Chapter 2

  The early morning sun caressed their naked bodies, slowly drying the sweat from their entangled frames. She let her fingers slowly brush against his skin, feeling the warmth radiate from him. She put her palm flat against his belly, observing the mismatch of their complexion. His, weathered and lined. Hers, firm and youthful. His, sunkissed and freckled. Hers, a deep smooth green.

  Her gaze met his, her squared pupils lining up with his round ones.

  “When the sunlight hits your eyes just so, I’m carried back to my days on the ocean. Those calm mornings watching the sea wake. Soft, endless, a mesmerizing blue that runs a hundred fathoms deep.

  Never much more than one step away from drowning in her embrace.” The man spoke softly, barely more than a whisper.

  Nicha’s expression went cold.

  “Why would you say that?” she asked, annoyed, staring down at him as she recovered.

  “Oh, calm down Nicha. I'm telling you that I think your eyes are pretty, that's all.” He said, as he rolled on his back.

  His lips stretched in a smile, a smile that irked her. And him using her name made her even more annoyed.

  “We’re fucking, nothing else.” She stated the fact as clearly as she could, leaving no room for misinterpretation. A statement she'd been making for quite some time now.

  The man lifted his head and met her disapproving stare.

  “It’s a compliment, not a proposal. I know what we are and what we’re doing. You need not fall into agitation over flattery.”

  He again laid his head down before continuing,

  “We all need some admiration, I think, lest we start thinking we’re unlovely within and without.

  I want you to know it’s not so.” He cleared his throat before he continued, “I can only guess at the pain your people have endured by the hands of mine. And I cannot change that. But I can, at the very least, show how you are valuable.”

  She stared, wide-eyed and with brows raised, at the man.

  After a moment, trying to grasp what he'd just said, she responded by throwing his shirt at him.

  “I need to check on my brother before I go.”

  She then said, steering the conversation.

  “Of course. Shall I await you outside?” He still had too much affection in his tone for Nicha's comfort.

  “Do whatever you please, Creed.” It came out a bit more snappishly than she intended, but she still proceeded out the door without another word.

  She didn't seek to be hostile, but too often, that's where she ended up.

  She crossed the hallway to her brother's room.

  "Good morning, Gremlin.” She chirped as she entered the large room.

  With a practised smile plastered on her face, she opened the curtains, trying to outshine the very sun.

  Vytes, the one person she would ever bother pretending for.

  His response to her performance was that of a short grunt resounding from beneath the covers.

  “I know you'd be happy sleeping the entire day away but you need to eat something. I'll be gone the whole day. You can sleep then until father gets home.” She said as she hastily put together some porridge and dried fruits in a large bowl.

  Vytes again responded with a simple grunt from his fortress of comfort.

  There was a chair and a small table by the bed already, the table cluttered by her dad's things and a jug of water.

  She sighed.

  “If he insists on sleeping in here, he can at least keep his shit on his side, right?”

  She threw his tools and bags to the far corner.

  “You've always been too kind, Gremlin.” She said as she sat down beside him, laying a gentle hand on him through the blankets.

  “Now, you need to eat.”

  Together they both shared the simple breakfast she had prepared, letting the silence of the morning soothe them.

  Yet the moment was a fleeting one.

  Bells tolled, interrupting the serenity.

  The sound echoed in a distinct pace, a signal she knew all too well, Clong, clank, clong.

  “That ain’t good.” She muttered through a mouth full of gruel.

  Vytes also tried saying something through the paste, but what was far lost in the mush.

  “Don’t worry. You get some more sleep, Gremlin.”

  She forced the oatmeal down, scooped another spoonful and headed for the door, all in the same motion.

  Outside, she found herself alone. Creed had likely already gone to the armory as the bells had called. Or he'd never waited to begin with.

  It didn't matter now.

  With swift hoof, she started off towards the arsenal herself.

  She proceeded down through the dusty, trampled road they called lane.

  Faces of people, both tired and afraid, joined the walkway as she passed. All emerging to the sound of the bells, wondering what ill tidings the chimes ushered.

  Nicha's nerves were not filled with fear however, but with an eager readiness. Indeed, her nerves fed upon the terror shown, fueling her commitment. My fate.

  But instead of being met with a hastened briefing by Commander Curthe, explaining the situation and assigning orders, she was met with idle slouching by men with frustration on their faces.

  Some in front of the armory and most up on the wooden palisade behind the building.

  In the distance, she could hear the undeniable roar of battle, coming from beyond the walls.

  “What's happening?” She asked the gathering.

  “Neregoth-attack. Large one at that. A legion at the gates.” Creed answered, sitting on a stool, leaning far back.

  “Indeed, haven't seen that many since Hurry fell through the mountain up by Red-belly and landed right in a soup of eggs.” Bor said before there was any room for further inquiries.

  Bor, the ancient who loved nothing more than telling the same worn out old stories to the same worn out old men.

  He continued.

  “That boy managed to find the largest spawn i ever saw, hiding in ‘em ol’ mines. We spent hours cutting tadpoles, wading through rank shit and hot blood. That's where the Commander got his scar, you know, in those caves. Barely a week had he been the Commander when a toadling managed to rip his entire face open with one bad claw, and the Commander responded with a hard heel through its sodding brain.” He chuckled through the words but gave no pause.

  “Well, I never took those monsters for caring ‘bout anything but their next meal, but that drove ‘em wild.

  We get back, drenched in their innards, and the red bells start ringing. And I can't think more than *shit be my luck* before they start plowing at the wall. A ton of ‘em, climbing each other trying to get at us.

  We didn't want to disappoint ‘em, of course, so we grabbed our steel and met ‘em from atop.”

  He finally stopped talking, giving them a break. But she'd been through this before, the exact same way, and she knew this was the point where he measured how invested people were.

  “Have I been a good boy?”

  “How bad was it?” One man asked, captured by the lure set.

  “Oh, I've been a real good boy today.”

  She, however, did not grant him any sign of satisfaction. Instead, she pushed past him.

  With a scoff Bor turned to those who seemed more appreciative of his narrative.

  As she passed, he continued.

  “For seven hours we stood on that wall, taking ‘em down one after another. By the end, we could barely lift our arms, we were so tired. The only one still standing was the Commander himself, crazed with the fever and spitting all curses on the toads. He showed us what man he was that day and I would follow him anywhere for it, despite what he is.” He nodded practisedly along with his words.

  Nicha clenched her fists.

  “I never hurt more in my body than what I did that day, but dammit if I've never been more proud. Cleanup was awful though. Took days hauling those foul, slimy corpses away.”

  Too bad your foul, slimy corpse wasn't one of them.

  There had been many wounded that day, she remembered.

  It had been before she'd joined up with the red, but she had witnessed the aftermath, as her father had been busy for long after, tending to the hurt.

  She remembered how Commander Curthe had been dragged to the house, still frothing from his ruined mouth.

  The scar he had was bad, running across the entire side of his face. But judging by the injury, one would consider him a living testament to her father's skill by the fact that he still had every facial feature left, even if it was tarnished.

  “What's going on?” She again asked, this time with a target, directing the question at Creed.

  “We've been leashed.” He answered, straightforwardly.

  She raised her brow.

  He continued.

  “Apparently, Ganroes has decided to lead the defense personally, with only the guard by his side..”

  A frown twisted her face as it contorted more and more in confusion.

  “But that's insanity.”

  “I agree.”

  “We’re the damned Red Watch. Neregoths are our business.”

  “You speak truth.”

  “Ganroes has always been a reckless bastard, but this is beyond that. He will get people killed for no good reason.”

  “In all likelihood.”

  “Where’s the commander?”

  Creed’s stance somewhat shrunk.

  “Contained.” He hesitantly answered.

  “What?” She snapped.

  “Apparently, Ganroes' reasoning for all this had been that since the attack had reached the city's limit, its defense rightly fell to that of the guards. Now, the commander didn’t like that answer, so Ganroes had him under lock and key before he could do anything rash”

  She could feel her blood beginning to seethe in her veins, her patience already gone with the words from Bor.

  “Rash, he said? What sort of madness is this? Oh, Imma piss down Ganroes’ cunt-throat after I rip it from his neck.”

  “I don’t imagine the man will have a throat left after the commander is done with him. But in all sincerity, Nicha, everyone is infuriated by this grievance, but please don't act on it. It would only do harm.”

  That caused her to clench her jaw.

  “Harm is exactly what I want to cause.” She hissed.

  “I think enough harm has been caused already. Let us await the conclusion before we take matters into our own hands.”

  With any luck the bastard takes a nasty claw to his gut and dies slowly and painfully.

  Creed pointed towards the wall-walk that was occupied by her comrades.

  “Go have a look, I know you want to. Leave us with weaker constitutions down here.”

  She couldn't deny it, she did want to look, needed to look.

  And as if waiting for his que, Hurry shouted her name from atop the palisade.

  “Get up here!” He called.

  With swift hoof she ascended the small staircase leading to the wall-walk, the thunder of combat growing louder up on the bulwark.

  “Did you hear? Apparently, some wanderer came running, dragging this lot behind them.” Hurry said.

  Before she had the time to answer, however, she was assailed by the gruesome scene below.

  Bodies, both man and creature laid strewn about, hacked and ripped to pieces.

  Above the corpses, the battle unfolded, violently and without structure.

  Guards with sword and board, slashing widely and trying to block incoming flailing, only for their cuts to bounce off the hard chitin the creatures possessed, and claws tearing at shields, scraping at the guards wielding them.

  “What are they even doing?” She muttered.

  “Mm, don’t block, for your guard will only brake. You have to dodge strikes and strike at uncovered flesh.” Hurry answered, citing the simple battle tactic they all fought by.

  Circling around the melee, diving in and flying out the other side was a rider waving his sword high, his steed all clad in armor.

  Ganroes. The only man who would value a warhorse out on the frontier.

  Did the fuck-noise only do this to use his very expensive mount?

  Though, she could see the charger leaking red, its legs soaked.

  “That horse will be dead by nightfall.” She shook her head, “He has managed to kill both his men and his horse.”

  “Mm, those claws have a way of finding any gap. I'll bet that beast is covered in scratches and punctures beneath its mail.” Hurry added.

  Nicha responded with a slow nod, morbidly mesmerised by the carnage, unable to look away.

  “Insanity.” She again entitled this whole ordeal.

  “No, not insanity. Insanity removes choice, and with it, guilt. This is vanity, and Ganrose is choosing it, and for that, he bears the full measure of his men’s deaths.” Hurry said.

  “Their blood is on his hands, forever staining them. May he drown in it.” He added, low and with a growl.

  This caused Nicha to lift her gaze, shifting it towards him in thoughtful pondering.

  “I never took you for the poetic sort, Hurry. You almost sound like Creed. Have you been talking to him?” She asked.

  Hurry smiled.

  “We all have our sides. But no, I haven't been speaking with Creed much lately. Does he actually spend time with anyone except his wife?”

  Nicha felt a twist of guilt in her guts at the question.

  “I only see him on patrols.” She lied, returning her gaze to the battlefield.

  The guards were finally starting to gain ground, the monsters toppling from repeated blows to their jagged forms.

  “Last anyone saw, they headed into the tunnels.” Hurry said, bringing her back.

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  “What?”

  “The wanderer. The one who dragged all these Neregoths here to begin with. They apparently were seen limping real bad, heading down the old church-tunnels.”

  Nicha sighed.

  “Ah cock, that's part of our route. I've cleaned some nasty shit from down there. Rabbits and rodents with their stomachs hanging open and rotting, but never man.” She cursed before continuing, “What an awful fate, banging against the gates down there while the Neregoths close in. Someone really ought to close that tunnel from atop.”

  “Maybe, but who would?”

  At that, she had to reluctantly concede to his point.

  Who would?

  One final push and the creatures below broke, turned fleeing towards the hills.

  Nicha had seen such behaviour before but rarely. Now though, it was a blessing, for it meant the end of this trial. Some of her comrades started sending arrows down range when, finally, an opening presented itself, pinning a few more of the Neregoths to their imminent demise, as men closed in with gore covered steel ready.

  When they gathered again, a wave of cheers and congratulations rippled through the still standing guardsmen, drenched in both sweat and blood, all visibly exhausted.

  At the centre, Ganroes and his steed stood, the warhorse breathing heavy, dripping thick droplets of crimson onto dry grass.

  Ganroes himself, barely a scratch on his armor, was holding his sword high, pointing it to the sky. His banner of victory.

  The celebration had begun.

  Blood was everywhere. They had aided the guardsmen the best they could, assisting the wounded and carrying the dead inside the city walls.

  The people of Mita’s Merging had sung their gratitude, of course, for the man who'd kept the monsters at bay. There were those weeping for loved ones lost, but those were quickly ushered to the side. Their sorrow had no room in this crowd.

  With the gathering of the injured, her father had appeared. He'd raised a makeshift infirmary by the main gate, ready to put his healing knowledge to work.

  Cleansing the cuts and quenching the bleeding with vinegar-drenched cloth was a priority when dealing with gashes caused by Neregoths, her father had often said. And if it was bleeding too much, hot iron would be needed. Other injuries could wait.

  He would have a busy day, she knew.

  “You was up early.” She told her father as she approached, supporting one of the wounded. Or rather, she was mostly carrying the guardsman, him clinging tightly to her neck as he had taken what looked like a dull axe to the thigh.

  It was always hard to tell what the toads' weapons were supposed to actually be.

  Yet, with enough strength, anything could be useful as a weapon, and neregoths had plenty to spare.

  “Hmph” he grunted in response, then shifted his focus to the man she hauled with her, looking him over.

  “Lay him down, I have to see how deep the wound goes.”

  As she followed the instructions given, he continued the conversation she started.

  “Your brother woke me up. I figured I would tend to the garden instead of laying there in the dark.”

  He examined the injury, then gave a click of his tongue. A tell of his, a signal that what he saw was worse than it seemed.

  “I'm afraid we'll have to burn it.” He told the guard. “Nicha, hand me the vinegar and some cloth, won't you?”

  He got up and put a dark metal rod into a fire, the end of which had turned black by burnt flesh.

  The guard’s face now pale and glossy with sweat, his eyes drooping with fatigue. Either, he'd not apprehended what was told, or he wasn't in a state to respond.

  “It itches.” He mumbled a hoarse whisper as he tried with weak strength to relieve his torment.

  She grabbed his wrists gently. She knew what misery that itching carried, she had felt it more than once. But she also knew that his fumbling would only hurt him more.

  Her father approached, having produced leather straps and started constraining the guardsman to the simple bedding.

  “I need you to check on your brother.” He said as he strapped the guards legs to the bedpoles.

  “I can manage that, I suppose.” She relented with a sigh. Since the commander is jailed.

  “Good” he answered, while restraining the guard’s wrists, letting Nicha release her grasp.

  “Nicha,” he started as he proceeded to force cloth into the barely aware guard's mouth. “Ascendicar Zakar was asking about you again. You need to talk to him.”

  A frown tugged at her face.

  “Don't start with th.. “

  “You bring him home to spend the night?” he interrupted, hissing at her. “Have you no shame?”

  Nicha couldn't speak, anger flooding her senses, making her unable to think.

  “Leave.” He muttered, then grabbed the metal rod from the fire, now glowing red at the tip.

  Before she could act on her anger, however, the last sensible part of her forced her from the tent, and the sounds of her father's treatment soon followed.

  First came a sickening sizzle of searing flesh, then an agonized squeal muffled through the wedged fabric between the guard’s jaw, but still making her want to cover her ears. The squealing grew, the muzzle of cloth no longer dampening any misery, as it mutated into a horrifying, full out scream.

  With no wish to further scar her memory, she hurried out the tent, knowing the smell would undoubtedly stick to her like foul sap, leaving wounded to the healer's service.

  “This shit filled, maggot infested, rotting ballsack of a day.” She muttered to herself as she trudged through town.

  It was not even midday yet, the sun hours from its zenith, and she already felt completely spent.

  Oh, how she longed for her bed.

  Mita’s Merging did not share her weariness, however, as the town was bussing with weird energy.

  People were in a mingled state of celebration and in a hurry to start their daily routine, making everyone stressed, draining Nicha even further.

  First they give, then they take. Balance.

  Such is the way of the world.

  Yet lately, there seems to be an overwhelming amount of taking.

  She frowned up.

  Far in the distant sky, darkness loomed, a blackness deep as midnight, moving cracks of radiance fighting to pass through the abyssal cover. The sun shone high and bright across from the consuming ink, like rivals in the great vault of the heavens.

  The darkness, commonly known as the veil, was coming fast.

  The veil wasn't a rare occurrence by any means.

  Its gloom washed the land more frequently than rain. Especially in this dry hell.

  With heavy hoof she dragged herself up the last piece of dirt road leading to her father's property.

  Something caught her attention, pulling her from the brooding mire of her own thoughts.

  A figure, slumped against the wall, barely more than a heap of dirty red fabric, with their hood drawn low over their face.

  What new torment is this then?

  She figured it had to be one of the city drunks.

  Nicha approached without greeting or word, awaiting the figure to make the first move.

  But she got nothing. Not even a twitch of acknowledgement.

  Nicha weighed her option to just move past and leave the wretched sod, but by this point she couldn't even tell if it was alive.

  Considering how this morning's turning out, it wouldn't surprise me.

  “Oi.” She said.

  “Oi”? Who greets someone with “Oi”? I got the social grace of a fucking wank, she began arguing with herself.

  Eyes locked unto hers. Blue eyes, she could tell, rimmed by lined skin. A woman's gaze.

  “My memory served me correctly this time I see.” The woman said, a bit hoarse but clear enough. Not the slurred ramble Nicha was expecting.

  “Are you one of the drunkards?” Nicha asked, trying to place the woman.

  “No, but I wouldn't say no to a strong one right about now.” She chuckled, then winced as she shifted where she sat.

  “You hurt, then? You looking for my father?” Nicha asked.

  “Well, your father is Derzh, correct? The woman asked.

  Nicha cocked her head.

  “Doesn't everyone know that?” she asked back.

  “Oh, I have not been around these parts in many years, dear.” The woman answered, eyes smiling.

  What strangeness is this?

  “I'm an old friend of your father's. And I also happened to be quite hurt.” She continued.

  “Yeah, so are the guards. He's helping the wounded ones by the gate, and will be for the rest of the day. Try there.” Nicha said, just wanting to get this done with.

  “I'm afraid I can't walk much. I strained my foot earlier, and now I can't lean on it. And besides, I rather keep myself inconspicuous, see.”

  Nicha eyed the woman, or rather the small slit between fabrics, then rubbed her brows.

  “Well then.” Nicha said as she started for the door.

  “Actually,” the woman cleared her throat, “mind if I wait inside?”

  Nicha stopped, sighed.

  “Yes, I do mind.” she snapped. “I haven't even seen your mug yet and you want me to just let you in? I'm guessing you're with the Ardental, since you're acting odd and all.” That caused the woman to raise her brows. “That's fathers business and I want nothing to do with it. Maybe you can find a better gutter to wait in. I heard old man Percival down the road has the best one. Crawl there.”

  The goblet runneth over. Not surprisingly since im always filled to my fucking brink with the frustrated liquid.

  The stranger eyed Nicha for a while, slowly nodding.

  “I am sorry, dear. Of course you have the right to be sceptical.” Came an hesitant answer, followed by an even more hesitant removal of her hood and mask.

  The face unveiled was a deeply lined one, framed by white hair and most prominently marked by a scar on the forehead, the symbol of a flame.

  She had a big purple bruise on her jaw, her lips split.

  Nicha couldn't place this woman. In fact, she didn't recognise her even the slightest, and in a town where everybody knew everyone, that made her brow frown ever deeper.

  “You're that lone wanderer, then?”

  The woman seemed to lighten at the question, dropping her shoulders as her smile grew wider.

  “I wouldn't call myself a wanderer. A stumbler seems more apt.”

  Nicha let out a snort, but she found no humor in the words.

  “Heard you got stuck in the tunnels. How'd you manage to drag a whole pack of Neregoths with you? Fell into a spawn or something?” Nicha asked.

  “Or something.” The woman repeated for an answer, then continued, “I went into the tunnels, but I was never stuck, dear. You don't know of the key, I take it?”

  “What key?”

  “Tell you what,” she reached into her collar and removed something around her neck. A pendant.

  “If you let me stay inside until Derzh gets back, I'll give you this.” She held up the necklace. “Should fetch a pretty price, that. And I'll tell you about that key as well.” The woman in red said.

  Nicha let her tounge run along the base of one her tusks.

  A thick chain supporting two hands grasping a fire, all in shining gold. The mark of the Ardental.

  Nicha had seen Ascendicar Zakar sport a similar piece. Though, this one was much finer, flashing with inlaid jewels and gemstone, sparkling despite its worn condition.

  “Well,” Nicha said, “I guess we could have you waiting, I suppose.” Showing her first genuine smile of the morning. “The thing is though, I can't stay. And I don't trust you enough to have you wandering around, so I'll have to lock you up.”

  The woman lifted a brow.

  “I can't even walk, dear.”

  “So it won't matter none, will it now?” Nicha answered, firmly. “There's a food cellar we'll put you in. It got a bed and everything, I sleep down there myself when it gets to hot.”

  She put her hand out to the stranger on her doorstep.

  “Deal?”

  The woman took Nichas hand in hers and nodded a “Thank you” before continuing. “I might need some assistance, however.”

  “You a priest or the like?” Nicha asked, as she opened the door with one hand whilst shouldering the woman with her other arm.

  “The like sounds about right.” The woman answered, wincing as she got led.

  “Then how'd you get that, then?” Nicha nodded at the jewelry. ”You did something?

  “Oh trust me, I did plenty something. Not any good but I did alot.” The woman said, still struggling but with a smile on her lips.

  Nicha opened the door to her room.

  “Is that why you would keep yourself unrecognised?” Nicha asked.

  “Very much so, dear.”

  “Would people want to hurt you?”

  “More than a few would, I think.”

  “Would they be right to?”

  “I deserve far worse.”

  Nicha sat the woman down on her bed, then swung open the trapdoor in the middle of her room.

  “And now you're a better person? You looking for redemption, are you?”

  “No,” The woman laughed, “I'm far from redeemable. Besides, redemption is a thing one does for themselves. I'm done with such things.”

  Nicha helped her, once again, forward, guiding her down the narrow, uneven stairs. The woman leaned hard on Nicha, and soon, Nicha was as good as carrying the woman down underground. The woman looked Nicha straight into her eyes as they descended, gravity painting her gaze.

  “You know, my entire life I spent doing things for my own gain. Even my faith was in the end for my benefit. Not in service of church but in service of me. It caused a lot of grief for other people, and once I could accept it, it caused a lot of grief for me.”

  Nicha lifted the woman past the last step, as it was loose and leaning, putting her down on the dirt floor.

  “So now you do nothing for yourself? You don't eat, shit, sleep? No need for anything as you have your righteous selflessness feeding you with everything you need.”

  The woman chuckled.

  “I get the feeling people should tell you to shut the hell up more often.”

  Nicha stopped.

  “Oh? Not as fun when you get barked at?” the woman continued asking, a somewhat mockingness to her tone.

  “Mostly surprised, actually.” Nicha answered after giving her a moment's pause, then continued helping her the last few steps of the short but arduous journey.

  “People tell me to shut up all the time. But never priests, they just want to peddle their notions on how to live. Now, I'm no slinger, but it seems like a shit way to trick people by being a shit.” Nicha continued as she sat the woman down. They had reached their destination, consisting of a straw-filled mattress Nicha called bed.

  The woman closed her eyes, groaning as she was lowered. She then sat back, breathing heavily, leaning against the wall.

  After a few moments she continued. “Im no priest, dear, remember? And I'm not trying to convince you of anything.” She opened her eyes, “except that part of letting me stay here.” she said, a smile again stretching her lips.

  "Speaking of..” Nicha said, putting her open hand out.

  The woman slowly dropped the piece of jewelry into it.

  It was heavier than Nicha expected.

  I could beat someone to death with this.

  Then, darkness lowered itself around them, the outside light growing dim, interrupting the moment.

  “The veil?” The woman asked, though it wasn't really a question.

  “I'll get you some water and some candles. It'll be dark down here once I close the hatch anyway.” Nicha said.

  After procuring said items and some leftover stale bread to eat beside them, she nodded her goodbyes and was starting for the stairs.

  “Thank you.” The woman said, stopping Nicha.

  Nicha turned and nodded again.

  “You've done a great deed today, Nicha. May your fate be rewarded in kind.”

  Nicha turned and started walking up the stairs, then turned halfway up, bending down under the floor roof to look at the woman.

  “How'd you know my name? Have my father told you about me?”

  “Well, we've met before, long ago. Though I didn't recognise you at first.”

  “We have? When? What's your name?”

  “Oh, you were a small child back then, you wouldn't remember. Though you were awfully scared of me.” The woman lowered her voice as she continued. “Probably for good reason.” She then returned to her normal tone. “I was once known to many as Mother Maria. You can call me that.”

  Nicha stared at Mother Maria for a while, then shrugged.

  “Guess I was.”

  She then rose and proceeded up the last few steps, shutting the hatch behind her.

  Nicha glanced about her room, then settled on the old heavy bookcase she had. Just in case, she thought, as she proceeded to drag the old furniture, scraping against the planks, and leaving it right on top of the trapdoor.

  What if I was to die now? I wonder how long it would take for father to find the poor sod down there.

  She chuckled at the thought as she headed out the door and out onto the street.

  Who was that sod, really, anyway?

  “Mother Maria.” She mumbled to herself, tasting the name.

  The veil had moved quickly by and was now passing The Sundial, high in the sky.

  Unfortunately, I know exactly what piece of wrinkled skin would know the answer to that question.

  With hurried hoof she sprang forth, heading towards the armory yet again.

  The courtyard in front of the building wasn't as populated as it was earlier in the day, but a couple souls still remained.

  One of them was Bor, The old bastard. For once whom i was looking for.

  “Oi, Bor.” She called, the tone not hiding her resentment of the man.

  He responded by squinting at her, apparently trying to discern who would invoke his name.

  Bor, you blind old nipple, there's only two green women in this walled shitstain and the other one has a growth in her mouth making her unable to speak.

  She made it to about a couple of arms lengths away before the old man recognised her, letting his face drop somewhat.

  “Nicha.” He answered in an even less friendly tone than she had sounded.

  Is the turd mad i didn’t tickle his ego?

  She did not contain her smile even a little bit.

  “You still go to church, right? Basking in the golden flame and all that?” She asked, getting straight to it.

  Bor lifted one sceptical brow.

  “Yes?” He answered, then continued, “I see your father there o so often, but never you. Why is that?”

  “Does Mother Maria sound familiar?” She asked, not bothering to answer his question.

  He stared at her for a quick moment, then raised his hand to scratch at his cheek as he replied.

  “Of course, doesn’t everybody know of her? You know, I actually met the lady once, many years ago. Walked straight through the main gates, bloodied and barely able to stand up right, but even then she had a presence to her. Oh, she wielded flame and authority in equal measure, she did, even as a woman. It’s not easy for women to..”

  Nicha cut him off.

  “But what did she do? She wasn’t a priest so why was she known? Who was she?”

  Bor was of course offended by the interruption, his expression revealing every feeling, but the fickle old man lightened quickly when it was his turn to speak.

  “I'll tell you what she was, girl. She was someone who got things done. She valued the old ways, and she held sinners accountable to their wrongdoings. I think we need more like her.”

  “But what did she do?” Nicha asked again, dragging out the word in hope of actually getting a response.

  “A hell of a lot more than most others get done, that's for sure.”

  Nicha sighed at the response, as there still were no answers to her questions. But the man continued unabated.

  “She did what others wouldn't dare, and instead of thanking her for it, they hate her for it.”

  Nicha rubbed her brows in frustration, was about to turn around and walk away without another word, when Bor added. “She was friends with queen Macila's father, spreading the word of the Ardental in the whole south. She’s the man behind the church's influence in the south, and with the queen. And they say,” Nicha turned her gaze to the old man again, “that she was the mind behind Fort Light. Of course, it's naught but rumors. But it's been told by many and for a long time.”

  And there it was. The name finally fitting into place in her memory. Nicha had heard the same rumors many times.

  Bor continued his monologue but Nicha was not paying attention anymore. Her eyes were gazing to the south, where the last specks of the veil darkened the sky, disappearing over the horizon.

  Beyond that horizon, and further still, down where civilization had a firmer grip than here at the borders, Fort Light laid.

  Fort Light, where sinners go and never come back. Or was it Fort Light, where sinners go and return not like they were?

  She'd heard them all. Fort Light, where they burn sinners to create them bestial soldiers queen Macila wielded from the ashes of the wicked.

  The one thing they all had in common was that nothing good awaited the sinners sentenced to Fort Light.

  Every once in a while, the Penitent Eyes, seekers for the Ardental church and the queen, find their way up here, searching for heresy and whatnot.

  Didn't they take Hurry's nephew or some such last week?

  A hand waved in front of her vision, forcing her back to reality. Bor’s hand.

  “You know, you come marching up here, asking me all these questions, and then you don't even pay attention when I answer.” He said, clearly upset by her conduct.

  He has a point, I need not be an ass all the time.

  Bor was not done, however.

  “You ain't nothing but a rude fucking cow.”

  For a second, she could only stare at him. Then came the rage, and this time with a fury. As did her fist, connecting hard with the old man's cheek.