I. The River

...She could hear the water rush past her as she tossed stones into the river...

The world slowly came back into focus, the blur fading and the ringing fading away as the roar and flare of battle returned. Flashing lights streaked through the air above, illuminating the pathways of screaming primeval vengeance. The woman sprawled on the ground—like a ragdoll flung aside by a child in the throes of a tantrum—slowly started the agonizing process of rolling gingerly over and getting up. Around them, ancient ruins battered to pieces. Above her, the twisted and crumbling skeleton of the ruinous building was beginning to groan in protest. It was time to leave. She staggered out with all the grace of a drunk amidst the icy tears of heaven, one arm curled around the half of her ribcage that was cracked or maybe even broken.

Holland was very much an average woman, not tall and not short, not thin and not fat. She was strong, though, made up of lean muscle and dense bone.  The only unusual thing about her was the brand of runes that ringed her neck. Her brown hair was plastered to her face, wet and muddy. Hazel eyes gazed at the world from bruised sockets. Her lip had split at some point in the explosion, but the world had returned...and what a mess it was. Behind her, creaking metal gave way to a sudden collapse and plunged towards the ground. She looked down, checking her armor. It was still intact, mercifully, though it had a few new scars and scorch marks. Perfectly fitted, dull gray plates molded to her torso, arms, and legs. Her helm was gone, but this remained. Each piece was so light it was almost as if she was moving unhindered. It had been crafted using the dreadful artifices of the smiths from the First World, their cold and unfeeling hands fitting each piece to her exact measurements. The paint had long ago been stripped off it, with all its designs and memories.

"Mage!" someone screamed nearby.

She looked up just as a giant, twisting distortion in the air hit the group of soldiers next to her. It shattered the ground as if made of glass and blew apart the bodies with such a vengeance that fragments of bone went hissing past her at lethal velocities and the world rolled around her again. She wasn't certain how it was that she wasn't hit as she picked herself up out of the mud. Apparently the gods were with her today. She picked up her sword. It was a long, cruciform, two-handed blade shaped of a steel alloy and tapered to a wicked point. Only the last six inches were sharpened, the rest of the blade blunted, though it still came to an edge. A deep fuller ran the length of the blade. The hilt was unadorned and strictly functional, but scarred and worn.

She looked around for the mage, but she couldn't see anything through the torrential downpour. The spell had been easy enough to see because the raindrops had suddenly twisted and flowed back up towards the sky or outward in any number of directions.  She heard a horn sound. Someone somewhere was retreating, though she couldn't be sure who anymore with how the formations had shattered. Thunder rolled, almost drowning out the shrieks of the harpies as they descended on the wounded. She couldn't make out any of those light riders with their wicked lances descending on the fallen but still living enemy, but she knew it was only a matter of time now. Both sides would break contact and retreat soon, drawing back to more fortified positions. She was far from the center of the battle, near to the village.

She leaned against the stone of the ruins and tried not to breathe too deeply, lest it tear apart her sides. Her ribs were in agony. Vaguely, through the buzzing in her ears, she thought she heard someone calling to her. She looked around hazily, then let her eyes close and her head fall limp as her body rushed towards the ground. She didn't even react when hands picked up her tortured body and started to carry her off the field. It was easier to just shut her eyes and sleep the sleep of the dying.

It didn't last long. She woke to agony in her side as someone unfastened her armor and peeled it off. Her first instinct was to panic, but she didn't have the strength in her limbs to fight them off. She saw serious faces of both genders, but before she could really focus on them, the world was dark again.

The next time she opened her eyes, it was to the face of an old woman, lined from years of care and bronzed by sun. Her white hair was braided and draped around her shoulder like the curl of some albino serpent. A yellowed smile appeared when Holland stirred. The warrior was lying on her back, the pain of her ribs and even the rest of her body no longer troubling her. Her breathing came easily and though she was stiff, she could move without wanting to cry. She felt feverish and ravenously hungry, a sure sign of the medicines of the ancients.

"How d'ye feel, Lady Penitent?" the old woman said, using Holland's title out of respect. "A rare thing, to see one of yer kind."

"Better," she answered, shifting so that she could pull up her shirt and see her ribs unobstructed. There was not a trace of bruise or damage. Either she had been asleep a very long time or they had great knowledge of healing. She was inclined to believe the latter. "Thank you. You are quite the healer. What is your name?"

The old woman looked pleased at that. "The best in the Kingdom of Yssa," she said without a trace of doubt. "I learned and found summat from the ruins. Back afore the war, anyhow.  I'm Maebh, by the by. Well, we'd best get ye up and moving. The king's men pulled back to the other side o' the river."

"And the men of Leus?" Holland asked as she eased herself up. Her poor muscles were not going to take kindly to being rushed, even with the bruising gone. She'd laid in this bed for too long.

"Them's folk's moving back 'cross the mountains. Reckon it won't be long 'til they're back, though. The season's weather is taking a turn for the worse, that's all. When the streams aren't swollen with autumn floods or iced over with snow, they'll be back," Maebh said. "Which brings me to the big o' the reason I had the lads pull ye off'n the field."

"I'm at your service," Holland said as she popped her neck to release the tension there. That made it feel better. She was still dressed in the black cloth she wore under her armor, the joints reinforced by fine chain. She ran her fingers thoughtfully over one of the raised welts of scar tissue on her throat.

Maebh picked at a loose thread on the blanket. "Them Leyans'll be back," she said quietly. "Laweden's right in the middle. Miracle we ain't been broke yet. We need the king's protection. The baroness is gonna go plead fer it, but she can't make it alone. Too many bandits and gods know what else. Penitents, folks say yer good fighters."

"I owe you my life. I will of course escort your baroness to the capital." The warrior swung her legs around to the edge of the bed and stood up. She could see her armor sitting on the table, though only dimly. The hut was brightened only by two windows and a fire burning in the hearth. It smelled of drying herbs and ever so faint hints of blood, probably Holland's. The mud and blood was still caked on her skin except for where it had been wiped away from open wounds. She felt disgusting. "I need a bath."

Maebh nodded, brightening up. "Thank ye. I was the gel's nurse when she was young. Means a lot to ken she'll have a warrior like ye. Now, let's get some food in ye, then get ye down to the river."

Holland swayed a little as she stood up, but she didn't grab onto anything to support herself. Her limbs worked, even if they were stiff. She limped over to the table where coarse bread and pottage awaited. She wolfed down both without any real thought to how eating so quickly would make her stomach ache or the fact that she needed to breathe. She didn't choke by some miracle, probably because Maebh grabbed her hand to force her to slow down.

"Easy does, ey?" the old woman advised with a chuckle. She eyed her guest speculatively. "So what brings a Penitent to the front line? Thought yer folk kept out o' them mortal matters."

The warrior glanced up from her food. "I was here to die, by the river, as I was born," she said softly.

Maebh raised an eyebrow. "So ye've got a heavy penance, then? What a waste. Ye ain't more than thirty summers."

Holland didn't answer. Explaining would mean delving deep into shadows better left untouched. Instead, she just focused on eating. She could feel her strength coming back. The warrior managed to stop herself from eating until it ached badly, but only just. She let Maebh help her up this time at the healer's own insistence. With the old woman's aid, she limped out through the doorway to look out on a unseasonably warm autumn day. They were on a hill overlooking the small township of Laweden, a place Holland had barely even realized existed. Her focus had been totally on the battle.

Green grass surrounded a dusty village square with its maple and birch trees with leaves of many colors, surrounded by the wooden buildings with thatched roofs she had become accustomed to in the south of Yssa. Livestock and people flowed in and out of the square, carrying goods or otherwise attending to the countless tasks that were part of ordinary life. The fields around were still green and tilled, but she knew that less than a mile down the river, the land became scorched and churned by the hooves of horses. Gradually, her legs regained more and more of their power as she headed towards the river, inhaling deeply of fresh air and faint wood-smoke from the hearths of the buildings nearby.

A cold bath was exactly what she needed. The icy water banished the last traces of sweaty fever and rinsed away much of the mud and blood. Maebh handed over a bar of rough lye soap and a small burlap cloth that she used to scrub away the rest. "There, now ye're fit to see the baroness," the old woman said cheerfully when Holland hauled herself out of the river. "Got some clean clothes for ye here. If ye like, I can wash what ye wore. Seems important, havin' armor in it and the like."

"That would be wonderful," Holland said with a small smile. She had almost nothing in the way of belongings beyond her armor and her sword. Her bedroll and gear were lost on that great plain, her horse undoubtedly slain. "Can you tell me anything more about the baroness?'

"Oh, aye. Barely more 'n a slip of a gel," Maebh said with a nod. "Comes from old noble stock, mind that the family's gone down in standin' over the years. Once upon a time, I hear the House o' Essen ruled from the river here to the Stonemarch."

The amount of land she was referring to was almost more than the average duchy in Yssa. It wasn't untrue, either, from what Holland could remember. She was not a native of this land—she came from the west—but she had learned a little from those who surrounded her. Essen had once been a powerful noble family, until time and debt stripped it of much of its lands. Holland dried herself off with a rough towel that the old woman had brought for her, then changed into the plain leather pants and woolen tunic that the woman had provided. It was warmer than what she had worn under her armor.

"Seva Essen is a good gel," the healer said. She made no mention of the scars that covered Holland's body. Their source was apparent, knowing that she was a warrior. "Fine baroness. She's going to wed some man from the capital to win help, feel it in me bones. Damn shame, to be sure. 'Tis the price o' havin' a good name."

Holland wasn't certain if she should feel sorry for the girl or not. It was noble to try and save her people, even if it meant bonding herself to a stranger for life. But how unfair would that be? She couldn't imagine herself doing such a thing. Then again, at no point in her life had marriage ever been on the table. A penitent could make no vow above that which they took when they swore to redeem themselves in the eyes of the gods. She had not married when she was young and she never would now. Honestly, she had never really wanted to marry. "Well, we'd best find her. I'd like to depart before the High King of Leus has a chance to change his mind."

"Right enough," Maebh said, picking up the warrior's clothes. "I'll stay here and wash yer clothes so ye have 'em when it's time to leave. Ye can find her at the tower on the west side of town. She's been there with guard, keepin' an eye on the battle."

The penitent bowed to the old healer and then set off on her way, barefoot and dressed in these ill-fitting clothes. It made sense, though, that she rely on the kindness of others. Material goods were some of the things she had been asked to give up when she took her vows. A horse, armor, and weapons were acceptable. Those were the means by which she could redeem herself, in service to those who had no one else. Though she had come to this part of Yssa to die, she was willing to live for a time if the good of others demanded it.

Holland found her way to the lone watchtower of the town, a great stone spire that rose from the earth, dating from the time that the territory was still held by the warrior-kings of Usadir. That had been more than a hundred years ago, but their work endured. The guards watched her carefully as she entered and climbed the stairs. Even if she was out of armor and unarmed, she was still clearly a stranger.

Seva Essen was more wisp than woman, from looking at her. She had the fair, cornsilk hair of a woman of the north and bright blue eyes to compliment a delicate, porcelain-like face. Her rosebud lips turned into a smile when she saw the stranger coming up the stairs. Seva was beautiful, albeit in a fragile way, like a spring flower. Her accent was downright archaic, far removed from that of the local peasantry. "Thou dost appear better than when last I did see thee, Lady Penitent," she said in a soft, almost shy voice.

Holland found herself smiling at the young lady. Seva looked maybe nineteen or twenty, if that. It was surprising she wasn't married already, between a combination of her looks and her social standing. It was rare for an eastern noble not to have a match made in their early years. "Thank you, my lady," Holland said, offering the woman a small bow. "I understand that you require protection. I am here to offer it, if I may."

"And suren, am I glad to accept it," Seva said. "Mine things are out with the horses. Thou hast been on many a journey more strenuous, certes."

"No road to the capital is safe or easy in this day and age," Holland said. "I'm glad you chose to seek out company for the travel. It's much wiser not to go alone." She sat down on a barrel and watched the guards vanish back down the stairs at a wave of Seva's hand.

"Methinks 'twas Providence that set thy feet upon mine path," the noblewoman said, smoothing out her russet dress as she sat down beside the warrior. "We had not thought to find survivors. The harpies are thorough in their bloody work, and yet we found thee amidst the dead, still drawing breath."

"I am very grateful for your intervention," the penitent said, bowing her head to the young woman. She was fairly certain she was going to like Seva. The soft-spoken way of the woman was very much contrary to what she had come to expect from nobles in Yssa's capital. Perhaps the distance from the seat of politics had done the girl good, even if the area she hailed from was not quite idyllic. Being the site of many a battle was not a selling feature of the land. "You have my oath that I will do everything in my power to convey you to the capital safely. I owe you my life."

Seva smiled. "And glad I am that thy survival was by divine hands wrought. Has thou fought in many a war?"

"It is what I know," Holland said with a shrug.

"Thou art brave. I have never met a penitent before thee. I did not know there were women among thy ranks," the young woman said, curiosity seeping through as she looked at Holland with those bright blue eyes. "Yet Maebh assures me that thou art assuredly the genuine article."

Holland smiled ever so faintly. "I find atonement to be a goal that crosses many paths."

The baroness nodded. "True enough," she said. "I am glad of thy sword, Lady Penitent. I am Seva, Baroness of Essen. But thou mayest call me Seva, as it pleases thee."

"Thank you, my lady. I am Holland Cea Trădată," the penitent said.

Seva looked surprised. "A foreign name. I didst not think any people of the west took thine order's vows."

"They do not, my lady. I took my vows a while after I arrived here in Yssa," Holland explained as she looked out towards the battlefield. She had not really known the others who had marched on that field, a latecomer to the campaign. Furthermore, she rode ahead of the main body of Yssa's forces, with the vanguard.  Still, it pained her a little to think of them lying unburied where carrion could pick them over. It was not the fate that those who defended their homeland deserved, even if it was often the one such warriors received. She prayed for them silently for a brief moment, hoping that the gods would take each one to a proper rest.

"Thou dost not speak as a Leyan. Thou art a true westling," Seva said, curiosity evident in her inquiring tone. "I have heard many stories of the far west, even of a great empire across the Sundered Sea."

Holland smiled despite herself. "And not a fraction of them are true, I imagine," she said even though she knew that the Imperium was no myth. It was frighteningly real. If the east had any knowledge of what dark machinations ruled the southwest, they would not sleep so easily in their beds. She knew that better than anyone.

Seva laughed. "But most assuredly, thou hast seen much with thine own eyes. If thou couldst but spin a tale as we traveled, I would be most grateful for it," she said as she stood up. "The horses await and mine curiosity abounds."

"Let me fetch my kit, such as it is," the penitent said, thinking of her armor and her sword. She had no tack or saddle, but she was willing to bet that her new companion had arranged something. "Do you have a military saddle, my lady?"

"Yes, though the horse is newly trained for war," Seva said. "I had them craft a lance as well, though 'tis not nearly so fine as thy arms and armor. Mine smith was deeply vexed by thy panoply, swearing to high heaven he had never seen its like, and he was once armorer to the king."

"It was a gift for service rendered," Holland said as they walked down the steps of the tower and set off back to Grace's humble abode.

"How generous of thy benefactor."

Holland smiled wryly. "You would not say so if you knew the nature of the service," the penitent said after a brief pause. They were making good progress back up the hill. People turned and looked at them curiously, doffing caps or curtseying to their liege lady. None of them seemed to know exactly what to make of the woman with their baroness, but she heard the occasional murmurs. Penitents were figures of mixed reputation, by their very nature. One had to have done a great wrong to be among their number seeking atonement.

What has she done? they asked in whispers.

Seva seemed utterly immune to the scrutiny, curious and cheerful in her bright-eyed way. She waited patiently for Holland to gather her things and then lead the way to where the horses waited. One was a grey palfrey, another was a tan pack horse, and the third horse was a powerfully built destrier with a dark hide. Holland immediately approached the warhorse, though with an appropriate level of care. "This is a beautiful horse," the penitent said, a little bit awed as she ran a hand over his powerful, arched neck. Destriers were rare and valuable horses, suited perfectly to the needs of a war. It was not a large horse, smaller than the average draft horse, but it was powerfully muscled and likely very well trained. "Does he have a name?"

"Maël," Seva said, looking pleased as she mounted her own horse. "Thou hast mine thanks for thy appreciation of him. 'Tis good to see him in safe hands. I pray he will see thee through many a battle without falter."

"I think we will be very good friends by the end of this, Maël," Holland said, smiling as one intelligent dark eye studied her. For a warhorse, his temperament seemed quite genteel. She stopped long enough to buckle on her armor before swinging up into the saddle. Once the lance was in her right hand, she felt perfectly at home again. "Thank you, my lady."

The baroness smiled. "Seva, please," she said. "Come, thou hast come a long way and there are many miles yet to ride."