pressed her rear back against him to engorge him fully, and she sighed his name upon the wind.

“Delain!!”

And once again, the shining of his spirit. Lyssa laughed proudly as she encircled the glowing bubble of essence. She grinned as she saw him laid out for her like a fine meal at a courtly restaurant. A gift for her taking. Not that she would, of course. She didn’t want Delain dead.

Only… perhaps her previous taste had been mistaken. Lyssa recalled being blown away by the potency of his essence inside her. Would he taste the same a second time? So, shrugging her spectral shoulders, she leaned in and kissed his bubble again. She drank him in. He would regenerate himself in time, so she could have a little more. Just a taste. And he was every bit as sweet as she remembered. He was glorious. Smacking her lips, Lyssa pulled regretfully away from Delain.

And in reality, she let him stagger backwards and out of her.

“Y-You came!” slurred Delain on his shaking legs. He was grinning foolishly. “You… came, Lyssa!”

Had she? The joy of drinking was a pleasure, certainly. But Lyssa doubted it was quite the same as Delain thought she was experiencing. She hadn’t orgasmed. Could she even do so? She certainly didn’t feel the need to. Not when lapping at her partner’s essence made her feel like the embodiment of creation itself. Like a being untethered from the earth and left to rise of the winds of the arcane.

But his smile was so very charming. Lyssa embraced him with her arms. She kissed him passionately. And he held tightly to her as if struggling to remain upright on weak legs. But his tongue was a lashing whip inside her mouth as he played with her. As he joined her in the wet, intimate dance of their kiss. His hands gripped her possessively. And he smiled against her.

Lyssa could tell the measure of his thoughts, somehow, perhaps through the consumption of his spirit. Delain recognised that the two of them would enjoy night after night of this sharing of one another. All the way up to the doors of the Dark Lord. And then, their foe defeated…

“Lyssa…”

The defeat of the Dark Lord… Lyssa’s kiss faltered as she allowed herself to consider that Delain would have Karaszen killed, if he could. Claire and Charisse, too. When she held the shadowy man no ill will. She merely wanted answers. Who was she? Why did she see his face? Answers only the Dark Lord Karaszen could provide, she suspected.

“My lady?” asked Delain, staring anxiously into her eyes.

And Lyssa realised that now was not the time. She needed to distract herself from these troublesome questions.

“Grow!”

Delain toppled to the wet grass with Lyssa atop him. She straddled him, holding his weakened arms down on the ground. She pinned him and possessed him. She sat herself down on his gloriously recovered rod. And Lyssa began to bounce.

“M-M-My l-l-lady!” Delain moaned in time with her rutting. “A-A-Ahh! I… c-c-can’t…!”

Yes, he could! Lyssa had commanded it, so he was more than capable! She snarled down at him as she rode him powerfully. Her knees became sodden with their muscles taut, her bones complaining at her fierce treatment. When Delain continued to try and tell her that he was not strong enough, she slipped her hand against his bearded cheek and silenced him with her thumb in his mouth. The hero’s eyes rolled back in his skull as he was fucked by her. Used by her. To make sure he didn’t consider that he was making some form of mistake. To make sure she didn’t think any more about who she was!

As willing as his throbbing member was between her legs, Lyssa could tell that Delain was flagging. He’d shot so much semen into her already, did he have anything left to offer? His skin was hot where it slapped and slipped against hers. His muscles felt stiff beneath that warmth. Maybe he would need a little coaxing.

But Lyssa gritted her teeth around a command that he come, the same command that she’d uttered to the last, frightened bandits of Ducal Rout. She glared down at him and wordlessly insisted that he hurry up and finish. His dark, intelligent eyes gazed right back up at her. Shimmering. Weakening.

When he came, his breath was a gasp of great relief, as though he’d been drowning and could finally fill his lungs again. Lyssa’s eyelids fluttered as she took the little spurt of him that he offered her. And she dove right back inside him. She pressed her lips onto his spirit and drank him. Just a taste. Something to reward her self-control. Just a taste. Just a taste. Just a little taste…

Lyssa came to just in time to see that she had drank nearly a full third of Delain. Terror flared in her belly. She returned to reality at once, phantasmal lips dripping with his spirit, to find Delain comatose on the grass.

“Delain! Wake up!” She grabbed the collar of his waistcoat and shook him as she felt his cock wither inside her. “Delain!!”

“A-Ah, m-my lady…” His throat was dry, his voice a painful croak. He kept trying to close his eyes, and Lyssa feared what would happen if he was allowed to do so. She began slapping his fuzzy cheeks with her palm quickly and lightly in a bid to keep him awake.

“Don’t fall asleep!” she implored. “Don’t! Delain!”

“Lyssa… what is the matter?”

Finally, he smiled. It was a weak and pitiful smile, but it still made Lyssa’s heart soar with relief.

“Are you well, my dear?” she asked him.

“I am… changed,” he said, and then chuckled breathlessly. “I shall never again know joys of such wondrous magnitude, I fear. When I see the great wonders of this land for myself, I shall know no splendour. For it all pales in comparison to you. To you, my incomparable Lady Lyssa. How excellent you are in all you do!”

Lyssa fell atop him and hugged him, and Delain put his arm across her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his ear. “Thank you, hero.”

“But now I must sleep.”

Lyssa laughed. She squeezed him with her arms. “Of course. A day of history shall take place tomorrow. Come, let me help you to bed.”

“Please return my penis to my clothing first,” he said. And as Lyssa assisted him with his outfit, then hoisted him up with his arm over her shoulder, they laughed together. When they returned to the campsite, it was as two new lovers, hands comfortably around one another’s bodies. They slept curled up around one another in a shared bedroll. And Lyssa didn’t mind the solitude of the night, as Delain drifted away into slumber, leaving her behind.

—

The horn resounded across the misty waters of the Dusk River, and Claire turned to her friends in the shadow of the fortress walls.

“That’s the signal! Let us advance!”

Charisse took the vanguard position in their little three-person squad. He kept his round shield high as cover from any attacks that could drop down on them from the walls above. But it seemed that Delain was doing his duty well this morning. No ghoulish eyes witnessed Charisse’s powerful sprint down to the ditch at the foot of the Dusk Ford.

The side entrance to the third courtyard was hidden in shade and covered in ancient rubble, but a solid kick sent the crumbled rock rolling away. Charisse signalled for Claire and Lyssa to join him, and they did so, running quickly down the grassy slope towards their ingress.

Lyssa was humming again. It was the same song that Claire had heard the night after Ducal Rout, and it filled her with dread. Claire tried to shake the anxiety free with a whip of her head, her red hair catching in her eyes briefly as she did. There was no reason to link Lyssa’s slaughter of the beastly men and women that had assaulted her to their current mission to take the Dusk Ford from the Dark Legion. It was just Claire’s frightened mind linking the deaths of that night to the danger of this morning. There was no logic in it.

Charisse rammed the old wooden door with his shoulder. He grunted with each impact. But Claire hadn’t led him through his usual prayers last night, so the curse was strong in his blood today. With its dark rise, a surge of physical strength for her friend. Claire told herself that she had done this on purpose, when in truth she knew that she had just neglected Charisse due to his sour mood, and also so that she could spend more time with Ermengarde. She tried not to feel too guilty about that.

Wood splintered under Charisse’s assault, and he rushed into the dark, his axe held high. Lyssa went next, skipping boldly into the gloom. Claire’s scouting prayer had told them that there were no foes this close to the hidden entrance, so they could afford to be so bold. The interior of the outer wall was a tight passage, an easy defence for an entrenched garrison. Today, it was empty. They made their way east towards the gatehouse.

The bridge door controls were out in the open of the courtyard, guarded by two ghouls in familiar brass armour. Charisse left the cover of the wall interior at a run and caught them wholly unawares with the momentum of his body. The first ghoul fell against the gatehouse wall with a metallic clatter as he shoved into it. The second turned, but too slow, as Charisse embedded his axe in its skull.

“The tower!” Claire called out to him as her heightened senses picked up movement high above them. A dark fluttering at the closest window as one of the Dark Adherents spotted their attack. Oculus whispered to Claire of a grim enchantment being readied.

By the gatehouse, Charisse was torn. He spun about to raise his shield against the coming magical strike. But as he did, the fallen ghoul grabbed his ankle and dragged itself forward, seeking to sink its gnarled teeth into his leg. And Claire’s spike of fear only heightened, again illogically, at the sound of Lyssa’s musical laughter.

“Allow me,” she said, striding confidently out into the courtyard. Claire could see Charisse staring urgently at the unprotected girl. But Lyssa rolled up her sleeves with a smile on her lovely face and turned her attention up at the tower’s windows.

“Jump!” she commanded.

As always when witnessing her magic, Claire felt a shuddering resonance in her heart. It was an effort to not hop on the spot in obedience to Lyssa’s words.

But that feeling subsided immediately as a cowled shape hurled itself out of the tower window, fell five storeys and then crunched as it hit the stone of the courtyard. A single hand was revealed from beneath the black fabric. It twitched once and then was still.

“What a waste,” Lyssa sighed. “Oh well. Let us be about our work.”

Charisse, having stomped the remaining ghoul to death, began to work the bridge access lever. As he pulled on the crank, the great doors barring access to the eastern edge of the river began to groan and creak. They parted slowly.

Meanwhile, Claire moved to join him. She tried not to look at the dead body of the Dark Adherent on the stone. Instead, she climbed the gatehouse tower to where the alarm bell was housed. Keeping out of sight of the external windows, she grabbed the cord and rang the alarm.

Ding-ding, ding, ding-ding. Cracking the air asunder. Penetrating the fog across the river. Ding-ding, ding, ding-ding.

Then came the hardest part of their mission. The waiting. Claire, Charisse and Lyssa huddled together in the shadow of the gatehouse as they awaited the arrival of the Dark Legion’s reinforcements. At their backs, the clashing of metal on metal from the second courtyard. The shouting of orders. The twang of arrows.

“We should be helping them,” Charisse growled. His teeth were gritted, making him look all the more bestial with the curse flaring behind his eyes.

Claire laid a hand on his shoulder. His thick muscle was rigid this morning. “We are helping them,” she said. “Trust in the plan.”

“I know…” he huffed in response.

“Well, I believe we have already done much to be proud of today,” Lyssa said with a beaming smile. In the distance, the sound of marching feet upon the ancient bridge. Lyssa lowered her voice to a whisper. “These fiends were no match for us. We make an excellent team, do we not?”

Claire nodded. “Well said.”

Charisse, meanwhile, said nothing. His stiff shoulders were hunched and his eyes dark beneath the black of his fringe. Still not recovered from his poor mood, evidently. But before Claire could think to interrupt his malaise, Lyssa spoke up.

“I believe I owe you an apology,” she said to him. When the first ranks of the east tower ghouls rushed into the courtyard beside their hiding spot, she pushed herself closer against Claire’s friend and spoke softly into his ear. All their eyes were on their enemies, who marched on towards the battle without seeing them.

“You owe me nothing,” hissed Charisse bitterly.

“Nay, I do. I have taken you for granted, dear Charisse. I have allowed myself to forget how much I rely on your strength, your kindness. You are an irreplaceable friend to me. Both of you are,” she added, turning to take in Claire with her sad smile. “Truly, our kinship is rival to anything Delain and Ermengarde can attest. And I would be dead were it not for the two of you. I shall never be able to repay that kindness. The privilege of your dear company.”

Claire felt her heart pattering as Lyssa bared her soul. How hard it was to connect this sad smile of hers to the fiendish glow of her eyes those days before. Charisse’s shoulder visibly softened under the touch of her hand, and he turned to face her.

“You don’t have to say that,” he whispered, his eyes shining.

“I do, as I have neglected to say it before. And you deserve to hear it. Thank you, Charisse. Thank you, both. I love you.”

Lyssa kissed his cheek. And finally, the darkness left Charisse’s gaze. He stared at the beautiful girl in the shadows alongside him. Then he put his arm around her.

“Lyssa…” he breathed. “I love you, too.”

“I…” Claire’s words caught in her throat. She had to say something. Something to overcome the fright she felt. Something to keep from being left behind. “Thank you,” she said in the end, and it sounded weak. “Lyssa, thank you for saying that.”

“It is ever my pleasure, dear Claire.” Lyssa’s smile was lovely.

Beyond, the legion of ghouls had been joined by two Dark Adherents from the eastern tower. The robed pair immediately began working the controls for the large doorway leading back to the second courtyard and the battle with Delain. The stone rumbled with the movement of the pulley. And as the wooden doors swung slowly open, the sound of combat rushed to meet them. Shouting, clashing, rending. Immediately, two arrows shot forth from the maelstrom beyond and caught the two Adherents in their necks. They fell to the ground in writhing heaps. And the ghouls resorted immediately to their default orders. The mass of armoured undead rushed into the courtyard with clicks of their teeth and swings of their weapons. In no time at all, Claire and her friends were alone again.

“Go!” she whispered once the coast was truly clear, and Charisse leapt up at once. He crossed the courtyard in a low sprint, making him look like a hunting cat. He cast his weapon aside at the courtyard door’s crank and began to work to mechanism with powerful turns of his body. The door sealed shut on the great mass of ghoul soldiers with a resolute thump.

“There,” sighed Claire, coming out of hiding with Lyssa beside her. “Now we just need to wait for-…”

The sky exploded. Claire’s ears began ringing as the cataclysmic fireball erupted in licks of furious red flame over the wall of the courtyard, and she lost her footing under the shaking of the ground. Lyssa fell beside her, holding her hands over her own face protectively. For long moments, the shaking of the world continued. The air singed Claire’s skin. She could feel motes of flame dancing in her hair.

And then, silence. A silence deeper than any she had ever experienced. The battle on the far side of the door was over.

“Holy shit!” gasped Charisse with a laugh, only Claire didn’t hear his words over the deafening ringing in her ears.

When they were sure of their victory, and when no further foes appeared from over the bridge, Charisse began to reopen the door to the second courtyard. The wood on the far side of the doors was black and cracked by the fire’s intensity, and smoke billowed into the air from the scorched stone arena beyond.

And as soon as there was room, two figures came pelting out at them. The twin warriors of Delain’s party were coated in soot, but Claire could see the white of their teeth from under their ginger beards. They had their clubs held high as they ran heedlessly across the courtyard, ignoring Claire and her friends entirely. They were yelling, crying, snapping like beasts. At their backs came the tall archer woman. She staggered wearily against the stone wall of the fortress before pushing on in pursuit. As she passed by Claire, she rubbed at her eyes with one arm. Then she was gone. The three heroes dashed heedlessly out onto the bridge and into the mist.

“Do we… Do we go after them?” wondered Charisse, and Claire could only shrug her shoulders. That hadn’t been part of the plan at all. They had been meant to advance together.

But thoughts of strategy left her as Ermengarde emerged from the chaos of the second courtyard’s ruins. Her wide-brimmed hat was black around its edges and her yew staff was smouldering. But her physical harm seemed unimportant to Claire when she saw that the elven seer was weeping.

“What is it?” Claire asked as she ran to her new friend’s aid, kneeling before her and taking her shoulders. “What’s wrong, Ermengarde-penka? Did we not win?”

“Where’s Delain?” asked Charisse breathlessly with his eyes on the open doors. Only smoke emerged.

Ermengarde spluttered out an ugly sob. Her whole face had been made wet with her tears and her snot. She looked younger than ever.

“He is dead!”

Claire’s heart stilled. Delain of the Ten Cities, hero of the realm, was dead?

“How?!” Charisse gasped. “H-How could this be?!”

“I don’t know!!” Ermengarde wailed, stamping her feet like an infant in tantrum. “This wasn’t supposed to happen! He’s normally so… so much more…!”

She cast her staff to the ground and sighed out a deep, bitter, grieving sigh. “He was not himself, I should have seen that,” she continued with her shaking voice. “He was not focussed. He was distracted. Maybe tired? But he’s always come alive again in the thick of the fight. I thought the rush of battle would restore him. I turned my attention away for one moment and… he was gone. He had a blade through his neck, and he was dead. And that is the end of him…”

“I… I am so sorry!” Claire hugged the elf tightly, and proud, ancient Ermengarde surprised her by returning the hug just as tightly. “I am so, so sorry.”

“I cannot believe it,” sighed Charisse, shaking his head slowly. “I simply cannot.”

Lyssa was silent. She had been the closest of the three of them to the wonderous hero. Claire turned from her embrace and took her in with her eyes. And her breath caught.

She was shaking. Lyssa’s face had gone white, and her hands were up by her lips. Her red eyes were wide. She looked like she was ready to vomit.

“I didn’t mean to…” Claire wasn’t sure if she’d heard the woman correctly, but that was what it sounded like. But why she should say such a thing, Claire had no idea.

“C-Come!” Charisse took up Ermengarde’s staff and held it out to the sage. “Let us complete this! F-For Delain’s sake!”

“You are right, young man.” Ermengarde smiled bravely through her tears. She took hold of her staff with one small hand, and eased herself out of Claire’s arms with a nasty sniff through her nose. “He wouldn’t want us to wallow in misery. My allies will need our help to rout the remaining forces on the eastern shore. Let us away!”

“And then, onward!” Charisse said with a hopeful smile. “To the Black Palace! To face the Dark Lord!”

Ermengarde said nothing to this, merely hiding her face with the brim of her hat. Claire was certain that grief was clouding the little seer’s heart, as well it should. She would recover her spirit in time.

But three days later, with the Dusk Ford well under the control of the band of heroes, it was clear that none of her company were yet ready to progress. They buried Delain in the hills near where they had made camp. And when Claire, Charisse and Lyssa decided that they could wait no longer, they left Ermengarde and the others behind, and walked the rocky path of the eastern mountains alone.

pathoflyssa