II. The Past

Holland tugged on her reins, bringing her horse to a gradual stop. They had been riding for upwards of a week and spent most of their time in conversation, though Seva did the vast majority of the talking. It wasn't that the warrior was particularly dour. It was just that she found herself fond of the baroness's soft and gently lilting voice.

"Thou hast evaded mine questions most skillfully," Seva said with amusement as she swung down from the saddle.

Their campsite-to-be was in the midst of a clearing in the woods defined by an ancient monolith surrounded by a few pieces of ancient stonework. The ground sloped gently down into a little hollow with the great standing piece as its center, surrounded by a still pool. Holland lead her horse down to the water and let him drink, working to unfasten the saddle. They had not seen hide nor hair of any bandits or other people at all, which meant the road was comfortably quiet. Holland hadn't been expecting merchants, not with a war on this way. Autumn leaves fell around them in brilliant shades of red and gold from a mix of trees: white-barked birch and hard maple, spreading oaks and red-purple ash trees. It was beautiful. Holland loved that about the east.

"There's not much to tell," Holland said, smiling over at her companion as they set up camp. It fell to the warrior to collect wood, but she didn't have to go far to find dead branches aplenty, which kept her just at the edge of the conversation.

"Thou hast no tales of courage? No stories of great battles?" Seva said. She had enjoyed regaling the westerner with tales of her homeland's history and heroes, which seemed to fascinate Holland, but she was a little disappointed not to receive the same.

"Not a one," Holland said as she set down the wood. Seva had a small fire going already, so it was easy enough to get it fed enough to ward away the chill.

"Thy birthplace, what was it called?" the baroness asked, studying her new friend. They had each found that it was surprisingly easy to get along for two people with such different histories.

"Iveală," Holland said pleasantly. When she looked up, her breath almost stole itself away. In the light of the fire and the setting sun, Seva's golden hair reflected the light like a halo. She felt an unfamiliar flutter in her stomach and staunchly ignored it. "I am of the Oameni, or I was at least in part. I left that life behind long ago. Even long before I was a penitent."

"Wherefore didst thou become a penitent?"

"That would be a complicated answer to a simple question," Holland said with a wry smile. "I was forced to make a decision about who I wanted to be, what life I wanted to lead. I had no choice but to throw away the life I had known and the name I wore since birth. And I had very much to atone for by that point."

"What was thy name?" Seva said softly, curiously. Her blue eyes seemed almost crystalline in the firelight. It made it hard for Holland to find and marshal a resistance.

"Immortalis Ilex Calida Invicta," Holland recited, feeling a faint chill even as she just said the name. It was a reminder of everything she had done. She hated the first word more than she would ever be able to express. It was a burning reminder of what she had been bred for, what she had been groomed for. Once upon a time, it had been a mark of pride. Now she hated it.

"Why Holland? Why Cea Trădată?"

"Ilex is a name for the plant your people call holly. It grows everywhere in the lands of the Oameni. When I told the old knight who found me that, he started referring to me as 'the Hollander'. It was shortened with affection and so I have left it be," Holland said, smiling faintly. "I have many good memories of Alan. He taught me to speak your tongue and dress properly and conduct myself properly. Before he died, he called me daughter."

Seva smiled at that. "I am pleased thy introduction to our lands was so welcoming."

"It was not always roses," Holland admitted. "The villagers took exception to my old habits."

"Such as?"

Holland turned her eyes away. "I have gained warmth as I travel. I was not a kind spirit when I arrived on these shores. Alan worked hard to correct that, but even his work is imperfect," she said.

"Thou art genteel as I have seen," Seva said earnestly.

"So does a guard dog seem to its master," the warrior said. "I have given you my oath that I will conduct you safely to the capital. You need never fear my bite. Those who would harm you, however, will have a problem."

"Thou art a faithful hound," the baroness said with amusement and approval both evident in her voice.

"I try, my lady."

"Seva," the noblewoman corrected with a faux sternness. "Must I command thee use my name?"

Holland laughed but didn't answer. She fed another branch to the fire and checked the rather unappealing rations that were warming on the hot rocks beside the fire. It was hard tack and preserved meat, with a few potatoes and carrots that needed to be eaten before they could rot. Vegetables would be rare here in a while. The beer was good, though very different from the wine of her homeland.

"So what about thine second name, Cea Trădată?" Seva asked. "Is it from thy homeland too?"

"In a way. It's of the tongue of the Oameni," Holland said. Her jaw had tightened a little and Seva realized they were touching near a sensitive subject.

"If thou wouldst tell me what it means, I will confess mine own secret," Seva said. "Then thou might be assured I have no hold over thee that thou might not counter."

Holland looked up from flipping over the hard tack, hazel eyes focusing on Seva's sincere face. "Alright," she said cautiously. "It means 'the Betrayed'. But as to why I bear it, that is not a story for tonight."

Seva smiled, though she was starting to look nervous. "Thank thee," she said before nervously twisting her signet ring on her finger. "There is no fine way to explain this...but I am a mage."

Holland raised an eyebrow. Magic was incredibly dangerous as a force, particularly on the battlefield. Oh, she had heard of it doing smaller things like little magic tricks to amuse children, but above all it was powered by life. Blood. She had run across the mages of Leus, who were quick to sacrifice any living thing for their dream, from growing trees to animals to people. It made them powerful, but it killed them just as swiftly. A body could not maintain the strains demanded by battle for long. And they were carefully controlled by the Leyan king, each one bonded in service to one of his chief vassals. "Really? I was under the impression Yssa had a certain distaste for mages. One that involved torches and pitchforks."

Seva nodded. "Very much so," she admitted. "I was a hostage to Leus when I was young, to ensure my father would not make war. In that place, I found a love of books and that appetite for study brought me to the bending of the world in magic. For the first time, the sickly quiet child of Staffan of Essen found something worthy to do. Surely thou canst understand such a thing with thine own vocation."

Holland rocked back on her heels, but she nodded. It certainly added a new dimension to her ward. "I can understand," she said with a nod.

"When I came again to my native land, I continued mine studies in secrets, combing every familial conquest's spoils for hints of Leyan knowledge. I am but a mere dabbler compared to the mage-priests of Leus, of course," Seva said. "I trust thou wilt keep mine secret to thyself."

The warrior found herself looking again into those trusting eyes. "I will," she promised without really considering the consequences should it become known. Did they matter? She was sworn to defend Seva until the capital no matter the threat. She was not going to shrink in fear from an angry mob. "But why tell me?"

"If it comes to battle, I thought thou wouldst be better forewarned should I come to thy aid...which I most assuredly will," Seva said. She hesitated. "And also...thou art the first friend I have had in a very long time, and certes the most likely to understand."

Holland smiled at the baroness. "You can rely on me, my lady."

"Seva!" the noblewoman said with a playful exasperation, throwing her hands up into the air. It served well to break her own nervousness and it also appeared to put Holland a little bit more at ease.

The penitent started laughing. She was grateful that the gods had granted her a respite from the loneliness that was an unavoidable part of her search for atonement. It had been a long time since she had last smiled, last felt her face ache from humor. "I am so pleased you know your own name, my lady," she said with a gentle teasing.

The young woman threw a handful of leaves at her and gave her a mock glare. But before she retorted, the noblewoman suddenly frowned. "Canst thou smell of this strangeness? I mark no storm nor inclement wind," Seva said.

Holland stiffened as she inhaled sharply. She knew that smell, like the faint remnants of a lightning strike mixed with a harsh chemical scent. Demon. That was the eastern word for it, anyway. "I think we may be testing your abilities sooner rather than later," she said, grabbing her sword and thanking the gods that she hadn't taken off her armor yet. She slid the blade out of the scabbard and blinked hard. Immediately, the world shifted into black and white for her, flashes of life visible as little sparks of lightning. But there it was, a humming presence of white glow approaching them through the brush. Every movement was a crackle and arc. Holland bit her lower lip thoughtfully as she tried to make out more detail. It moved like a man, though a tall and lithe one. She could barely make out the spark, which meant it was covered with something. She blinked again, returning to her normal vision.

A man emerged from the bushes, looking disheveled but relieved to see a camp. Seva glanced over at Holland and saw that her friend hadn't relaxed. She kept her hands raised, ready to cast a spell at a moment's notice.

"Thank the gods," the man panted out. He looked like he'd been running, his clothes torn and bloodied. Holland scrutinized him. He looked Yssan with his fair hair and skin, but seemed thin from hunger. It was his eyes that gave Holland pause, even in the fading light of the evening. They were a warm brown, but there was something not quite right...like the cadence of his blinks was wrong. "Please, you have to help me. My caravan..."

Seva lowered her hands cautiously. "What happened to thy fellows?" she asked. She couldn't help but notice that the smell of ozone and chemicals was stronger now that she was near him, along with the copper smell of blood. A lot of blood. The back of her neck was prickling uncomfortably.

"We know what you are, demon," Holland said coldly. "Why are you here? You cannot want new victims. You have had some recently enough, considering your dress." She pointed to the blood dripping down the man's face, originating from a perfect cut following his hairline.

Seva didn't immediately understand, but a thought slowly crept up from the dark recesses of her mind. This demon looked so human...was it possible that maybe, just maybe, it was...wearing a person? She felt her stomach turn over violently.

The man's voice suddenly changed into a grating monotone, losing all hint of human inflection. "CLEVER THING, ARE YOU NOT? I WONDER, WHAT ROAD BRINGS YOU TO ANAMALECH'S DOMAIN?"

"That is not your business, Anamalech," Holland said. She was incredibly leery about dealing with demons, but she didn't want to fight a creature that she knew could throw her through the ancient oak she was standing in front of. That would hurt.

"IS THE PRETTY BARONESS LOOKING FOR A HUSBAND? I COULD HELP," the demon said, human-like eyes going dark from corner to corner as its pupils twisted and expanded to allow in more light. Now it would be able to see them altogether too clearly for Holland's taste.

"Thine help is not desired," Seva said boldly, stepping forward to stand next to Holland. She wasn't certain why this demon was so willing to play matchmaker, but she was not eager to find out either.

"FIRST A PRINCE OF YSSA, NOW A BARONESS. IT SEEMS ALMOST WORTH IT TO COLLECT THE HEADS OF NOBLES. THEIR SERVANTS WILL HAVE TO DO."

"I imagine that man wandered off alone in the woods," Holland said quietly, still eyeing the creature.

"The prince came this way?" Seva said, both surprised and hopeful. If they could catch him, it was possible she could find aid even before reaching the capital. The shorter the journey, the less time her lands would have to sit unprotected.

"I would not advise believing the creature," Holland said warningly. She was familiar with this kind of demon. "They lie."

"WHAT REASON DO I HAVE TO LIE, MORTAL?" Anamalech said, his face twitching strangely as he tried to control the muscles of his stolen face enough to form a smile. "YOUR PRINCE IS A DEAD MAN. HE GOES TO BATTLE MOLOCH IN THE NAME OF HIS FATHER."

"Moloch is a powerful fiend," Seva whispered. "I have heard his name in many a tale. The Duke of Sparre pays him tribute to keep him away from civilized lands."

Holland raised an eyebrow. "But you are no friend to Moloch, I think, nor his servant," she said, staring down Anamalech. "What would you do if I told you we intended to kill Moloch?"

The demon stared at Holland with its dark eyes. "I WOULD CALL YOU FOOL."

Seva took a deep breath. "What if thou rendered us aid enough to balance the scales of fate? Dost thou truly desire Moloch to lord his dominion over thee. He can bend a duke, while thou dost merely sit in the woods and scavenge off the dead," she said, hoping that her appeal to its pride would work. She had heard demons schemed against each other, so perhaps this one would look favorably on a chance to remove a rival. When she glanced over at Holland, the woman gave her a little nod.

"I HAVE A WEAPON, HIDDEN SOME WAY FROM HERE. YOU MAY HAVE IT IF YOUR WARRIOR BESTS ME," the demon said. "IF SHE LOSES, HER FLESH IS MINE TO WEAR."

The baroness went pale. "I do not like this deal," she said.

Holland sighed. "He would probably try to kill us anyway," she murmured softly to her friend. "We can't be allowed to go bring soldiers back in a number great enough to root him out."

"I fear for thee greatly," Seva said, reaching out to grab Holland's gauntleted hand.

"Me too," Holland said, gently giving Seva's hand a squeeze. "Be ready to run." She turned and looked at the demon. "I accept your challenge, Anamalech."

The demon nodded its head and raised its hands. Steely claws slid out of its fingers with a shrill grating noise. Holland saw its legs bend and pushed Seva to the ground immediately. The creature leaped on her, driving its claws into her shoulders as it slammed her body into the tree. They couldn't pierce her armor, however. She felt her recently repaired ribs crack on impact and a rush of adrenaline hit her system. The pain felt so, so good. She rocked her head back and slammed her forehead into its face, disrupting its vision for just long enough that she could draw the dagger she wore on her belt and plunge it into the creature's chest until she forced it through the demon's iron hide beneath the fleshy coverings. There was no organ there for her to do deadly wound to, but it still felt the damage.

The creature hurled her halfway across the clearing, eyes narrowing when she rolled with the blow and stood up. Holland let the knife fall, holding onto her sword with both hands. She could feel it all coming back to her, that burning desire to just see something bleed. It felt so good to be in a fight like this. She waited for the demon to lunge at her with another powerful leap. When it did, she sidestepped and dropped to one knee, her blade biting into its leg with a vicious arc and enough power to sever the thin limb. Black ichor splashed onto the ground, but the thing didn't so much as make a sound. It just rounded on her and slammed its knee into her face so hard it almost broke her neck. Her nose crunched flat, but it had done that many times over the course of her lifetime. She stabbed upwards, piercing its core. There was an actinic flash and violent tingling raced across her skin. Her whole body cramped as she fell to the ground, sword still locked in her hands even though the creature's death throes had finished their work. That was impressive. Normally the properties of her armor protected her from such things. It was a clear sign that her current suit was old and worn.

"Holland!" Seva screamed, running over.

The warrior's whole body went limp now. She felt dazed and mildly confused. Smoke was curling from her gauntlets. She didn't object when Seva brushed her now static-laden hair out of her face. "Fine," she managed to slur out. "Fix my nose?"

Seva nodded and straightened the warrior's crushed nose. The jolt of pleasure mingled with pain Holland felt jarred her back into full consciousness. She smiled up at the baroness even though she could taste blood. "All's well that ends well," she groaned out as she levered herself up. She took a moment to lean on Seva. "Sorry."

"That might have killed thee! By all rights, it should have!" Seva said incredulously. "Holland, thou art favored well."

"I was trained to fight them," Holland said through gritted teeth. Gods, but her body ached like she'd been beaten. She hobbled over to the fallen demon and hacked it apart with her sword. "And my weapon was made to pierce them."

"I...how? What artificer crafted these arms and armor?"

Holland leaned on her sword. The tip bit into the ground, but she knew that would not dull it. "The smiths of Arcem Tenebris," she said cautiously even though she knew that her friend would have never heard of the place. That was for the best. Better Seva not know the kind of woman that her protector had once been. "They are not like the smiths of the east. Their art is preserved from the First World."

"The ancient ways?" Seva asked, taken aback. She knew the First World had been the birth of magic, the many peoples that walked the world, and demons. All these things that the Gods had made flourished until the great cataclysm that was the Revealing. "No wonder it could not pierce thine armor."

"My ribs, however, do not feel good," Holland admitted. The glow of combat was fading, which left her with an agonizing ache. "Come, let's find his hideaway. It won't be far and it will smell of blood."

"I follow thee, faithful hound," the baroness said with a tiny smile, reaching out to steady her guardian.

"This hound won't be smelling anything but blood," the warrior said, cupping her hand over her nose. It was already starting to swell and it stung with a vengeance. Her hands were tender too and felt lightly burned. Still, she wasn't going to take her armor off. She did sheathe her sword, however.

They could follow the path of broken brush and Seva could still smell that chemical mixture well enough to track its progress. "Why do they wear the flesh of humans?" she asked softly.

"They are ambushers. The more skillful ones—this was not one of those—act as infiltrators and spies, moving among men," Holland explained.

There was a small hollow waiting ahead of them, decorated with the entrails of what was probably the source of the demon's fleshy disguise. A human skeleton covered in congealed blood laid on the ground, surrounded by the scattered and sometimes crushed bones of many others. Seva had to stop for a moment, pale as a ghost. "Please tell me—"

"I'm sure it killed him first," the penitent lied. She put an arm around the noblewoman. "You don't have to come into the den with me."

"I will," Seva said. "Just...give me a moment."

It took her a minute or two to regain control of her churning stomach, but finally Seva nodded and was ready to advance. They made their way into the hollow beneath the roots of a giant oak, only to find the scattered remains of shredded armor and shattered weapons. Gleaming coins littered the floor, discarded as if they had no meaning to the creature. Resting against the back wall, however, was a lance. Holland immediately recognized it. This was the lancea of her homeland. Its long, tapered point was made by those same forges that had crafted her sword and armor. The black haft was strangely textured, almost like a hard fabric. Holland picked it up reverently. It was much lighter than the eastern lances, but no less powerful with the weight of horse and rider behind it. "This will be of great aid against Moloch," the warrior said. She looked over at Seva. "Let's hope we can reach your prince before he reaches the creature."

Seva nodded.