XXII. At the Edge

As I am, so too will you be...

Holland's eyes flickered open, the echoes of Deus's words lingering in her thoughts. Gods, but what she wouldn't give for one night of peace. By the time she had made it back to the fire with Orobas, her eyes had closed on their own for what seemed like only a moment. Now, she could hear birdsong as light stole across the eastern sky. No matter how exhausted she might have been, however, true rest was beyond her fingertips.

"I was just about to check for a pulse," Khagra said with amusement as she sliced pieces off an apple for herself. She was always up early, yellow eyes open as soon as even suggestions of the sun touched the horizon.

"Don't start with me," Holland grumbled. She couldn't maintain much of a frown, though, not when the orc seemed to be in an unusually good mood. Khagra wasn't dour by any means, but it had been weeks since they last were really relaxed and happy. This was a definite indication that whatever had been said last night had been well received.

"Rude. I shouldn't hand this over just for that," the orc said, holding out a bowl of steaming oatmeal. "You really should take better care of yourself, you know. Not that you make a particularly good quiver, but you certainly did give it a fine try. That deserves commendation."

"You're in rare form." Holland glanced around as she sat up and took the bowl. It was plain, but her mouth was watering anyway. Khagra had been kind enough to mix in pieces of apple and some kind of nut for protein. It had been a while since she last ate, to be certain, and she was grateful for this much. There was no sign of the others, though the camp was coming awake. "Where's Vladan and your future husband?"

Khagra flicked an apple-seed at her to demonstrate her displeasure with the tease. "Elsewhere," she said airily.

The penitent brushed the seed off with mock irritation. "How old are you, ten?" She couldn't help a smile. "I'm glad your talk went well."

"His stammering was endearing," Khagra admitted. There was something girlish and soft about her smile, which was a strange expression on an orcish face. "So much for the bravery of Yssan knights."

"If he managed to get two words out, I call it brave. Gods know that's more than some can do," Holland said.

"True enough. Now shut up and eat before you waste away to nothingness." Khagra stretched lazily as she spoke, loosening up her shoulders. "I have plans for you."

Holland raised an eyebrow questioningly, but wisely kept eating. She knew Khagra wasn't above cuffing her if she didn't obey. The orc very much came from the school of tough love. As bad as a veteran decanus on a sour day, she thought with amusement. She glad, though. It made it difficult to stay locked inside her own head when their dragon-rider decided she needed to be pulled out.

"I'm going to teach you how to shoot a bow. It might be worthwhile. If nothing else, you can pull the arrows out of you and return fire next time." The orc looked altogether too pleased with the idea. "It should while away the time until Vladan and Ardashir come back from scouting."

"Why on the gods' green earth is Vladan scouting and not you?" Holland demanded, forgetting about food.

"Because I'm the healer. What if you had woken complaining of a fever because infection was eating away your insides? A lot of good he might have done you." Khagra flicked another apple-seed at her. "I sent Zajar with them in case there's trouble."

"Khagra, I deeply value their friendship, but the beast can't navigate his way out of a room with only one door and Ardashir is barely better."

"That is why I sent Zajar with them," the orc said. She grinned. "Relax, Holland. They are more than equal to the challenge of whatever they might find in the wetlands. Orobas says that road to the Vale is peaceful this time of year. I doubt they will find any danger."

"Vladan," Holland said pointedly.

"Any danger they can't handle," Khagra amended.

Holland sighed. "I'm not certain I like you and Ardashir scheming together. Now, the Vale that you mentioned, that is where the elves are?"

"The Vale of the Undying is the common name for it. The elves call it Erynaira, the Timeless Wood. It is a few hours to the north from here. Ardashir and Vladan will turn back well before they see it," Khagra said. "I do not know much of the elves."

"I've run across them now and again," Holland said, thinking of Naris. That one was a viper, to be certain, but she was also one of the more innocuous ones that Holland had encountered. "The ones they call the Dúath. Outcast for various reasons for the most part, though I've met a few young ones that were captured by the Imperium."

"I've heard they're beautiful."

Holland's expression was serious. "So are blades." When she saw Khagra's questioning look, she sighed. "Do you remember how you told me the dwarves take a dim view of other races?"

"Yes," Khagra said.

"Let me put it this way: at least the dwarves operate from the assumption that other races are still people," Holland said.

"Charming," the orc said dryly. "Why seek out their aid, then?"

"If I thought we had another option, I'd be cheerfully heading in the opposite direction." She finished eating and then set her bowl aside. "That said, they have the potential to challenge even demons on equal footing. Magic comes to them without incantations or study. They still need sources, just like any other mage, but they retain more of the First World's power than anyone I've ever seen—and that's just what I know from a few glimpses. Particularly magic that affects the senses and the mind: illusion, glamor, and the like. There's a reason no one has ever managed to wipe them out even though there are barely any of them around."

Khagra nodded slowly, taking this in. "It sounds like this will be a more difficult alliance to make."

"I certainly won't be appealing to their better nature," Holland said grimly. "But we can offer them something that they crave above everything else."

"What?"

"Novelty," Holland said. "Elves do things because it amuses them. Living as long as they do tends to suck the joy out of anything, so they constantly invent games to keep themselves occupied. Granted, most of those games are to the detriment of their toys, but we might be able to frame a battle against the Princes of Iron as something to while away the next few decades."

The orc was looking more and more uneasy. "I do not think I am going to like elves, Holland," she said.

"A statement I take as a definite sign of wisdom." The penitent ran her fingers through her hair, brushing out bits of leaf from her nocturnal excursion with Orobas. "Just...be on your guard around them. I'd take a scheming courtier over an elf any day. At least humans only break out the poison at their worst. Maybe knives in the dark if they're particularly brutal."

A roar split the sky and they both looked up. "Zajar's back," Khagra said, frowning slightly. "That's much sooner than it should be. They only left a few hours ago—barely long enough to reach the Vale."

Holland jumped to her feet. "I told you they'd find trouble." She saw a figure on the dragon's back and another, larger one hanging from Zajar's claws. "Looks like it's both of them, though."

The drake swooped low, dropping Vladan like a stone before landing neatly a few feet away with Ardashir on his back. The anthroparion landed less than gracefully, but turned his awkward fall into a roll around the chunk of half-rotted log he was clutching like a club. Judging by the condition of the wood, it had certainly been used as one. "We neared the Vale," Ardashir reported calmly as he swung down from Zajar's back. "There was a slight complication."

"Apparently," Holland said dryly. "Vladan, what did you have to bash into submission this time?"

"A tree," the anthroparion said. He looked bruised and scraped, but didn't appear to have very many injuries. "The edge of the Vale is alive with fell magic."

"I'm going to ignore the fact that you thought the best answer to a tree was to beat it with another tree," the penitent said with a sigh. "What were you doing at the edge of the Vale? Khagra said you were to return well before reaching it."

"It was my fault," Ardashir said. "I heard someone calling for help. I intended to keep a distance while investigating, but when we didn't approach close enough to satisfy whatever it was—"

"The trees came alive and tried to grab us," Vladan said helpfully, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. His fur was already matted with mud from his adventures in the swamp, so Holland didn't see how it made much of a difference, but he seemed to be making an effort. "We fought, and then the overgrown reptile pulled us out by way of the sky."

Zajar hissed moodily at the anthroparion and swished his tail in disapproval. He clearly didn't like the term Vladan had used to refer to him. Even if dragons couldn't speak, they seemed to understand language quite well.

Holland sighed. "Good to know we have that to look forward to. Are you alright?"

Vladan rotated his neck, punctuated by a series of painfully loud cracks. "Nothing that won't heal. Did the demon get around to picking a side?"

"He said he would give his answer to Holland when you returned," the orc said. She looked a little bit relieved by the ease Ardashir was moving with—he'd managed to escape unscathed, and the damage to Vladan seemed largely superficial. "The Horned King is waiting at the north edge of the camp. Let's go see what he has to say now that we're all here."

Holland nodded before starting that way. Orobas was visible from some distance away, a brooding figure among the tall rocks that faced the direction of the Vale. When he saw them approaching, the demon left his seat. When he did, Holland realized that they were not the only ones who had noticed his descent. The Năluci were gathering as well. "I HAVE COME TO A DECISION," the demon said, obsidian eyes focusing on Holland. A strange, expectant quiet settled over the group of Năluci who had assembled. They really did seem to revere him, which was strange considering their hatred for the Princes of Iron. But then again, Orobas seemed to be a different breed of demon.

The penitent felt her breath catch in her chest.

"I DO NOT KNOW WHAT IT IS TO BE MORTAL. THE WINDS OF CHANGE THAT SWEEP THE SANDS OF THE DESERT DO NOT MOVE ME. I AM VOID. I AM ABSENCE. I DO NOT FEEL." The Horned King bowed his head to Holland as he approached. "FOR A THOUSAND YEARS, THE VOID WAITED. IT CONSUMED EAGERLY IN PREPARATION FOR THE END. THE NĂLUCI ARE EVIDENCE OF ITS UNCEASING HUNGER. I WAS A PART OF IT. I WAS AN ARCHITECT OF DESTRUCTION, AS YOU WERE ONCE ITS AVATAR. THIS WILL NEVER CHANGE. BUT THAT WHICH BREATHES AND LIVES AND FEELS...I SHAPED SUCH A THING ONCE."

"Me," Holland said quietly.

Orobas nodded. "MY INTERVENTION. BUT AS I TOLD YOU, ONE FAULT BEGETS ANOTHER. A CASCADE FAILURE. AND SO I WILL CONTINUE TO INTERVENE." The demon stretched out a claw, touching Holland's chin ever so gently. "GO FORTH AND FEEL, DAUGHTER OF THE VOID. AS I GUIDED YOUR FIRST STEPS, I WILL FOLLOW UNTIL YOUR LAST."

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Thank you, Orobas," Holland said quietly. "Will I see you again?"

"THERE ARE MANY POSSIBILITIES AHEAD. MANY CHOICES. THE FUTURE IS VEILED TO MY SIGHT AS MUCH AS IT IS TO YOURS," the demon said. "BUT THIS WOULD BE...DESIRABLE. NOW, I HAVE NOTHING MORE TO SAY."

The demon turned and returned to the rocks, Holland's eyes following him the whole way. A murmur swept through the Năluci. A hand rested on her shoulder: Ardashir's. "We should go, Holland," he said. "The sun is rising and we have Orobas's assistance."

Holland nodded a little bit unsteadily. "You're right," she said. She was relieved, but also torn. She wished she had been given more of an opportunity to know the demon. He was very different from the Divine Prince. He understood.

It only took them a few minutes to pack together their gear. Maël butted her shoulder with his nose. The wounds were gone without even a trace when she checked on them, courtesy of the refreshed boons. Whatever Orobas had done while she was unconscious, she could feel the power in her body as if she had never left Arcem Tenebris. It made sense. Who would know how to repair her better than the being that had initially augmented her? "Are you alright?" Khagra asked as she approached the penitent.

"Fine," Holland said as she cinched her saddle tight on her horse's back. "Just...thoughtful."

"Hadad refreshed our supplies last night," Ardashir said to smooth things over. He knew that whatever was ailing Holland would pass with some time and distance. "We should be fine for a while, considering the plan for the Vale is in and out."

"No plan survives contact with reality." There was a distinct dryness in the penitent's tone as she stepped into her stirrup. "Let's just aim for something close." She really did hate the idea of walking into an elven wood. It was not the afternoon ride in the forest that she'd become accustomed to in Tamaris.

Ardashir and Khagra shared a worried look. Vladan, however, was as unflappable as usual. "I miss my maul," the anthroparion said, flexing the fingers of his right hand. "The trees here are too wet for good heft and I haven't seen a dwarf since we left Dhir Daral."

Holland cracked a smile at that, thoroughly broken out of her mood. "Gods forbid you miss the opportunity to kill a tree with a dwarf," she said. "Khagra, did you find his maul back at the camp?"

"Sadly, no," the orc said. "Besides, far be it from me to deprive the brute's imagination of a chance to shine."

Vladan growled and snapped his teeth in a good-natured way. "Pick away if you like, little ones," he said. "You all look like weapons to me."

"And that is why I'm on the dragon," Khagra said with a grin. "I'll circle back and look for you, Vladan, but I make no promises. I will see you all at the edge of the Vale. Try not to be attacked without me."

"I'll keep your future husband safe for you," Holland called to her, enjoying the mortified look on Ardashir's face. It was something amusing and safe, a reminder that she was in good company and a world away from the one she had been born into. "Safe skies."

"You have a wicked tongue, Holland," Ardashir muttered, his cheeks still burning with embarrassment as he mounted his horse. He picked up his lance. "Keep it up and I'll knock you out of that saddle."

The penitent grinned. "I think I'd like to see you try, Ardashir."

"And you say I am the giant child," Vladan said with a chuckle. "You sound like hatch-mates."

"You came from an egg?" the hooded knight said, his tone somewhere between fascinated and repulsed. "I don't even..."

Holland couldn't help laughing. She had never been happier that she had her companions with her. Whatever her confused feelings on Orobas, she was certain that she was fond of them. "That does explain your freakish chicken feet," she managed to get out, hiding her grin behind one fist.

"They are not chicken feet!" Vladan growled as if offended, but his eyes were crinkling at the corners. "Are you saying my magus has poor taste?"

"I'm saying that there was something besides wine in Dušan's cup the night you were dreamed up," Holland said. "Now let's get moving. There are only so many hours in a day and I'd like to be within sight of the Vale by nightfall."

Vladan grumbled, but followed. She could hear Ardashir trying to stifle his own laughter and relaxed a little bit more herself. It was a good morning, even if it had started with a fight for half the group. She did her best to enjoy it while it lasted. Where they were going, light and laughter couldn't follow. At least, not the good kind. Holland tightened her grip on the reins as she even thought about their next destination, feeling a chill in her bones. Ardashir, Khagra, and Vladan had never encountered the elves in their natural habitat before.

Humans had many names for elves. The Fair Folk, the Fay, the Hidden People, the Lords and Ladies....there were countless variations. The one that had always stuck out most to her was the Kindly Ones. It wasn't exactly sarcastic, but it was certainly born out of a dark and twisted humor. She wondered sometimes if that was a name they had given themselves. It seemed like the kind of thing that might amuse the creatures. Even the young, tame ones were dangerous. Where they were going, there would be neither young nor tame ones. Much like Deus, one seldom said their names—it might draw their attention. Holland knew that in the east, blacksmiths would nail horseshoes over their doors for protection from them and people would go through any number of traditions to placate them, as if elves could be warded off or bought.

The Vale of the Undying was everything she'd worried that it might be. Massive, dark trees raised tangled branches into the sky. The impenetrable nature of the canopy meant there was little undergrowth: just fallen leaves, pine needles, and endless shadow. In places where the sun could peek through, the sculpted columns of light took on strange greenish color that gave skin a sickly tint. The road was a narrow track that vanished into the dark, a furrow among the detritus on the forest floor. A chill seemed to emanate from the depths of the wood and they could see mist forming around the black trunks of trees. It was primordial forest, untouched by the hands of man. It had been unchanged since the beginning of time, or at least that was how it felt. "This is not what I imagined as an elvish forest," Ardashir said softly. He had not come this close in his scouting with Vladan. "In the stories, they are always so...pleasant."

"We soften things in stories," Holland said quietly, hesitating on the edge of the woods. There was no sign of animate trees in the groves they had passed outside of the Vale proper.

"Stealing children and cursing people is soft?" Vladan said.

"I forgot that Leyans have grimmer fairy tales than Yssans," Holland said. "What you heard is closer to the source, Vladan...but even those stories are not necessarily accurate."

"Someone passed through this area recently, Holland," Khagra said, her eyes fixed on the path.  She pointed at where the mud was churned. "Hoof-prints. And there are boot tracks beside them." The orc was frowning. "Hadad said that Orobas forbid the Năluci from entering the area, but there were some knights that supposedly came this way a week or so ahead of us."

"Knights?" Holland was surprised. Clearly it was a conversation that she hadn't been party to. "From where?"

Vladan shouldered the maul that Khagra had managed to retrieve for him. "Hadad described Yssan armor, but no house colors or symbols."

"Probably landless knights seeking to test themselves," Ardashir said thoughtfully. "They are a long way from home, but that isn't unheard of. Cadeyrn went all the way to the northern reaches of Ethilir, where my family is from, when he was earning his spurs. There are more honors to be earned, more beasts to slay, on the edges of civilization."

"I'd say we're well past the edge," Holland said. She sighed. "Keep an eye out, but don't deviate from the path, whatever happens. Understood?"

There was a soft murmur of agreement from the others. Khagra patted Zajar's nose. "You will not be able to fly for a while, little brother. I am sorry." The lack of undergrowth meant that the drake could accompany them, but he wouldn't be able to take wing. She frowned pensively as she looked back at the woods. "I have never been afraid of what dwells in a forest before."

Ardashir swung down out of the saddle and landed beside the orc. He had every intention of walking next to Khagra. It wasn't that he thought she was some damsel who needed a defender—she had proven herself as a warrior—but he knew what it meant to have someone watching one's back and had every intention of being that person for the her. "Good thing you're not on your own, then," he said, looping the reins around so he could lead his horse. After the morning's adventure, he had donned his armor in anticipation of another battle.

Holland dismounted and smiled when she saw their hands brush. She could feel Maël's uncertainty in the flex of the muscles in his neck under her hand. "Me too," she said softly to her horse. Then she cleared her throat and raised her voice a little bit. "Shall we?"

"Into the woods," Vladan muttered. "I have read Leyan fairy tales. No good comes of dark woods and hollow hills."

"Well, you're not wrong," Holland said. She took a deep breath. "Into the woods." Without a further word, she led the way into the darkness. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that somewhere in the gloom, something was waiting for them.

No, she corrected herself. Someone.