Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter 1

Across the infested plains of Blighttown, beyond the mucky green swamps and past the cracked, decaying, pillars that held up the world, she saw him coming; his gold suit of armor glinting and gleaming off his torch with every cautious step he took. The man and his armor looked ridiculous. Gold had no place in the swamps. The swamps were for dark things, like herself, and Quelana decided that if the fool came within striking distance, she would melt that armor right off his body to teach him a lesson.

As he trudged through the swamp, swatting at the overgrown mosquitos and stepping carefully around a pair of cragspiders that were feasting upon a corpse, she realized that the fool wasn't just intending to come near her, but that she herself seemed to be his goal. The eyeslits of his helmet kept moving towards her, returning to his footing, and then back to her as he drew nearer and nearer.

Quelana's heartbeat quickened. She stood and readied her pyromancy beneath the thick layers of her black cloak, keeping her eyes narrowed on the approaching stranger from within the crack of her hood. The golden fool, now only a dozen feet away, halted his approach and stood ankle- deep in the muck staring at her.

Neither of them spoke for a long while, then the sound of laughter rumbled from within the man's helmet and he pulled the golden thing from his head. Quelana squinted, remaining cautious, as he lowered it to his side and shook the chin-length thin strands of dirty-blonde hair from his face. His eyes landed on her, cold and gray, and his lightly-bearded mouth spread into a wide grin; his teeth white, straight, and clean. "Relax, witch. I don't mean to harm you."

Quelana shifted her weight to her backfoot. If the man was calling her 'witch', that meant he knew who she was, and suddenly she was no longer comfortable in his presence, exposed and alone. "What do you want?" She hissed from within her cloak, hoping to sound intimidating.

The golden man fixed those gray eyes upon her and took a step forward. Quelana lifted her arm, letting the cloak there fall to her wrist, and showed him the flames that wrapped her pale flesh and slender fingers, ready to strike; ready to burn. The man stopped, knelt, and stuck his torch in the muck before removing a shotel from a sheath at his back. He held it before him and turned the long, curved, blade of the weapon in a semi- circle, letting the torch flame play and dance off its steel, reflective, surface. He lifted his gaze back to her and offered another toothy grin. "You can burn me, witch, no denying it. But I would survive the first blow and I would be awfully angry about it. Could you hit me with another before I lunged forward and stuck you with my blade here? Maybe, maybe not. Neither of us really wants to find that out though, do we?" He waited for her to respond. When she didn't, he answered for her. "No, we don't. Snuff the flame, witch. I told you I don't mean to harm you... but I most certainly will however. Should it come to that."

"Answer me," Quelana snapped, feeling more uncomfortable with every passing moment. "What do you want, you fool!?"

"An end," the man told her, his face abruptly darkening. "An end... to all of this. This madness. This... wheel of madness."

"What madness other than your own are you speaking of?"

"We've met before, witch, and I know you know that," the man told her. "Think hard on it. You know me."

Quelana's brow furrowed beneath her hood. "I... you tell lies. Not only a fool, but a liar."

"What's my name?" The man insisted. "You know. Go ahead. Think. The first name that comes to your mind. What is it?"

"Lautrec," she said immediatley.

"Yes. That's it. You are correct. You see?"

Quelana shook her head. "What sorcery is this? What..." She stole a glance over her shoulder, growing increasingly paranoid of an attack. She wished she had been in hiding before the man had come. She had been intending to. If only she'd been quicker.

"I'm alone, witch," Lautrec explained. "Relax and clear your head. You're the only other one I know of who understands what I'm about to tell you. I know this, because I've told you before."

"You make no sense!" Quelana snapped. "It's your attempt to confuse me! To distract me! Where are your companions? Sneaking around in the shadows behind me?"

Lautrec laughed. "Witch, if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now. I wouldn't have shown you my approach from three hundred feet away. I would have snuck up on you and planted my blade into your throat. You have an incredible mastery of the flames, that much is true. But for a knight like myself? In your tattered robes and your bare feet? You think I couldn't have gotten the drop on you and disposed of you? I could have. I didn't. I do not want to harm you. I won't say that again. Now listen to me. The chosen one is almost ready to be born into the world, and we don't have much time."

"Chosen one..." Quelana echoed and a veil of confusion lifted from her mind. "You mean... my pupil."

"You speak of the Chosen as if he were many instead of one. Why?"

"Because I've learned the truth, witch. That this 'Chosen' one who comes stomping through our world, slaying beasts, ringing bells, filling vessels... if they were truly chosen to be the 'one' who ends it all, then they've failed. Time and time again. They have failed us. Or perhaps... we have failed them."

"How do you know this?"

"Because we are still here," Lautrec explained. He lifted his hands and took a look around the swamps. "Think about it, witch. You have a much, much, higher survival rate than I do during these cycles. The Chosen One is birthed into this world, completes all his or her tasks, sets off deep underground with old Frampt, and then slays Gwyn. Then they either light the flame or they do not. Either way - here we are. We live on. The world... it resets itself and a new chosen comes. You know this, witch. You and I have lived through this cycle for a long, long, time."

Quelana put a hand to her head and stared into the mucky waters near her feet. "This... can not be."

"And yet it is," Lautrec said with a sigh.

"How could you know things such as these?" Quelana demanded. "You are but a mortal man, yet you speak as if you're a God."

"It's taken me a very long time to peer into the abyss and see something more than the abyss itself," Lautrec explained, and Quelana noted he had take another step towards her as he did so. She wanted to burn him, but now... now she also needed to know what he had to say. "I believe it started with an inkling of familiarity on my part. A sentence spoken, perhaps. A movement. An action. A gust of wind that caught my attention. I can't be sure. Somehow, though, and at some point I realized that I've lived this life before. The further I thought on it, and more apparent it became. I haven't just lived it once or twice. I've lied it tens of thousands of times. Perhaps millions. Perhaps... perhaps forever."

Quelana began to see the face of her pupil. She had, for so long, thought of the pupil as one, but the face began to change and distort until there were many faces... too many to see clearly. She knew, then, that the fool was telling the truth. "The Chosen One... you are right. There are many."

"Too many, if you ask me," Lautrec said with a bitter grimace. "When I first realized our eternal imprisonment of time, I believed that the Chosens were trapped here in our world, and this was their punishment. But now I see it a different way. We are the prisoners, witch. You and I and every other inhabitant of this cursed realm. They aren't locked in our world, we're locked in theirs. And, quite frankly, I'm tired of it."

"Cycles... you spoke of cycles."

"Yes. The cycle begins when a chosen comes alive. It ends when they face old Gwyn. Then a new chosen comes. Sometimes they seem... fresh. Like they've never done it all before. But many of them... many of them return! They return with new knowledge and impeccable skills. They slay the monsters of this world with ease, rushing to the finish line, and to what end? Why, to do it all again!" The golden knight had grown increasingly angry as he spoke, and now his face was red and flustered, and his teeth were barred and clenched. "Do you know how many times they've killed me, witch?"

"You deserved to die. You're a bad man," Quelana told him. She was remembering more and more as he spoke, and now she had remember something terrible. "A wicked man! You kill poor Anastacia of Astora! The woman has no tongue, and yet you slay her! Again and again! You murderer!" The flames kissing her fingers grew and pulsed as her anger rose.

Lautrec rolled his eyes. "It always come back to that, doesn't it? Poor, tongueless, Anastacia. My business is my own, witch. You know nothing of it. Do not judge me as if you do. And you think the Chosen Ones are slaying me with some sort of sense of justice about them? Ha! Maybe a handful, but do you know the true reason why I've been slaughtered tens of thousands of times?" He stuck his free hand out and pulled the gauntlet from it. On his finger was a gold ring. "For a trinket." He laughed a bitter laugh. "A ring that aids them on their journey. That's why I die. If I'm wicked for taking the life of a mute firekeeper a few times, what does that make the Chosen? They've killed millions, and they show no signs of slowing down."

"Enough of this you fool!" Quelana hissed. "Why are you here and telling me all this? If this cycle is as endless as you say, there's nothing either you nor I can do about it!"

"Ah, that's where you're wrong, witch! You see, the Chosen One-this Chosen One, at least-is heading to Gwyn right now as we speak. I hid from him. Stayed cloaked in shadow until he passed. Freed myself from my prison. Trekked across Lordran. Slayed many a foe. Took that infernal wooden wheel down here into Blighttown, and now I intend to fetch you and make one last journey before Gwyn breaths his final breath. A journey away from Lordran and to the place where all of this begins. The Undead Asylum. You and I are going to be there when the new Chosen is born. Then we're going to find a way to break this cycle and put an end to this madness. Forever."

"I am the greatest knight in Lordran," Lautrec said without a hint of humility in his voice. "But even the greatest knight can not hope to accomplish such a monumental task as disrupting the very nature of the world alone. You are Quelana, offspring of the Great Witch Izalith, Daughter of Chaos, and Mother of Pyromancy. If I have you at my side, I need no other."

It was Quelana's turn to laugh. "Your mistake, you golden fool, is that you believe I would ever agree to aiding such a despicable, monstrous, and conceited man as yourself. Away with you. This 'cycle' you're so intent on ending doesn't bother me. I've grown quite fond of it, in truth. Now leave me."

Lautrec stared at her for a moment. A grin crept up his face. "Your mistake, witch, is that you assumed I was asking for your help. And, of course, that you believed me when I said I'd come alone."

A second man leaped from the shadows at her side before Quelana could ignite her pyromancy. His weight crashed into her and sent them both down to the ground. She winced in pain and cried out, trying to twist free of the man's grasp. Flames sparked from her fingertips, but if she sent them any further, she risked catching her own robes on fire. The second man was giggling as he wrestled her arms to her sides and began wrapping her wrists up in a length of rope. "I got her, Lautrec! I got her! Hee-hee! Fire bitch! Got her!"

"Bravo, Patches," Lautrec said dryly, stepping nearer to them. "You overpowered a frail women. And from behind at that. Now bind her quickly before she melts the flesh off your bones."

The bald man giggled. "She can't do that!"
"She can. She will. Work quickly, idiot," Lautrec demanded.

The man's smile faded and he looked down upon Quelana. "You want to burn Patches you fire bitch? Hm?" He giggled. "Got you good, didn't I."

"Argh!" Quelana roared through clenched teeth, trying to wrestle free of his grip. It was no use. She felt her wrists lock together before her as he tightened and cinched the rope. Then he rolled her to her side and wrapped her arms to her body, running the rope around and around until she was bound from her shoulders to her forearms.

"Hee-hee," Patches giggled. "Got her wrapped up tight, Lautrec. She won't burn nothing now."

"Good for you. Bind her feet," Lautrec instructed, setting his shotel back into its sheath now that she was secured. "Hurry. If Gwyn dies before we've left Lordran... all of this was for naught."

"Her feet? How she gonna walk with her feet bound up?" Patches asked, scratching at his bald head.

"She's not, you idiot. You're going to carry her."

"Me? Carry!?" Patches snapped. "That's no fair! I don't want to!"

Lautrec knelt beside the man and fixed those cold, grey, eyes of his on him. "Really? Tell me more about the things you don't want to do, Patches. Go on... tell me of you complaints."

"I... I..." the man was clearly afraid of the golden knight. He swallowed, scratched at his head, and avoided eye contact with Lautrec. "Well, alright then. I'll carry her. Just don't see why is all..."

"Because we're in her domain down her. She could break loose, make a run for it, and we'd have to waste valuable time looking for her. Time that we do not have. So bind her and get her up. If you complain again... well, you know how I am when I get angry."

"Y-yes, Lautrec," Patches stuttered.

Lautrec nodded, stood, and plucked the torch from the ground. He faced the swamps and tucked the golden helm back over his head.

"Let go of me you fool!" Quelana demanded, pulling at her binds. "Release me and I'll only burn him," she said, peering through her cloak at Lautrec.

"Quiet, fire bitch," Patches warned, rolling her onto her back and moving to her legs. "Ooo, barefooted fire bitch? Can't afford no boots, fire bitch? Hee-hee! Tickle tickle!" His fingers tickled at the soles of her feet.

Quelana lifted her foot straight up and felt the heel slam the man's jaw. Patches wailed and fell back to his butt. She flipped to her side, got her knees beneath her, and prepared to rush off into the swamps.

She made it two steps before Lautrec grabbed her by the cloak and pulled her back. "No!" Quelana cried out as the mans arms wrapped around her and pulled her into his body. The cold steel of his armor was hard and sharp as it pressed against her cloak. "Let go! You have no right to do this to me!"

Lautrec stared at her. He reached up and pulled the hood back away from her face. Quelana hated having her hood down. She felt exposed, naked. She grimaced as the cool air of the swamp swept her cheeks, brushed through her hair, danced across her lips. She tried turning away from the golden knight, but he held her still, craning his neck to stare at her. "Well... the rumors are true. You are quite beautiful, witch." He stared a moment longer, Quelana squirming uncomfortably in his arms as his gray eyes flicked across every feature of her face. "Quite beautiful indeed."

Patches returned, muttering curses under his breath, and bound her ankles and knees right there on the spot as Lautrec held her. Then the golden knight released her, and the bald man took hold of her, giggling again as he scooped her up over his shoulder.

"Now let us make haste," Lautrec said, stepping into the swamp, his torch held before him. "We have a world to change."

Quelana's thin frame bounced off the bony shoulder of the man who carried her; her limbs and body bound and useless as she lifted her head and took one last, longing, gaze at her little spot in Blighttown. A spot she now feared she'd never see again.

The trip out of Blighttown was, thankfully, uneventful. Lautrec led them across the swamps, the witch Quelana bound and slung over Patches' shoulder, and to the great wooden wheel that lifted travelers away from the stench and foulness of the grimy lands below. The platform creaked with the weight of the three of them, but carried them upwards nonetheless. As they rose, Lautrec dug into the sack tied around Patches' waist and retrieved purple moss clumps for Patches and himself to consume. Swallowing the moss, he could feel the sickness of Blighttown washing away from his flesh and his health returning. The witch seemed mostly unaffected by the diseased swamps, and so Lautrec offered her none.

At the entrance tunnel leading outside and back towards Firelink Shrine, the witch began to struggle in her binds atop Patches' shoulder, and Lautrec was thankful he had disposed of the infested barbarians who stalked the pathway on his way in.

"She ain't making this any easier, Lautrec," Patches whined, grimacing and grabbing handfuls of the witch's robes. "Fire bitch is hurting my shoulder!"

Lautrec haulted their advance and signaled Patches to set Quelana down. The bald man smirked, nodded, and dumped her to the ground where she landed with a thud in the dirt. Her hood had slid away from her face as she landed, and she stared up at Lautrec as he approached; the emerald green pits of her eyes shimmering with anger in the sea of pale, soft, flesh that was her face. "Get away from me..." she warned.

"You don't tell the Knight Lautrec what do do, fire bitch!" Patches snapped.

"Why are you making this difficult?" Lautrec asked her, ignoring Patches.

Quelana avoided his eyes as she spoke. "Why? You kidnap a woman, truss her up, and haul her away from her home and you have the audacity to ask why she makes it difficult? You truly are a fool, aren't you?"

Lautrec traced the line of her eyes down the tunnel and to the strip of sunlight that awaited them, leading outside and to the Valley of the Drakes. When he looked back to her, he saw something beneath that smoldering anger in her eyes. "You're afraid, is that it?"

Quelana's look snapped to him and her mouth opened, but she said no words.

Lautrec nodded. "You've never left Blighttown, have you? Never even seen the sun in the sky I take it?"

"I..." Quelana stammered, lowered her eyes, sighed. "No... I have not."

"Patches, what is your favorite finger?" Lautrec asked the man without turning to him.

"W-what?" Patches answered between giggles.

"Your favorite finger. Which is it?"

"I... I guess this one?" Patches moved to Lautrec's side and wiggled the index finger of his right hand. "This little finger has made a good number of bitches like her moan, I'll tell you that. Why?"

"If you refer to her as 'fire bitch' one more time, I'll cut it off."

Patches giggled, but when Lautrec set his eyes on the man and did not, Patches' face ran cold and he began rubbing at the finger protectively. "She's a master pyromancer and the daughter of Izalith, and a lot more valuable than you. Show her respect or the finger is mine."

"Gods, Lautrec, alright!" Patches shouted, still rubbing the finger. "Calm the hell down!"

Lautrec turn his look back to the witch. She was staring at the end of the path again. "Look, witch, you are going out there. One way or another," Lautrec explained, dug the blade of his shotel beneath the ropes around her ankles, and cut them loose. "The sun is nothing more than a big ball of fire. You should be run at home beneath its gaze." He cut the ropes at her knees. "But if you fight us... run from us... waste our time any further... things can go badly for you. Do you understand?"

Quelana glanced at her freed legs before turning her green eyes on Lautrec. Her face was set in hard lines as she spoke, "You're going to burn for what you're doing to me, knight."

Lautrec nodded. "Fair enough. Some day I'm sure I will. All men must pays for their sins. But for now? Get up. And get moving. Patches, take point."

They proceeded like that all the way to Firelink Shrine; Patches leading them, whistling a melodic tune as he went, happy to be freed of the burden of carrying the witch; Lautrec at the rear, keeping a vigilant watch for ambush; Quelana between them, marching begrudgingly forward, her torso and arms bound in ropes. At the end of the tunnel, she put up some resistance to stepping into the sun, but Lautrec took her by the shoulder and nudged her forward until she stumbled outside. The witch gasped and winced as if struck by a mighty blow, but after a moment of realizing the sun was not going to melt her flesh, she stood again and began taking fearful, cautious, steps forward. Lautrec moved behind her and pulled her hood over her head, and though she spoke no gratitude, she moved at a quicker pace from then on.

The were quickly in and out of the Valley of Drakes, briefly trekking past the haunted New Londo Ruins, and then up the long elevator that carried them to Firelink Shrine. They ascended the spiraling staircase of old stone and overgrown moss, and stepped out below the bonfire.

Quelana halted before the barred prison set into the earth below the bonfire and spun on Lautrec. "My pupils have told me this is where she resides. And yet, here she is not." The witch's voice grew angered from within her hood. "You killed her. Anastacia. Even with all your knowledge of cycles and patterns and Chosen Ones... you still killed her. Why? If this world is destined to reset itself, why still murder the women!? My pupils expressed such great sorrows for-"

"Enough!" Lautrec shouted, and his voice was loud and angered enough to cause Quelana to step backwards away from him. She went quiet. "If there are a million lifetimes, I'll kill her a million times. Because I have to. And because she deserves it. No more on this. Move. Now." Even the mere thought of the woman was making his blood boil. He moved forward, spun Quelana around, and shoved her to get her moving again.

"What kind of knight are you to kill a helpless woman with no tongue," Quelana said quietly as she climbed the stairs to the bonfire above. "Pathetic."

"Speak of this again and you'll have no tongue," Lautrec warned.

The witch turned to glare at him briefly over her shoulder, but said no more.

Patches stepped before the unlit bonfire, kicked at the ashes with the toe of his boot, and spit into its center. He turned his bald head to Lautrec and raised an eyebrow. "Now where? You never exactly told me how we get to this Undead Asylum from here."

"The bird," Lautrec said, pointing across the arched stone passages that led underground to the Kiln of the First Flame. The giant black beast was there, perched high above, the black pits of its eyes staring down upon their party.

"The bloody crow?"

"Yes. And Frampt is gone. That means the Chosen is facing off with old Gwyn right now as we speak. We're out of time. Let's move."

"How the hell is the crow going to get us anywhere?" Patches asked, scratching at his head. "And how are we supposed to get the things attention?"

"Follow me. I've done most of the heavy lifting for us already," Lautrec explained, took Quelana by her bound wrists, and pulled her beside him as he quickly moved up a flight of stone stairs and around the high walls of the inner pool.

After a short walk around, they came to the base of a towering stone structure. A rope dangled down to them from high above, swaying in the cool breeze. "Climb," Lautrec said, taking the rope and shoving it against Patches' chest.

Patches swallowed, his eyes widening as he traced the rope up and up to the top of the structure. "That's a damned hundred foot climb, Lautrec!"

"Climb," Lautrec snapped. "We have no more time for chatter."

"Gods help me..." Patches whispered, touched his forehead, and then hopped up and grabbed the rope at the highest point he could before starting the long and difficult process of ascending it. "I suppose I'll be hauling the fire bi- er, well, the fire... witch up after me too, ain't I?"

"Yes. She couldn't weigh more than a hundred pounds though, if that. You'll manage."

Patches moved higher up the rope. "If I fall-"

"You'll die. Or be so broken I'll leave you for dead," Lautrec explained. "So... don't fall."

"Why keep the idiot around?" Quelana questioned once Patches was high enough to be out of earshot. "What use could he possible be to you?"

"I need aid," Lautrec said. "And there is little to be found in these cursed lands. I came upon him in the catacombs. He tried murdering me."

The witch turned her hooded face to him.

Lautrec grinned. "He tried. Obviously, he was not successful. I defeated him, and instead of ending him I made him swear his allegiance to me."

Sardonic laughter came from within the witch's hood. "Loyalty sworn under knife point is no true loyalty."

"No," Lautrec agreed. "But I'll take what help I can get, as temporary as it may be. Plus, the man's already tried to kill me once and failed. When he does inevitably tire of taking my orders, he'll try again. Likely, the results will be the same."

Quelana was quiet for a moment, then said, "A witch in chains and a man sworn under false loyalty. And you expect this foolish mission of yours to succeed?"

"I expect to change things. Or to die trying." The rope came tumbling back down to them, and Lautrec craned his neck back to see Patches had made it up and was waving his hand triumphantly. Lautrec pulled the witch closer to him and fasted the length of rope around her waist. "He's not particularly strong," he told Quelana as he bound her. "So don't squirm about too much if you don't want to lose your life."

"My life?" Quelana echoed. "You think I value my own life? If I die, according to you, I just come back once this world resets itself. Isn't that right? Back in Blighttown where I belong."

"Maybe," Lautrec admitted, fastening the final knot. "Or maybe this is the time I do change things and your miserable existence ends as a splatter right here at my boot. You can take the chance if you wish." He cupped his hands around the mouth slit of his helm and lifted his head. "Patches! Take her up!"

Quelana was hoisted off the ground, her bare feet dangling below her. She grunted at each jerk upwards; Patches pulling and pulling above. Lautrec watched her go, and when she was high enough, he could peer up and into the hood of her robes. Her thin lips were curled into a grin. He didn't like that. The sight of a witch smiling never meant good things. He'd learned that the hard way in another life.

"Hurry Patches!" Lautrec shouted. He watched as the dark figure of the witch was pulled the final length of tower, then disappeared over its edge. A moment passed, no rope came. "Patches! The rope!" Another moment. Still no rope.

Lautrec cursed and kicked at the structure. Either Patches had finally betrayed him, or the witch had a trick up her sleeve. Either way, it was bad. Lautrec turned on his heel and darted back down the length of the grassy pathway beside the tower. He spun around an archway, bounded up a flight of stone steps, and turned a corner at the top. An elevator pulley system awaited him. He rushed inside, waited until the pulley lifted him high enough, and then jumped outside onto the roof of the structure below. He'd watched the Chosen One do this. Several times, in fact. It was how he's tied the rope up there in the first place. He stepped to the edge of a grassy hill growing out of the mountain beside the roof and took a breath. A slanted stone pillar a dozen feet below, and another dozen away, jutted from the ground. It led to a staircase that would take him up to the top of the tower. He took a step back, judged the distance, took another step. He jolted to the edge of the hill, leapt with everything he had, and sailed through the air towards the pillar.

The gold chestplate of his armor clanged off the rock as he came up just shy of landing on his feet. His golden gauntlets grasped for a holding, but found none, and for one head-spinning moment - he thought he was going to fall. Then his boot found a foothold and he dug in and pushed himself upwards. He hit the ground running, barreling around the corner and climbing the spiraling staircase in twos. Out of breath, his heart pounding in his chest, he made it up to the crow's nest.

"Patches!" Lautrec shouted, but the bald man paid him no attention.

Quelana did, however, and quickly stepped away as he rushed forward and tackled Patches to the ground. They rolled twice, coming just short of sailing right off the edge. Lautrec's helmet banged the ground, twisting it to the side and blinding his eyesight within. He roared and ripped the thing from his head, tossing it aside. It rolled and disappeared off the edge. He ignored it, choosing instead to wrap his hands around Patches' throat and squeeze.

Patches' face went from yellow to red to purple. His eyes bulged in their sockets, rolling around wildly in his head. His hands grasped at Lautrec's own, but the strength had run out of them. Choked, gurgling, noises escaped his lips that might have been his attempt at words.

"Release him," Quelana called over Lautrec's shoulder. "It was my spell he was working under. I charmed him. You're about to murder a man for something he had no control over."

Lautrec snapped his head back to glare at the witch. She lowered her hood so he could see her. Her face was scrunched up in sincerity. He turned back to Patches, considered it, and let him go. Patches was torn between coughing and desperately gasping for air as the color returned to his face. Lautrec climbed off of him and stood. He saw that Quelana was standing with her feet at the very edge of the crumbling stone floor of the tower.

"What are you doing, witch?" Lautrec demanded. "Get away from the edge."

Patches was still coughing when he spoke from the floor, "W-What happened? Lautrec? What the hell happened!?"

"The witch put you under her spell," Lautrec explained, not taking his eyes from her. "And I nearly killed you for it."

Patches rubbed his throat and clambered back to his feet. "She... she did? I remember her whispering in my ear and her voice was... it was in my very soul."

"Step away from the ledge," Lautrec said.

Quelana looked back over her shoulder. "A fall from here would surely kill me. Release me."

"Don't do it."

"Let her!" Patches protested. "She nearly got me killed! Demon-tongued wench!"

"No!" Lautrec shouted.

The earth rumbled and a great, shrill, scream sounded from somewhere deep within the ground.

The three of them all went quiet, their eyes moving from the ground, to the sky, to one another.

"Gwyn is dead," Lautrec said. "The Chosen is about to make his choice. We have to go."

The earth shook again, and this time Lautrec used the opportunity to dart forward and wrap Quelana in his arms. She only mildly struggled. The rumbling had awakened some deep fear in her.

"What do we do!?" Patches shouted in a panic. "How do we get out of here!?"

"The nest. Get in the crow's nest," Lautrec commanded, pulling Quelana along beside him as he climbed into the bed of twigs perched at the structure's peak.

"This is bloody ridiculous," Patches muttered, climbing in himself. "What did I agree to following you on this adventure!? Sitting in a crow's nest a hundred feet off the ground as the world crumbles apart below us? This is insane! What do you expect to happen? That bloody crow isn't going to give a-"

The black wings of the creature came upon them so quickly, it was as if the sun itself had been blotted out entirely. Patches shrieked, and even Lautrec himself found his courage waver a bit. The witch said nothing, only stared at the great beast with curiosity.

"Oh, Gods!" Patches wailed as one of the creatures talons wrapped around his torso.

Lautrec pulled Quelana close to his body and wrapped his arms around her. The crow dug its talons down around them and squeezed him in its mighty grip.

"Can the thing hold all our weight!?" Patches pleaded.

"Let us hope," Lautrec replied.

He felt one final shake of the earth as the mighty crow spread its wings and lifted them from the nest. The cold air spiraled around them, flapping the witch's robes and pulling one of Patches' boots right off his foot. He screamed, but both Lautrec and the witch cradled tightly in his arms, remained silent. They watched as the crow carried them away from the Firelink Shrine, and the tower they had just previously been standing atop crumbled as the world itself seemed to be tearing apart.

Lautrec thought he had finally taken the first step towards true change. He hoped he was right.

Chapter 3

 

 

Even hollow, Abby could feel the cold biting at her flesh, the icy wind working its way beneath her robes, a deep chill taking up residence in her bones. She wrapped her arms tighter to her body and pulled her knees up towards her stomach. The stone floor of her cell was hard and jagged beneath her, but with no other bedding provided, she had to make due; her robes became her blanket, her own hat her pillow. There was a point when the hope within her had seemed to warm her, but as the days passed and the coldness grew, she began to come to an unfortunate realization, and it was sapping the warmth right out of her cell: she was going to die in here. Alone. And cold; so very cold.

At a point, she drifted to sleep. She did not dream because, she assumed, when you were hollow, the part of you that dreams goes hollow too. That made her sad. Sleeping as the undead was always brief, restless, and empty, and when she awoke, it felt like she had not slept at all. She wasn't even sure she needed to sleep anymore. And yet she did. Maybe out of habit, maybe as a last defense against the bitter and relentless cold. Maybe because in a ten-by-ten cell, sleeping was the only thing you could do.

"Skinny little thing, ain't she?"
Voices in the dark; words riding the winds.
"She's the one then. The one we suffer for."
Abby opened her eyes. That wasn't the wind speaking.
"Well lets get her up and get out of here. I'm bloody freezing."

With a surge of adrenaline, Abby reached into her robes, found the hilt of her mace, and pulled it free. She rolled to her side, sweeping the mace in a defensive arc and clambering to her feet in one motion. She stood, the corner of the cell at her back, and stared wide-eyed and alert at the surprise company standing there before her. The one nearest to her was a tall and bald man with a queer grin on his face. Behind him stood a knight in golden armor. He wore no helm, though, and Abby could see his face was handsome, though his eyes were gray and piercing as they looked upon her. Beside him was a shorter figure clad entirely in black robes. There were ropes wrapped around the person's torso, arms, and wrists, and Abby felt a chill run up her spine as she gazed into the shadowy nook of the prisoner's hood.

"What's my name?" The golden knight questioned, stepping forward and moving the bald man aside so he could stand before her. "Answer me, girl. What's my name?"

Abby's eyes darted between the three of them, she licked her lips, swallowed. "I don't understand... who are you? Are you here to free me, or... or to kill me?"

"Answer my question and we'll find that out," the golden knight told her. "Who am I? Where are you? Do you know these things? Answer me true."

"No!" Abby snapped. "You're not making any sense! Please! I've been locked up in here for..."

"Go on. How long?" The knight demanded, stepping closer. "Or more importantly: how did you get here?"

She lifted her mace with both hands and angled it before her to shield herself from attack. "Come no closer, sir, I beg of you!"

"Answers," he repeated. "Where did you come from?"

"Vinheim! Alright? My parents sent me to the Dragon School for sorcerers. I... failed. I was no good with magic. I took up the white arts, began practicing miracle-working. I'm a simple cleric! There no need to harm me! I-"

"I didn't ask for your damned life story, girl," the knight said, and by now he had moved within striking distance. "How did you get in this cell. How did you go hollow?"

"I..." Abby began, but could find no words. Her brow creased as she thought about it, but the harder she tried to remember, the more distant any semblance of an answer grew. She swallowed, shook her head, returned her gaze to the knight. "I don't know."

"Good. You shouldn't," the knight told her. "Now answer my final question. Who am I? Think. Look at my armor. Golden armor. Who am I?"

"I-I..." Abby stammered.

The knight lunged forward. Abby cried out and swatted at him with her mace, but she had never been much good with it, and the knight was clearly trained for combat. He lifted his golden gauntlet, caught her wrist as it was coming down before she'd gathered any momentum, and wrenched he hand down to her side. His other hand shoved her back up against the corner of the cell, and before she'd even seen it happen, he'd unsheathed a large, curved, blade, and was holding it against her chest..

"Please!" Abby cried out, closing her eyes.
"You're hollow, girl. What fear does death hold over you?" Abby thought about it. She supposed the man was right. "One more time: who am I?"

The man's cold, gray, eyes fixed on her's and held, and after a few tense moments, he nodded, sheathed his blade, and released her. "She's fresh," he told his companions. "I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. But at least she's telling the truth."

"Hee-hee!" The bald man giggled. "Fresh and hollow. A walking, talking, contradiction!"

Abby put a shaky hand to her forehead and took a deep breath to steady herself. "Who are you people?"

"I am the knight, Lautrec, of Carim," the handsome man said, bowing his head slightly. "The hairless gentleman behind me is Patches. He's quite stupid and not to be trusted. I'd avoid him on our travels."

"Hey!" Patches protested.

"Well it's true, isn't it?"

Patches thought on it, shrugged, and nodded.

"Who is your prisoner? They frighten me," Abby admitted, narrowing her eyes on the cascading folds of black cloth that was the third person.

The knight stepped beside them and, with a slight struggle to escape his grip from the person within, took hold of the back of their hood. "This is our witch. Daughter of Chaos, Quelana."

"Witch!?" Abby echoed, taking a retreating step further into her corner.

The knight pulled back the hood. Abby stared at the woman he'd revealed within, nonplussed. She'd expected some monster straight out of the stories her parents had read her as a girl. Hooked and gnarled nose, green skin, warts, yellow and broken teeth. She saw, thankfully, none of that. The witch was young - or at least appeared young. Her skin was pale and clean and soft looking. Her eyes were a pretty shade of green, and loose strands of her ebony hair dangled beside them. A rag had been tied around her mouth; her thin lips wrapped around its knotted center.

"She's... beautiful," Abby said. The witch's eyes landed on her's.

"Yes, unfortunately so," Lautrec admitted. "A shame she's such a dangerous thing."

"Why have you gagged her?"

The witch turned her eyes to the knight to glare at him, but Lautrec quickly yanked the hood back up over her head. "Our pretty little witch here happens to have a serpent's tongue. She has the power to enslave your mind with but a few simple whispers in your ear. My bald companion nearly lost his life because of the trick."

Patches grimaced and rubbed at his neck. "Lousy fire bit- er, witch."

"What power..." Abby whispered, enthralled with the witch.

"Yes," Lautrec agreed, though he stepped between them so Abby could no longer stare. "A powerful prisoner she is, but not the most cooperative. Hence the binds."

"Where are you taking her?"

"The same place I'm taking you. Away from this damned asylum. Back to Lordran."

Abby frowned. "You intend to free me then, but... what awaits in Lordran?"

The knight shrugged. "Everything? Nothing? Who knows. We are on a journey of change. One that has already been started." His mouth spread to a grin and he lifted his hands to gesture at the cell. "Surely you feel that deep, deep, cold?"

Abby nodded.

"We've created that. Step outside with me. See what wonderful change we've already brought."

The knight extended his hand. Abby swallowed nervously and looked down upon it, then back to him. She felt taking it was entering into some sort of pact with the knight and his companions, becoming part of them, and the idea frightened her. They all seemed so... strong. So experienced. She was a failed mage and a new cleric: what could she possibly offer them?

"I won't bite," the knight assured her, flashing another grin.

She forced a shaky smile in return and, with no other option, took hold of his hand. He bowed and lead her beside him out of the cell as the bald man took up the loose slack of the witch's ropes and pulled her along as well. The hall outside the cell was dark, torches hung in sconces in regular intervals lit the way, and it seemed even colder than her cell had. She hugged her arms to her body as they walked, the knight beside her leading her by the waist. Cracks in the wall at their right side gave way to a massive chamber. It was empty. At the end of the hall, a cylindrical room awaited; a long steel ladder jutting from the curved wall and leading up. Abby craned her head back and saw a white swirl of the outside world awaiting.

"It snows," she said.

"Seems the Gods ain't keen on change," Patches added from behind them, snickering that queer giggle of his.

"I don't understand, sir," Abby said, turning to Lautrec. "What is this 'change' you and your companion keep speaking of?"

"Don't concern yourself with it for now. Just climb. You'll understand eventually."

Abby returned her gaze to the ladder and the world above. Her little cell behind her, she felt a surge of excitement. Her foot landed on the bottom rung, her hand took hold of one further up, and as she was about to climb, she turned back to the knight. "I... thank you, sir knight. For freeing me. I feared I'd spend the rest of my days in that prison."

Lautrec laid a hand on her shoulder and nodded. She returned the nod, smiled, and began the ascent.

The world was a white-washed, cold, wet, swirl above. Abby climbed out of the hole and had to immediately shield her eyes from the heavy downpour of thick snow. She took an arduous step forward through the shin-high tufts and let the snows land in her hair, on her face, on her tongue. She smiled; it was wonderful. She looked to the pale skies above and spread her arms, feeling a freedom that she'd never felt before.

The arrow pierced the hollow flesh of her chest so cleanly and with such ease, Abby hadn't even realized what had happened until she was staring down at the wooden shaft protruding from her torso. "Oh no," she whispered, cringed, and fell to the snows.

Her breath choked off in her chest and she could feel blood behind her teeth. She made a gurgling sound that might have been a cry for help, but even she wasn't sure. The snow was dampening her robes. She felt wet and cold and... alone.

The knight's face appeared above her a moment later. "What the hell..." he said, saw the arrow, realized what had happened, and rolled to the side.

As he did, a second arrow took the snow where he's knelt only a second earlier.

"Curse the Gods," he hissed, rushed back to Abby, and took hold of her robes at the shoulders. He dragged her back around the stone archway that lead to the ladder hole. He managed to yank her behind it just as a third arrow stuck the ground near her ankles.

"S-second... floor... " Abby croaked, every word a painful struggle. "Saw him... he's... like me. Hollow..."

"An archer!?" Patches' voice echoed from within the hole. "Well what do you want me to bloody do, Lautrec? I'm carrying the damned witch on my shoulder!"

"I'm going to kill him," the knight explained casually. He had peeled off his gauntlets and boots and was working at his chestpiece. "Give it a moment and then hurry up and take cover."

Abby touched at her wound, but her fingers caused a spike of pain. She clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyelids shut till it passed.

"Don't touch that. I'll be right back," the knight said.

Abby looked over at him. He had looked so large and imposing in his golden armor, but without it he had the build of an average man; a dark tunic and breeches hugged his frame. "I'm... going to die..."

"You can't die," Lautrec explained. He picked up his chest piece, stepped to the archway, and flipped it outside with a flick of his wrist. A second later, the sound of an arrow head pinging off the gold filled the air. Lautrec slipped outside, became a blurry vision within the blizzard, and then disappeared entirely.

Patches came clambering up the ladder with the witch slung over his shoulder a few moments later. He scrambled behind the stone wall just in time; another arrow loosed and bit the wall behind them.

"Bastard!" Patches growled, setting the witch down beside Abby. "Shoots at me!?" He cupped his hands around his mouth and stepped beside the archway. "Kill that sneaky prick, Lautrec! Kill him good!"

"...dying..." Abby managed to whisper through her choked coughing. "Shot... me..."

"Quiet, girl, ya ain't dyin'," Patches explained. "You're the bloody Chosen One."

The witch lowered herself to her knees beside Abby and peered out at her from within her hood. Abby shivered, though she wasn't sure if it was from the cold, the wound, or the witch's gaze. The witch reached forward the best she could with her arms all wrapped up and took hold of Abby's left hand in between her own. Abby was amazed at how warm her skin felt as the witch rubbed her fingers into her palm. She closed her eyes and relaxed, suddenly not finding it nearly as hard to do so.

Somewhere outside, a scream sounded. It was not the knight's.

A few moments later, Lautrec returned. Abby saw, through her dimming vision, that he dragged a body along behind him.

Patches eyes landed on the body and his mouth fell agape. "What the hell... how is that possible?"

Abby looked. The archer was hollow. She'd been right. He was hollow and dressed in well-oiled leathers, boots on his feet, gloves on his hands, a quiver of arrows slung to his back. More importantly, though, he was alive.

Lautrec shook his head. "There's two of them."

"Two Chosen Ones?" Patches snapped. "That don't sound a little funny to you?"

"Look at him!" Lautrec said. "He's dressed like a man. He was far more accurate with that bow then any regular hollow could have dreamed of aspiring to. He's a Chosen One. Or perhaps... he's the Chosen One." The knights eyes flicked to Abby. "And she's not."

Abby winced and clutched at her wound. Patches eyes went from her to the archer and back. "This... doesn't make any sense."

"It will soon enough," the knight explained. "She's dying from that wound, and he's dying from my wound. We get them to the bonfire. Then we find out who lives... and who dies."

With that, the bald man took Abby in his arms, lifted, and carried her beneath the stone archway and into the blizzard. Lautrec dragged the dying hollow along beside them by the collar of his tunic. The witch came slowly behind them, and Abby saw with a sense of great wonder that wherever the witch's feet fell, the snow began to melt and die around her.

They crossed the short distance to an unlit bonfire, resting forlorn and forgotten amidst the swirling white chaos of the blizzard. Abby was placed beside it, the other hollow was dropped next to her, and Lautrec went and fetched the witch by her binds.

"Light it," he commanded, leading her beside the bonfire.

The witch's head turned to him, but Abby could see his gray eyes were narrowed on the dead wood set before him. The witch looked back at the flames, lifted her pale hands as high as the ropes would allow, and angled her palms at the bonfire, fingers spread.

"Wait," Lautrec haulted her, reached down, and plucked two twigs from the bonfire. "Alright, witch. Go on."

"Here," Lautec said, crouching beside her. He stuck one of the pieces of wood in her frail, weak, hand. She clutched it the best she could and closed her eyes. "No. Awake, girl. Throw that into the flame."

"...flame..." Abby croaked.

"Do it now!" Lautrec demanded, and fueled by fear of his shouts alone, she meekly tossed the twig into the fire with the last of her strength. "Good," the knight said, standing. "Now you, boy. If you can still hear me, that is."

Abby listened as the other hollow hissed some quiet words. She wasn't sure if he'd taken the wood or not, because she no longer had the strength to hold her eyes open. She felt snow on her face, on her cheeks, and wasn't sure if the wetness there was the snowfall or her own tears. The witch must have taken her hand again, because she felt warmth there. There was a moment where it became apparent to Abby that she was dying.

And then she was dead.

Chapter 4

 

 

 

As the hollow boy and girl died lying in the snow, Quelana watched curiously from within the shadow of her hooded robes. If the knight had been correct about the trip in the crow's talons away from Lordran, the cell in the basement of the asylum that housed his 'Chosen', and the rebirth from the flames upon death... even Quelana would have to begin to doubt her uncertainty with him. She turned to look at him then, as the young ones took their final breaths, and saw his gray eyes were wide and housed a boyish excitement as he stared into the bonfire. Quelana looked back and where the hollow bodies once lay, only two empty trenches of snow remained.

The fire rose, red flames licking at the sky and searing the snowfall above. The sight of it... the warmth of it... it brought Quelana a peace she hadn't felt since the knight had stolen her away from Blighttown. Then, from within the fire, figures formed in ghastly, ethereal, tones. One moment they were smoke, the next they were ghosts, then they were the flames themselves.

Finally, they had returned.
"Two Chosen..." Patches muttered beside her. "I don't believe it." "This is change," Lautrec said, nodding. "This is good."

The young man and woman seemed frozen in place for a moment, and Quelana thought them paralyzed. Then their eyes blinked and their mouths moved and soon enough they were peering around the asylum in a dazed wonder. The knight moved quickly to the side of the male hollow, unsheathed one of his shotels, and threw the boy to the ground.

"Hey!" The hollow cried out, but the knight was quick to follow up his attack by pinning his knee over the boy's chest. "What's happening!? Am I... dead?"

"You can't die," Lautrec told him. "Same as her, though it didn't stop you from trying."

The hollow girl he nodded to, Abby, was staring at her own hands, turning them over with a stunned look plastered to her face.

"Now answer me this: Who am I?" Lautrec demanded. "My gold armor, do you know of it?"

"What-? I don't understand what's happening!?" The boy shouted, squirming beneath the knight's knee. "I killed her!" He looked at Abby, then back to Lautrec. "And you killed me! Why are we still-"

"Be quiet and answer me," the knight interrupted. "Do you want my ring? My armor? What's my name?"

"I don't know! Get off me!"

"If you lie to me, I can't kill you, but I know plenty of ways to make a man hurt," Lautrec warned. "One more time, and think hard on it: What's - my - name?"

The hollow peered up at the knight for a long while then. Finally he said, "I - don't - know!"

"I'm alive..." Abby was whispering. "I'm not even... injured?"

Lautrec removed his knee from the boy's chest and stood. He looked upon the hollow for a moment before offering his hand. The boy hesitantly took it and Lautrec yanked him to his feet. "Either we have a pair of very good liars on our hands, or the two of them are fresh Chosen." He scratched at the stubble on his chin. "That's... interesting."

"Who the hell are you people?" The boy demanded, rubbing the spot on his back where Lautrec had wounded and killed him not a few minutes earlier.

"Do you always shoot first and ask questions later?" Lautrec asked, picking up the hollow's bow and handing it back to him. "You know, I am not quite as lucky as the girl you hit there. If I took that blow... you would have killed me."

"I was trying to kill you!" The boy protested. "The whole lot of you! I thought you were... well, hollow."

"Like yourself?"
"I'm not like the other hollows," the boy snapped.
"Well, you're at least right about that. And your name?" The knight asked.

"Benjamin," the boy answered. His eyes flicked across the rest of the party, landing on Quelana only long enough for him to grimace with fear. "Who are they?"

"I am the knight Lautrec of Carim," Lautrec introduced himself before standing and gesturing to Patches. "This is my... friend, Patches."

Patches nodded and couldn't help a little giggle from escaping his lips.

"My witch, Quelana," Lautrec continued. "You'll forgive her silence, I'm sure."

Quelana bit down on the gag in her mouth and glared at the knight from within her hood.

"I do," Lautrec told him. "A powerful one, as well. Just stay away from her hands and tongue, and you should be fine." He turned to the hollow girl. "And this is... Abby, was it?"

The girl still look bewildered as she nodded.

"She's like you," Lautrec told him. "Chosen, that is."

"Chosen for what?"

"A good question," Lautrec admitted. "One we will, hopefully, find an answer for."

Benjamin looked up at the snowfall. The blizzard had subsided a bit, but the winds were still howling above. "Why did you ask if I knew your name?"

"I wanted to see if you were fresh," Lautrec explained. "Or if this was a repeat journey for you."

Ben's eyes narrowed on the knight. "You make no sense."

"Little does here," Lautrec said, gestured for Patches to come beside him, and began fishing something out from within the sack the bald man wore on his back. "Now, I expect cooperation from the both of you, less you wind up in ropes like the witch there. As a friendly gesture of our new alliance, I offer you this."

The knight pulled, delicately, from the bag two strange, black, shapes. Quelana took a step closer to try and make out what they were. The things he held were formless one moment, and solid the next. There was a queer humming coming from them, and white streaks moved about their ebony surfaces like ripples in water.

"What is it?" Abby asked, clutching her hands to her chest.

"It's what's going to remove the plague from your flesh," Lautrec told her. "Drown the emptiness from your stomachs. Return the life to your eyes." He extended a hand to each of them. "This is the tangible form of Humanity."

Benjamin was quick to take the odd, solid/liquid, lump. He turned it over in his hands, nearly letting it slip through his fingers. The girl was more hesitant, so Lautrec moved forward and pressed it to her chest, forcing her to take hold of it before it fell.

"What do we do with it?" Abby questioned.
"Offer it to the flames," Lautrec explained. "And remove the sickness that death has laid upon you."

"That's knight-talk for 'you'll be human again'," Patches added.

This time, the girl was first to act. As soon as Patches uttered the word 'human' she stepped before the bonfire, cradled the humanity in her hands, and hovered them over the flames. Benjamin moved beside her and did the same. Quelana had heard her pupils talk of this ritual before, but she had never seen it performed, and so she watched with great interest; never lacking astonishment for the myriad of powers that fire harnessed within it.

The 'sickness', as Lautrec had called it, began washing away immediately. The gray and dying flesh of their arms and necks and faces took on color, the black pits of their eyes faded away in exchange for pretty blue pupils for the girl, deep brown ones for the boy. As the humanity spread through them, Quelana noted that the two could have been brother and sister. They were both of similar height, though Ben was a tad taller. Both had chestnut brown hair; the girl's falling to her shoulders in soft waves; the boy's short and unkempt. They both looked young, maybe no older than twenty one. Even their reactions were similar: they looked at their hands, at each other, smiled.

"I don't believe it!" Abby shouted, swiping the moisture from the corners of her eyes. "I'm... not a monster!"

"Not until you die again," Lautrec told her.

Ben's brow wrinkled. "What does that mean?"

"We'll deal with it when the time comes," Lautrec said, looking skyward. "We've been here long, though, and night will soon fall. I'd rather not be in the Undead Asylum when it does. We have to move." He lowered his gaze and fixed it on Ben. "One more thing, though. How exactly did you escape your cell?"

"Another knight," the boy admitted, scratching at the back of his neck. "Though his armor certainly wasn't gold. I don't know why he did it, but... he's dead now. Threw me a key down the hole in my cell's ceiling, laid down, gave me a few flasks and another key, and... well, just died."

Lautrec nodded. "Sounds about right." He turned to the big door across the courtyard and held a hand up to shield his brow from the snowfall. "I've heard of this part of the journey many times over. A great beast awaits us behind those doors."

"A beast?" Abby questioned.

"A demon, I suppose is a better description of what the creature is," Lautrec corrected. "The Asylum demon."

Lautrec grinned. "Unfortunately not. You might be, though." He looked at Benjamin. "One of you... both of you... neither... who can say, really?"

"I could be a God?" Abby said, staring back into the flames.

"A doubtful little thing for a God, ain't she?" Patches teased. "Are we going to get moving or what? You know what they say: Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana! Hee-Hee!"

"I'm ready," Benjamin said. "I've spent enough time in this place to last me a lifetime... or two I suppose, in my case."

"Hee-hee! That's the spirit!" Patches cheered and clapped him on the shoulder.

Lautrec crossed the bonfire and stepped before Quelana. She turned her head to avoid his piercing gray eyes. His hand fell on her arm and squeezed. "Look, witch, I know you're not happy with me for all I've done, but the reality is that there might be a mighty foe awaiting us on the other side of those doors. I kidnapped you so you could help us survive such encounters. I need to know you're on my side here."

Quelana stared into the bonfire, ignoring the knight, wondering what cruel game he was playing talking to her when she could not speak a reply.

"Hey," he said, twisting at her arm so she had to face him.

Quelana grunted and wrestled free of his grip, but her robes caught beneath her heel and without the use of her hands to steady herself, she tumbled backwards and fell, landing in a tuft of snow that sizzled and turned to water around her almost instantly. Her hood had fallen away, and so she laid there uselessly, snow dropping and melting away on her face, glaring up at the knight hovering over her.

"You need help with the witch, Lautrec?" Patches asked.

The knight's eyes held on hers. "No... go on to the door. I need a word with her."

Patches nodded, picked up what little gear they carried, and led the two young ones through the snow. When they were alone, Lautrec crouched beside her. Quelana stared at the man, wondering if she could ignite him without catching her own robes on fire.

Lautrec grinned. "A fire burns even in your eyes, witch."

The knight's grin widened as he looked down at her hands, then back to her. "If I remove that muzzle of yours... will you bewitch me? Put me under your spell?"

Quelana only glared.

Lautrec looked back at the rest of them waiting at the doors. "I suppose I can risk it," he said, leaned in so he could get his hands behind her head, and untied the gag.

The cloth came from between her teeth, and Quelana licked at her lips. She stared up at the man, doing her best to control her anger. "I'll light your bonfires but I will never stand beside you in combat," she snapped. "May the demon slay you for your sins. ...pathetic knight."

Lautrec shook his head, but his grin remained. "You're displaying an excellent example of why I should keep you gagged for the remainder of our journey."

"Go ahead and gag me," Quelana told him. "I have nothing to say to you or your 'companions'. You're on a pointless quest that will only end in failure and death and horror. As all things do."

"As your sisters did?"

The knight's words took Quelana by surprise. She recoiled as if struck by a blow, then her anger took over and she opened her mouth to shout at the knight-

-but he held the gag up and shook his head, and she closed it once more, regaining her composure and continuing in a quiet voice.

"How dare you speak of my sisters... you know nothing of-"

"I know enough," Lautrec interrupted. "I know the Chaos that took Izalith took them as well. Deformed them. Made monsters of them. I know you were the only one to escape." He paused, glancing up at the sky. "Witch, look around us. Whatever I've done by coming here, I have already changed things. This weather, the cold... the pair of Chosen that you yourself saw reborn in the fire upon death." He looked back down at her. "Who knows what changes await us in Lordran. What changes may have befallen the inhabitants. ...befallen your sisters."

"You..." she began, but then the weight of his words sunk in and she her mind turned to them. The faces of her sisters before the chaos flashed across her mind; pretty, youthful, faces yet untainted by the plague of destruction that had twisted them. "It's not possible," she whispered, shaking the foolish thought from her head. "What's done is done."

"What good is the promise of a forsaken knight?" Quelana questioned.

"I've forsaken no knightly vows, witch," Lautrec explained. "The vows I took... I've fulfilled them all. And will continue to do so. Now do we have a deal?"

Quelana weighed her options, saw no gain in refusing the fool, and set her eyes upon him. For a brief moment, she saw the faces of her sisters again, but closed her eyes and they were gone. The chance that coming here had somehow saved them from the monsters they'd become was small... but it was a chance. "Fine. We have a deal. Return me to Izalith, and... my fire will destroy your enemies."

Lautrec's hands took hold of her shoulders and he pulled her to her feet. "Good," he said, pulling the hood back up over her head. "Now try your best not to bewitch any of my fellow travelers and keep the 'pathetic knight' insults to a minimum and I won't have to gag you."

Quelana held the man's eyes for a moment before nodding and stepping beside him. They headed across the courtyard and met with the rest at the doors to the asylum.

"Lautrec, I can't hear a damned thing behind here," Patches said, his ear pressed to the doors. "You sure there's supposed to be some big bastard demon behind it?"

"Positive," Lautrec answered. "Ready yourselves."

"What do I do?" Abby asked. The girl looked terrified in her white and red cleric robes, a mace loosely clutched in her right hand, a ratty-looking talisman hanging from her left.

"You cast miracles?" Lautrec asked.

The girl looked at her talisman, licked her lips, nodded. "Not well," she admitted, color flushing her cheeks.

Lautrec and Patches shared a look. "Maybe just... hang back on this one." The girl nodded, looking relieved.

Benjamin pulled an arrow from his quiver and stepped beside them. "I'm ready. What's there to fear? We can't die."

"You can't die," Patches corrected. "We can."
"So fight good," Lautrec said, placed his palms on the doors, and pushed.

"Gods save us..." Patches muttered, he had shouldered past Quelana quickly and stepped deeper into the room.

"What the hell..." Lautrec said.

Quelana stepped around the tall bald man and looked to see what they were so baffled by.

"What have we done..." Patches whispered.

At the other end of the chamber, a massive lump was spread out on the floor. Quelana squinted, allowing the thing to focus before she realized that whatever it was: it was alive. Or at least trying to be alive. It had a little head atop a massive, rounded, body, and from the temple came an enormous tumor that set the demon off balance, causing its head to droop to one side as it laid there, groaning. Quelana saw, with horror, that the thing had three arms protruding from its swollen body, but one of the three hadn't fully developed. It was small and weaker than the others and grasping at the ground, trying to pull the monster to its feet. Blood and puss was pooled around its face, and she saw dark red rivets trailing from the monsters nose. A black tongue protruded from its lip, licking at the blood as the demon's eyes rolled back into its head, forward again, and then darted side to side aimlessly.

"What is that thing?" Abby's small, frightened, voice came from behind them.

Patches turned to Lautrec. "There's your 'Asylum Demon', huh?" The bald man looked back to the creature. "Don't suppose none of them Chosen ever mentioned it was a deformed, crippled, monster with a tumor, huh?"

"We... changed things," Lautrec said, stepping forward.

The demon moaned a pathetic sound and its little arm began swinging again. Its eyes landed on the knight, but holding focus seemed to cause the thing pain, and so its head shook and more blood spat from its nose. The tumor protruding from its head struck the ground as it did and the creature howled a shrill, excruciating, scream.

The five of them stood there watching in silence as its eyes rolled and its tongue lashed and its head shook until finally Lautrec turned to Quelana and said, "Burn that thing, witch. Burn it and send it back to the hell it came from."

"You did this," Quelana said. "You wanted to change things and so you have. You never considered you'd be changing them for the worse. My sisters..." She thought of them writhing in pain as the demon was now and it made her physically ill. "What have you done?"

"Burn it," he insisted. "If not by my command, then do it to end the thing's suffering."

She looked back to the creature. It was pathetically trying to pull itself closer to them, but had neither the strength nor the understanding that only one of its three arms were moving. She turned to the knight, and the two stared at each other. Lautrec stepped aside.

"Maybe we can help it..." Abby whispered.

"Don't be foolish, it's already dead," Ben told her. "It just... it just doesn't know it yet."

"Go on and do your thing, witch," Patches said. "I don't want to hear it wail no more."

Quelana looked from the three of them to Lautrec then finally to the demon. She stepped towards it slowly, raising her bound hands as high as the ropes would allow, palms outward, and sending the flames circling her fingers. The creature's eyes fell upon her as she crossed the cathedral and it groaned and lurched its head at her, the tumor striking the ground once again and provoking a hideous shriek from the things black and bloody lips. The flames around her fingers spread to her palms and blazed higher. The demon's jaw moved up and down, a sound that might have been a whine escaping it.

Quelana stepped before it, just out of its grasping, under-developed, arm, and looked upon the beast. Up close to the monster, an incredible sadness took her heart, and she was once again reminded of the chaos the befell her sisters. The flames rose higher still around her hands and she whispered one word to the demon below them, "Rest."

Streams of red and orange pillars of flame erupted from her palms, encased the monster's entire body and head, and seared its flesh. The shrieks it had roared before were nothing compared to the howl of its dying breaths. Quelana had made the flames hot, though, and the demon was silent almost as quickly as it had screamed.

When it was finished, only the large and smoldering corpse of the monster remained before her; black and charred and very much dead.

Lautrec stepped beside her and looked upon the demon. He prodded its head with the toe of his boot to test its state of being. "You did well."

Lautrec stared at the beast for a long time before quietly saying, "I suppose we'll find out soon enough."

And with that, he gathered the rest of them, led them from the cathedral and back into the blizzard, up a short, stony, hill, and to the crow's perch. The great bird could be seen in the distance, a black hulking figure in the white chaos of the snow, and it was coming.

To what new land it was taking them, Quelana did not know.

Chapter 5

 

 

 

Atop the eastern tower of the Duke's Archives, Solaire stood gazing at the shadowy, white and blue remnant of the sun; a cold wind blowing from the dark ruins of Anor Londo, sending his Sun Cloak rippling out behind him. His eyes grew rheumy between his helm's eyeslits. He longed for the golden rays of light to pour from the heavens once more. He longed to feel the Sun's warmth; to drink in its glory; to battle beneath its watchful, protective, eye. Yet he knew it was a fool's hope-at least until Logan made further progress in his studies-and that the Great Cold that had swept across Lordran like a plague was all that awaited him atop the tower. It's all that ever awaited him anymore. Still, he came to watch; to hope. Hope was the last warm thing left in Lordran.

"Knight Solaire," the voice of his squire came from over his shoulder. The boy stepped beside him, bowed, and stood at attention, awaiting reply.

"What is it, Henrik?" Solaire answered, his eyes lingering on the dead husk of pale light in the sky.

"The Marvelous Chester has returned with word from the South," Henrik explained. "He is requesting to speak directly to Logan."

Solaire finally turned on the boy, frowning beneath his helm. "He knows no one speaks to Logan," and upon further reflection, "What's happened?"

His squire shrugged. "He asked for Logan, no more. I came to you, as instructed. He awaits answer in the main hall."

"Good, Henrik. You were wise not to disturb Logan," Solaire said, holding his tongue before he added, you would have feared what you found. "I'll speak with Chester immediately."

The boy nodded, bowed, and disappeared back down the spiraling staircase he'd come from. Solaire turned back to the blue sun once more, bowed to it as reverently as his squire had done to he, and followed.

He came upon the 'marvelous' Chester pacing the main hall of the Archives, hands clasped behind his back, and snickering to himself as he looked from painting to painting. Solaire eyed the man up as he approached down the library staircase, scoffing at his attire. The man was a warrior, of sorts, and Solaire was under the impression that all warriors should dawn themselves in the heaviest plate they could afford without restricting movement. Yet there Chester stood in his dirty, dark, long coat and leather trousers. His 'helmet' was a flimsy top hat with the mask of a jester dropping from its brow to hide the man's face. When Solaire had first met him, he'd thought painted, grinning mask was his face.

Chester turned to Solaire upon hearing his approach, the jester's mouth of his mask taunting the knight as he spoke. "I ask for the great wizard, and I am brought his lapdog. A shame."

"Watch your tongue, Chester," Solaire warned as he stepped to ground level and walked beside the man.

"Bit hard to watch one's tongue, isn't it? The wretched things are always slithering around between our lips," Chester spoke softly from behind his mask. "Some more wretched than others, of course." He laughed.

"On that we can agree," Solaire said, fixing the man with a stern look. "What news do you bring from the South? What is the Hollow Army doing?"

Chester shrugged, his gaze turning back to the paintings on the wall. "What the Hollow Army always does. Sitting around. Grunting. Groaning. Picking their balls, or at least the place their balls used to hang. Heh."

"Don't waste my time. You asked for Logan. This must be important."

Chester made a sound beneath his mask that might have been disappointment. "Yes. Right to business as usual, ey Solaire? How does one fit such a large stick up their ass with so much damned metal covering it?"

A flush of anger rose in Solaire's cheeks. If the man before him hadn't been the best spy they had, he'd have considered unsheathing his straight sword and challenging the fool to a duel right there in the main hall.

Chester laughed. "Relax, knight. I bring two pieces of news from the South. The first," he turned, strolled partially down the hall, and plucked a bound and hooded prisoner from a bench beside the wall. "Is this. The second... well, the second is why I wanted to speak to Logan personally."

Solaire fixed his eyes upon the man's prisoner. The captive was short and garnished in tattered and dingy gray robes. "Who is he?"

"She is Logan's precious 'firekeeper' he was so intent on meeting. Hadn't he informed his favorite dog?" Chester taunted.

"You bind and hood a woman like this?" Solaire snapped indignantly. "Have you no honor? Release her!"

Chester shrugged. "She's Logan's now. Release her if you wish, I was looking out for myself." He took the woman by the elbow and shoved her forward.

Solaire caught her and pulled the hood from the woman's head immediately. "My apologies madam," he spoke as it was removed. The woman beneath did not appear as he'd expected for a fabled and legendary firekeeper. She was young with a healthy complexion and soft, blue, eyes. Her hair, strawberry blond and clean, was pulled back into a bun behind her head. She set her eyes on Solaire and swallowed. She seemed afraid. "You have nothing to fear now, m'lady. I am the Knight Solaire, Warrior of the Sun. You are in good hands."

"If it was conversation Logan was looking for, he's in for some disappointment," Chester said. He brought his finger to the mouth of his mask and tapped. "No tongue on that one."

"Oh," Solaire said, embarrassed. He offered the woman a sympathetic smile. "My apologies, m'lady. I... I ensure you your treatment thus far has not been ordered by myself or my superior, Logan. Perhaps I can offer you something to eat? Drink? Your travels must have-"

"Do you wish the woman to want her ears removed as well, Solaire?" Chester taunted. "She's not hungry. I offered on our travels plenty. I'm no monster. She's a firekeeper. The flames are their nourishment. Offer her a torch if you insist on being so obnoxiously knightly."

Solaire glared at the man and balled his fist, but held his tongue before the lady. He forced his words with amicability. "The second piece of news, Chester, and then be on your way."

"I want to talk to Logan."

"No."

Chester folded his arms across his chest. "How long do you think the men within these walls will continue to take orders from a leader they can not see? They grow restless, knight. We've gathered nearly a hundred strong, and yet we sit and wait, day after day as this infernal cold grows deeper and colder and our enemies amass outside our walls. Logan must reveal himself."

"Logan is studying," Solaire said, and it was a partial truth. What he held back from the man was the fact that Logan was also most likely losing his mind. "He is working on a way to fix this infernal cold."

"Do you know what the men are saying?" Chester asked, shifting his weight and causing the crossbow slung across his back to sway from side to side. "Some say Logan is dead. Some say you killed him. ...some say he's fled Lordran, given up, headed for higher ground. Warmer ground."

"I assure you he's here," Solaire said, growing impatient. "But I can say no more. He will formulate a plan to counter the Hollow Army and reverse the Great Cold soon enough. Do not doubt the man's genius. You forget it was he who slaid the scaleless monstrosity that roamed this keep and took it for himself. Twas he who began taken refugees from the cold. Give him time."

"He's got less time than you think, knight," Chester said. "Mutiny is in the air. All it will take is one bold man to step forth and snatch it up."

"Is that man you?" Solaire asked, letting his hand fall to the hilt of his sheathed straight sword.

Chester looked at it and laughed. "Not today, knight."

"Then tell me the other news. I will bring the information to Logan immediately."

Chester sighed, hesitated, but eventually spoke, "The crow has taken flight from Lordran."

Solaire's mouth fell agape beneath his helm. "What?"

A snicker came from Chester's mask. "That's right. The crow flies once again. I saw it with mine own two eyes. I would have liked to inform Logan of such a wonder myself, but... I suppose his dog will suffice. Yes, the crow flies. And perhaps the answer to our suffering will lie in the beast's talons upon its return. If it ever does return."

"And you threatened to withhold this information!?" Solaire snapped. "I should behead you here and now for such treason!"

Chester laughed. "Go run to your owner, dog. Make sure to tell him it was the Marvelous Chester who delivered the news." He faced the blond woman and bowed. "Farewell for now... m'lady," he said with a final snicker, turned, and sauntered away.

Solaire watched him go, shaking his head. He despised men like Chester, and under normal circumstances he'd never fight beside them. Since the cold, though, the circumstances had become anything but normal. He became aware the woman was staring at him and chuckled nervously beneath his helm. "Apologies, m'lady. Here, let me see your wrists." He unsheathed his sword, taking note of the way the woman's eyes widened apprehensively as he did, and cut loose her binds. "There you are. I would never treat a lady like that man who brought you here, I assure you. I wish we had sent someone else in his place, but the roads are growing more dangerous to travel by, and he is, unfortunately, a master of remaining hidden."

The woman only stared.

Solaire's cheeks flushed beneath his helm when he remembered once again she had no tongue. "Ah, yes, well... er, I suppose Logan would like to see you. I'm sure once he speaks to you, he'll afford you a hot bath and anything else you so desire. Come, m'lady," he said and stuck his elbow out. The blonde woman look at it as if she'd never seen the gesture before, so Solaire leaned in and placed her arm around it, smiled, and led her off towards the prison.

He joined the woman at the bottom of the ladder, took her arm up in his own once more, and began the long, winding, descent to Logan. He spoke to the firekeeper as they walked, "Logan uses this old prison as his study chamber, m'lady, I assure you you are no prisoner here. The man is... he is an eccentric, you see. His mind is brilliant, and as with most brilliant things, works in funny ways. Don't fear him, though. He is a good man. The Duke's Archives were captured by him. Once the cold began settling over Lordran, the men and women of the realm sought out refuge. Logan welcomed them all with open arms. It is... comical, in a way. It took a great cold to bring together the forces of man. The cold and the hollows, of course, but I'm sure you know of the Hollow Army."

The firekeeper's face remained frozen in an expression of fear and concern, and so Solaire went on. "Eh-hem, well, um... I recall Logan mentioning you were locked in a cell burrowed into the earth. Perhaps you do not know of the Hollow Army. Well, you see, some time after the cold began setting in, the hollows began fleeing to Anor Londo. All of them. They... they skinned and killed all men in their path. Now the rumors are that there are hundreds camped within the walls of the great chapel there. Wretched things that they are. Have no fear, though, m'lady. Once Logan is through studying, he will tell us what our next move is and we will sweep across the hollow's like a mighty ray of sunlight washing away the darkness."

He turned on the woman, chest raised and beaming, and awaited a reaction. She offered none, and so he walked on the rest of the way in slightly disappointed silence.

At the ground level, at the very back of the tower, piles and piles of books stacked to the height of three grown men standing on each other's shoulders awaited them. Some books were spilling off mounds of tomes to the sides, their pages open and ripped. More books laid across the floor, covers peeled back and an assortment of pages laid side by side in, what Solaire assumed, was some order of importance. Scrolls rested against the walls. Ledgers tumbled from the large wooden desk in the center of it all, though even that was buried in a sea of white paper. A dozen candles surrounded the study, and Solaire found it a near miracle that something hadn't caught fire and the whole thing had gone up in flames. "Logan," he called into the pile of books. "Are you the-"

A crystal golem came lumbering around one particularly high stack of books, the candelight dancing of the creature's blue, metallic, body.

The firekeeper beside him made a startled sound from her tongueless mouth and jerked at Solaire's elbow. He caught her and put a hand to her shoulder, "Apologies again, m'lady. I should have warned you. This... thing is Logan's pet." He turned back to the golem and nodded, though Solaire himself never grew comfortable with the idea that the monster had just show up at the gates of the Archives one day and began following Logan's command. There was a wickedness about the creature.

The golem ignored them and lumbered off towards the staircase, each of its footfalls seeming to shake the whole tower itself.

"Solaire?" Logan's deep, wise, voice came spilling from behind a tower of books. A moment later, the man himself emerged from within the shadows; the candlelight flickering across his dark robes, his face illuminated softly in the flame beneath his massive, wide-brimmed, hat. "My friend."

Solaire nodded. "How goes your studying, Logan? Have you made any breakthroughs?"

"I fear not, brave Knight of the Sun," Logan answered, stepping around his desk and approaching them. His eyes, though it was hard to discern in the shadow of his hat, moved to the woman. "My firekeeper?"

"Yes," said Solaire. "I fear the woman has no tongue, however. Chester delivered her not but a few moments ago."

Logan suddenly lifted his head to stare up at the top of the tower. Solaire looked away. He was used to these little moments of... zoning out that Logan had. He supposed genius came with its costs. When the man in the big hat finally looked back to them, he was smiling. "My firekeeper."

"Yes... no tongue, though. Chester delivered her," Solaire repeated.

"No tongue?" Logan echoed, pouting his lips. "Sad."

After a few moments of silence, Solaire realized he was expected to say something. "Ah, yes. It is quite sad. Poor girl. Chester had her bound and hooded for their journey."

"Mmm, sad," Logan said again and stepped nearer to the woman. "Open your mouth, my lady."

The woman recoiled from Logan and looked helplessly towards Solaire. Solaire nodded his head and rubbed at her back. "It's alright. He won't hurt you. He just wants to see."

"See," Logan agreed.

Slowy, and through trembling lips, the woman opened her mouth. Logan leaned in to loom over her and narrowed his eyes within the darkness of her gaping mouth. "Mmm, yes. No tongue on this one. We will drink to it."

"D-Drink?" Solaire stammered.

Logan moved behind a pile of books without reply and returned a moment later carrying a bronze chalice. Solaire peaked inside and saw a red wine swaying within. "Here, my lady," Logan said, a smile creeping up his face. "Drink and your troubles shall vanish."

Again, the woman looked to Solaire. He offered his kindest smile and nodded his approval. She looked back to Logan, fixed her eyes on the chalice fearfully, and took it in her shaking hands.

"Drink," Logan urged.

The firekeeper hesitated, glanced one final time at Solaire, and brought the cup to her lips. Her blond head tilted back and the red wine within funneled into her tongueless mouth.

Finished, Solaire took the cup from her hands and handed it back to Logan. "There we are, m'lady. You see? Tis only a bit of wine for a weary traveler."

"Well..." Logan said, his head cocking to the side. "Tis a bit more than that."

Solaire frowned and opened his mouth to question what meaning Logan's words held, but the firekeepers fingers digging into his arm cut him short. He spun to face her and saw the woman's face was wracked with pain, her hands clutching at her throat, choked noised gurgling from her lips. "Logan!" He shouted. "What have you done!?"

"Mmm," Logan hummed, stepping beside the girl as she choked. "Poisoned her."

"By the Gods, why!?" Solaire snapped. The woman fell to the ground and Solaire went with her, cradling her head in his lap as she collapsed.

"Do not speak of the Gods here, Solaire," Logan said, his voice taking on a sudden acridity. "They have no place in my study. They are cruel beasts and their time draws near."

"She's dying..." Solaire said as the woman stopped choking. An odd flash of peace came over her face as her eyes closed to slits and a faint smile spread across her lips. Then the eyes closed, the mouth with them, and the tongueless firekeeper was no more. "You've... killed an innocent."

Solaire swallowed his anger and did as the man instructed. As her body left his arms, it dissolved into the dingy robes around her; as if the robes themselves had drank her corpse up. A warm light came upon Solaire's cheeks as he peered into the robes central mass, where a shining soul had birthed.

"The soul of a firekeeper," Logan spoke, quiet and reverent. "I've only ever seen one in my life. This is the second. It's... beautiful, isn't it?"

The light danced in Solaire's eyes, transfixing him, alluring him, paralyzing him. "Y-yes," he stammered. "It's... incredible."

"A crueler man would use the soul to imbue his alchemy with newfound power," Logan went on. "But we aren't cruel men, are we Solaire?"

"N-No."
"We are good men, aren't we?" "Yes."

Logan nodded. "Then what we good men shall do with the woman's soul is..." He reached his arms over the lump of robes, cupped his hands, and rested his palms atop the soul. He smiled as he applied pressure downwards, and Solaire watched with astonished wonder as it sunk right back into the robes themselves.

Then she returned.

"Praise the sun," Solaire whispered.

The woman's pretty face appeared within the robes, then her hands, feet, and soon enough her whole figure was there once more. Her blue eyes flickered open once, twice, and then held. She stared, confused, at Solaire, then Logan, then the ceiling.

"Death has a funny way of rejuvenating a person," Logan said, the smile still on his face. "Speak, woman, for my hands have healing powers." And with that, he touched his hands to her cheeks.

She opened her mouth, her eyes locked on Logan's, and tried forming a word.

"Go on," he urged. "Speak. You can do it."

"La..." she uttered. "Lau..."

Solaire was stunned. "By the Gods she's healed."

"Please..." she said, her voice was tiny and frail as it whispered through her chapped lips. "I do not wish to speak. I do not wish to live. I have a wicked tongue. Please, I-"

"There will be no more talk of that," Logan interrupted her. "I've given you second life, my sweet lady, do not make me regret it with such dark words. I asked your name, now, return my kindness and give it."

The woman looked ready to cry, but she anyway, "Anastacia," she whispered. "Anastacia of... of Astora."

Solaire's brow lifted beneath his helm. "M'lady, I too hail from Astora!"

"Astora?" Logan said, his fingers sliding along the brim of his hat as he watched her thoughtfully. "That's funny. The blonde hair, the blue eyes, the jaw line, the nose, even the subtle vernacular of your voice led me to believe you hailed from Carim."

Anastacia's head snapped to him, dread in her eyes. She shook her head. "N-No, sir. Astora. Anastacia of Astora."

Logan's face was set in hard, cruel, lines beneath his hat, and for a moment Solaire feared he was going to strike the girl. Then his mouth broke into a smile and he laughed, patting the woman's forehead. "You can be whomever you desire, my sweet lady. After all what is a man or woman without their little stash of secrets? Mmm." He lifted his head to the ceiling. "You are free to walk the Archives as you see fit. There are bath chambers, food storages, wine cellars, bedding, lounging. You'll find most of the men gathered here are kind enough, but there are needs that take over a man's mind when they're not tended to, and so I'd warn you to remain as clothed as possible when in their company." His fingers ran along the brim of his hat. "You are not to take your own life, though. That, for now, belongs to me. Do you understand?"

Anastacia lowered her head and nodded.

"Good girl," Logan said, smiling. "And try not to upset the golems. They are violent creatures, I'm afraid, and are wont to destroy things they don't understand." He looked to Solaire. "Not much unlike men in that way, I suppose!" He laughed.

Solaire tried forcing laughter with him, but it sounded queer and flat in his throat and so he stopped. "Shall I escort the lady?"

"No," Logan said. "She can escort herself."
He stood, offered her a hand, and pulled her to her feet. She looked between the two of them, bowed, and left them. Logan watched her go, rubbing at his hat brim. "Pretty little thing. A shame those cruel Gods deemed her fit to keep the flames ablaze."

"Is she human?" Solaire asked in a quiet voice when he was sure she was out of earshot.

"Yes," Logan said. "Everything I read points to as much. Probably had a normal life... somewhere along the line... before her tongue was removed, I'm sure." He turned to Solaire. "What others news do you bring me good knight?"

Solaire pulled the helm from his head so Logan could see the smile on his face. "Logan... the crow has left its nest!"

Logan's face was a mystery beneath the shadow of his hat. He stroked his chin and hummed, soaking in the information.

Solaire's expression of joy melted to one of confusion. "I mean... this has to be a good sign, doesn't it? The Chosen that you spoke of. The crow only has ever left to retrieve them."

"But we've already had a chosen," Logan pointed out. "And he failed."

Solaire sighed. "Yes... you don't need to remind me. But if somehow there is another..."

"Mmm, many possibilities," Logan admitted, nodding. "Too many to waste valuable time speculating. Answers. We need them. You will go and get them."

"Me?" Solaire questioned.

"You said yourself, Solaire, this could be very important. This could be part of the answer I've been slaving away looking for down here," Logan said. "Who else can I trust with such a task? Yes, you. Take who you need for the journey, but you must head it. I need to know what that crow will bring us back from the asylum... provided it comes back at all to this cold, dying, world it left behind."

"I... will do as you ask," Solaire said, bowing. "But, Logan, the men grow impatient with you. They want to see you, speak to you. We all look to you for guidance and... and as our leader. If I depart, their last weak link to you will be shattered."

"Mmm," Logan hummed. "I will... reveal myself in time. The men can wait until then."

"You'll be unprotected," Solaire pointed out.
"Will I?" Logan asked, and on command his crystal golem lumbered out from behind a pillar and fixed its blue head on Solaire.

Solaire swallowed. "Alright, Logan. I'll go... I... I hope to return to you with answers." Solaire thought of that dead, pale, sun lingering in the sky. "And with hope."

"As do I, friend," Logan agreed. "As do I."

With that, Logan disappeared back behind his stack of books and candles, and Solaire took a deep breath, bracing himself for the long climb out of the Archive's prison. Later, on his way through the library, he came upon the little blonde firekeeper standing at the second floor railing. She was sobbing into her hands. Solaire hurried beside her and offered his kerchief and a kind smile, but the woman only spun away from him and hurried off without so much as a reply. The knight frowned, tucked his kerchief back beneath his chest plate, and headed off to the barracks to form a traveling party for the long and perilous journey ahead.

Praise the sun, he thought. I need it now more than ever.

Chapter 6

 

 

 

When the crow finally set down and nested once more in its perch high above Firelink Shrine, the knight and herself gripped in one of the beast's talons, Patches and the young ones in the other, Quelana not only saw the changes to Lordran, but felt them. The cold that had gripped every inch of the asylum they'd flown from had taken hold of the shrine as well. Icy winds rippled her black robes as the crow released them, and she discovered that the beast's nest was caked in a foot of snow where before there had been none. Below the perch, the world had been washed in a clean blanket of white. Quelana lifted her gaze to the distant bridges and fortresses that stood sentinel on the horizon and they too were buried in snowfall. She wondered what icy hell the foolish knight had unleashed upon this world, and if its cold grip had reached even Izalith; had reached her sisters.

She wrestled in his grip, glaring over her shoulder. "Release me. We've landed."

"This is... impossible," Lautrec muttered; his gray eyes drinking in the sight of the new Lordran beneath the loose strands of his dirty-blond hair. "No storm could have taken the land that quickly."

"You wanted your precious 'change'. You've got it. Now release me," Quelana repeated, trying to twist free of his arms.

"Quiet," the knight commanded in a hushed voice. His face has suddenly drawn into hard lines.

"Lautrec..." Patches whispered from the other side of the nest. The bald man's eyes had gone wide and apprehensive.

"I see it," the knight whispered back his reply.

Quelana craned her neck forward to look further down upon the shrine. There behind a grouping of stone pillars, she spotted what they had. "What further hells have you awoken you golden fool? Quelana could only see glimpses of fur and fangs and hooves as whatever monster awaited below passed behind pillar after pillar; a massive greataxe cutting a trench in the snow behind it as the beast dragged it along, scraping and chewing at the earth. The demon snarled and shook a tuft of snow loose from its furry shoulders before disappearing behind a stone wall near the dead bonfire.

"Taurus Demon," Laturec muttered. "It's not supposed to be here."

"Neither are we," Quelana hissed from within her robes and almost on cue a cold wind picked up and swept across the crow's nest, sending twigs and pebbles tumbling off the ledge to a hundred foot drop below.

"What's happening?" The young cleric girl, Abby, whined. Both she and the boy, Benjamin, where knelt beside Patches staring down at the horror below with fearful expressions frozen on their youthful faces. "What is that thing?"

"I don't care," Ben said and reached back to pull his bow free. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it, drawing aim. "All I need is a clean shot."

"Put it down, boy," Lautrec warned. "You'll only awake the demon's fury."

"I'll stick him between the eyes," Benjamin said, pulling the bow taught. "Blind him."

"Too small of a target. You'll miss. Put it down. Now," Lautrec commanded.

Ben looked over, saw the stern expression on the knight's face, and lowered the bow. Abby crawled to the very edge of the nest, the snowfall already gathered in the soft ringlets of her chestnut-brown hair, and clasped her hands to her heart, watching below. "Perhaps... it doesn't mean us any harm."

Patches snorted laughter. "Perhaps we should send you down to go and ask it that question, girl. Why don't you... try jumping? Heh."

"If I was sure I could survive the fall, I would," Abby replied earnestly. Quelana noted the girl wasn't aware she was being mocked.

"All of you be quiet," Lautrec said. "We wait the beast out. He'll wander off eventually."

"If it doesn't?" Patches asked.

"It will."

And so they waited. The demon lumbered back and forth, his dark fur flashing as he passed between pillars. At a point, the beast drove its greataxe into the dirt and roared, but whatever had riled him up must have passed; he pulled the axe free and continued pacing around aimlessly. The demon worked its way towards the bonfire and sniffed at it.

"No..." Lautrec muttered. "The fire is... out."

Quelana hadn't realized it earlier, but the knight was right. Not even the smallest of embers grew within the bonfire's kindling. She turned back to see the knight's face. "Either your poor mute victim has gone free of her prison... or she's already dead."

A myriad of emotions washed across Lautrec's face as he stared down at the bonfire. Finally, he whispered, "She's not dead... not yet."

"How could you possibly know that?"
"I know," Lautrec answered, and said nothing more on the subject. "Oh my," Abby cried out. "Look!"

Below, now that the demon had turned its back on their position, the monster's deformity, like the Asylum Demon before it, was clearly visible. A second head hung limply from the creature's shoulders, dangling down near its elbow from a thin neck, swinging side to side with each of the demon's steps. The unformed head's mouth was lined with fangs even sharper than its full head, and Quelana could see a pink tongue lashing at the falling snow as it hung near upside down.

"You're responsible for all this," Quelana whispered back over her shoulder at the knight. "You've unleashed hell upon Lordran in your foolish quest for change. Whatever cruel Gods used to watch over us... surely they've abandoned us now."

"You watch your tongue, witch," Patches warned from the other side of the nest.

"No, she's right," Lautrec admitted. "I take full responsibility for this. I intended to break the maddening, eternal, cycle of this world and I have. I never expected there to be no consequences. If we have to slay a few deformed demon's as a result... so be it."

"And this cold?" Quelana asked. "What if it has no end? What if it only grows worse? What-"

Lautrec's hand landed over her mouth. "We're spotted," he said, staring down at the shrine.

Quelana shifted her eyes to follow his gaze and saw what he'd seen: the demon's second head had two, beady, red eyes nested in the glowing pits below its bulky forehead. They were gazing upwards, staring at the crow's nest as it swung side to side. The head's mouth snarled into a grimace and the thing unleashed a shrill, piercing, whine that sounded like the dying wail of some pain-wracked bird. The demon's top head swung around, its eyes finding their party atop the nest as well, and it bellowed a great roar, burying its axe into the earth and beating at its own chest with its free hand.

"Well, shit," Patches cursed and pulled a shortsword from its sheath at his waist. "Was really hoping we wouldn't have to fight the giant demon with two heads today, you know."

Quelana shook her head free from the knight's hand. "Untie me, you fool! I will burn the beast."

"You will run for Blighttown the first chance you get," Lautrec said,

standing and unsheathing his dual shotels.

"Be that as it may, I will end that monster's suffering," Quelana insisted, rolling to her back and clenching her fists. "Now cut me loose. You need me."

Below, the Taurus Demon roared again, closer this time, and Quelana felt the stone foundation they were perched upon shake as if struck by a mighty blow. Lautrec looked from her, to the edge of the perch, and back. He licked his lips and sighed. "Alright, witch. Don't make me regret this," he warned, knelt, and untied the knot binding her torso and upper arms.

The demon screamed again and the perch rumbled.

Quelana tugged at the rope left around her wrists. "Free my hands."

"Don't push it," Lautrec said, taking her by the elbow and pulling her to her feet. He took up the loose slack coming from her wrists and tossed it to Abby. "Hold on to that. If she runs, pull her back, understood?"

The girl's face wrinkled with confusion. "W-What? Why me? I don't-" "What else can you do?" Lautrec asked.

Abby opened her mouth to retort, a look of realization came across her face, and she closed it again. "...okay."

"I'll flank around it!" Ben said, stepping beside the golden knight and pulling a dagger from its sheath. "I'm good at staying hidden. I'll-"

"Stay here," Lautrec cut him off. "And if the demon looks like it's gaining the upper hand on Patches or myself, hit it with an arrow to distract it."

Benjamin frowned. "Yes, but what if-"

"I wasn't asking," Laturec said. He turned to Patches. "You're the first one down. The demon is deceptively quick and has quite the reach with that axe of his, so I'd suggest you hit the ground running."

The bald man didn't look pleased, but unlike the other two, he didn't contest the knight's command. Instead, he gripped his sword a bit tighter in his hand, moved to the end of the perch where the rope they'd used to make their ascent here in the first place awaited, and took hold of it. "Don't leave me waiting long," he said with a wink, a grin, and a leap over the side, rope in hand.

The perch shook again, this time hard enough for the stone floor to crack at the corner and drop a slate of rock loose to plummet below. Lautrec took the rope up and stuck it forcefully into Quelana's hands. "Remember I gave you my word to see you back to Blighttown, witch. Consider that before you go burning things you shouldn't down there."

"I don't know what or whom you might be referring to," Quelana said, lifting her hands up near the knight's face and commanding a small lick of flames to dance from her fingertips.

Lautrec recoiled from the fire and frowned. He said, "Who knows what horrors await you in Blighttown now? You might need a knight such as myself for safe passage," then, turning to Abby, "Keep a short leash on her."

Quelana turned back to the girl and squinted. Abby's cheeks flushed with color and she lowered her gaze. Quelana shook her head, tightened her grip around the rope, and lowered herself over the edge to rappel down. The descent was brief and relatively easy and then her feet were touching the snowy soil of Lordran. Patches was nowhere to be seen and, thankfully, neither was the demon. Quelana lifted her hands once more and cursed the knight for leaving them bound. Abby was beside her a moment later, the slack of Quelana's binds in her hand. When Quelana fixed her with another glare, the girl swallowed and raised her arms defensively. "I-I'm just doing as the knight says. Please, I... don't wish to be burned."

"I'm not going to burn you," Quelana told her, and for a second she considered leaning closer to the girl and whispering an enchantment in her ear, but then Lautrec had dropped beside them as well and she put the thought aside.

"What are you doing?" He whispered at Abby, shotels clenched in his golden gauntlets. "Take her and move. We have to split up and get around the creature."

"Oh, yes," Abby said, shaking her head and biting at her lip. She turned to Quelana, swallowed, and nervously tugged at the rope.

If the girl wasn't so damned frightened, Quelana might have put up a struggle, but the girl was putting herself through enough stress already, and so she went obediently enough. Lautrec rushed past them, shotels at his sides, crouched for stealth. He slipped around a wall of stone, tufts of snow flailing up behind his golden heels. Abby led her around the other way taking slow, cautious, steps, stopping every few seconds when she would hear the demon roar from somewhere near. Quelana remained silent, allowing the girl to take them further and further away from the others, but she had intentions of her own. Somewhere beyond the wall, Patches shouted, and the demon bellowed a war cry. She heard an arrow loosed from the perch above and the boy, Benjamin, shout "Go!". The sound of stone splintering apart and crumbling filled the air and Abby gasped and lifted a trembling hand to her lips.

They were approaching the edge of the wall that would wrap around and lead them back out to the main clearing of the bonfire, and Quelana saw her window of opportunity closing shut. She stopped walking, and when

Abby ran out of slack, the sudden tug at the rope almost caused her to loose her footing. She turned back, doe-eyed and confused, and gently pulled at the rope. "Come on! We have to-"

"Come to me, girl," Quelana interrupted, walking forward and taking up the slack in her own hands so it shortened and shortened as she neared. "Let me tell you something."

"What are you doing?" Abby whispered, her brow raised. "Are you going to... hurt me?"

"No, sweet girl, nothing like that," Quelana assured her, and when the slack had all been taken up between them, she pulled the girl closer to her and pressed her lips beside Abby's ear. The words she spoke, not even Quelana herself could truly comprehend. They were old words, ancient words, and when she whispered them, it was as if something just as old and ancient was speaking through her, moving her tongue, manipulating the air. She felt the girl stiffen beside her and then suddenly go limp. Quelana took her in her arms and lowered her to the snow earth, resting her beside the wall.

"Untie the knot that binds my hands," Quelana commanded, holding her wrists out for the girl to free.

"Mmm," Abby moaned, her eyes rolling in her head. "I... I..."

"You are under my spell for now," Quelana said, growing impatient. "Now untie the knot."

Abby's eyes fell on the knot, focused, but then looked away. "Wh... why?"

Quelana mouth fell agape. She had been using the Undead Rapport spell for as long as she could remember. She'd used it on her pupils, on her enemies, even her own sister once. None had ever resisted it. "Did you not hear me? I told you to-"

"No," Abby said, shaking her head. She was groggy, listless, but somewhere within the girl her consciousness remained her own.

Quelana rose, nonplussed, and stared at the girl. Beyond the wall, a man- Quelana couldn't make out whether it had been Lautrec or Patches- shouted again, and the ground trembled with a mighty blow. She had no time to puzzle over the anomaly before her. She took the slack of her rope up in her still-bound hands and moved towards the edge of the wall. Before she left, she turned back to the girl and said, "Stay where you are. You'll be safe," and then quickly sprinted down the narrow passage beyond.

Peering out to the bonfire clearing, she could see no man or demon in sight, only the white blanket of snow that had seemed to wrap every bit of Lordran in its embrace. In the pale blue sky beyond, a dead husk of light

hung in the sky as snowfall rained from its belly. The great fire in the sky even runs cold, Quelana thought. Mother Izalith save us. And with that, she made a dash for the spiraling stairs that would lead her back home.

Patches body sailing through the air broke her line of sight. The bald man slammed the earth, sliding in the thick carpet of snow into a nearby stone structure and crying out in pain. There was blood coming from his shoulder. The Taurus Demon came lumbering after him from below the shrine's arched passages, axe trailing along beside him. On ground level, Quelana found the monster even more horrifying. He towered in the air, fifteen feet high, and his dagger-lined mouth was snapping at the air as he rushed forward. His axe came up, and he crouched back on his haunches ready to leap.

Lautrec came out from below the arches as well, his fingers tucked between his lips, and gave a whistle. The demon's deformed, limp, head screeched, and the top head turned to face the golden knight. Lautrec pulled his second shotel free from its sheath and moved quickly behind the monster, pulling its attention from Patches. The beast's eyes locked on him and it's mouth snapped at the falling snows between them. Even from Quelana's position two dozen feet away, she could smell the necrotic odor of the creature's breath poison the air. You're wasting time, she realized and turned to run.

Her foot had only fallen on the first step before she stopped herself. You've run before, Quelana, she thought, and everything you left behind became ruins. She turned back just in time to see the knight roll away from a wide, sweeping, blow of the demon's axe. She owed neither him nor any of the rest of them any allegiance. She was their prisoner, after all, but the thought of running away again-the cowardice of abandonment-did not sit well in her mind.

Lautrec shouted his own war cry and leapt at the demon with both shotels clutched high above his head in his gaunlet-clad fists. Their blades ripped down the beast's thigh, spraying a trail of near-black blood from the wound, and prompting a shrill wail of pain from the thing before it backhanded the knight aside. Lautrec tumbled backwards, caught himself, and stood. He shouted again and moved forward, but a rock must have been hidden beneath the snowy earth, for Quelana saw him stumble and fall to a knee. The Taurus Demon used the opportunity and drove its greataxe down, forward, and then upwards. The flat body of its steel blade caught Lautrec under the chest and thrust him up and backwards. He sailed backwards through the air, landing and sliding away into the snow on his back. His eyes squeezed shut and he clenched his teeth, sucking in air. The demon gave chase to his position.

Quelana looked from the battle scene to the stairs and back. She could never take back the regretful decision to flee from Izalith while her sisters were deformed by the chaos that took it... but she could certainly prevent any new regrets. The Taurus Demon lifted its greataxe over its

head and moved forward-

-and Quelana rushed towards it to intercept. The beast's eyes flicked from Lautrec's fallen body to her, and the demon changed its course. She lifted her hands up parallel to her shoulders and angled her palms at the beast, fingers spread wide. It roared, brought its greataxe down at her, and-

-flames erupted from her hands, birthing a chaotic circle of searing, scorching, red and orange destruction. The fire spread out in a wide circle, acting both as a shield from the demon's blow as well as a counter attack of her own. It screeched and reeled back on its heel to escape the heat, but the fire rushed forward, sweeping across its body in a pillar of flame. The thing's fur caught, and by the time her flames had dissipated, the demon had birthed its own flames on its shoulders and back and thighs. Its head rolled back on its neck and it wailed to the sky before dropping into the snow and rolling back and forth, desperate to quell the fires taking its fur.

Lautrec clambered to his feet. He looked from the demon to her, nodded his thanks, and moved in to attack the beast, shotels in hand. The demon rose, the fires out, but his fur blackened and thick with ash.

It's not abandonment. You helped. Now run, Quelana told herself and turned to do just that.

"Witch!" Lautrec shouted after her. "Stay and fight! I need-"

But his words were cut short when the demon's claw nearly took his head from his golden shoulders. Quelana hurried around the corner, took the spiraling stairs two at a time, and rushed past the empty caged hole in the earth towards the second stairwell that would lead to the elevator... and to home.

She was halfway towards them when the Taurus Demon's hulking figure blotted out the entire sky. Quelana looked, wide-eyed and frightened, upwards and saw the thing had leaped down from the top level and was looking to drive its axe into her. She side-stepped and rolled out of the way as the greataxe chewed a massive chunk of dirt and soil and snow from the ground. The demon landed with a booming thud and roared.

Quelana rolled to her back-arduously with her hands bound-and faced the demon. She lifted her hands and tried unleashing another burst of flame, yet none came. She had expended much of her inner fire bewitching the girl earlier and then attacking the demon and she needed time to recharge. Time that she did not have.

Lautrec came sailing down after the demon, looking to plunge his shotels down atop the creature's back, but the deformed, little, head hanging from its shoulders screeched a warning, and the Taurus Demon spun and lifted its massive claw upwards. Lautrec was caught in the demon's grip,

shaken like a play doll, and then thrust down into the ground. He lay limp and injured and possibly dead beside the empty cage where he had, ironically, murdered the woman within countless times. The demon snorted victory, turned back to Quelana and raised its greataxe.

She could see Benjamin loosing arrow after arrow down upon the monster from the crow's perch, but half were missing and the other half were simply bouncing off the creature's thick shoulders. Lautrec lay limp and unconscious, and Quelana realized it was over. As the demon neared, she lowered her hands and forced herself to stare the monster down as it came to end her. Forgive me my sisters, she thought. May mercy find you.

"Stop!"

Abby came stumbling down the stairs behind the demon, clutching to the wall for support as she neared. "Stop," she spoke again, resting a hand to her forehead and shaking snow from her thick fall of hair.

"What are you doing you foolish girl!?" Quelana shouted. "I told you to stay put! Now the thing will kill us all!"

"No," she said, shaking her head, and then spoke softly to the demon, "You won't hurt anyone anymore."

The Taurus Demon turned to face her, cocking its head sideways as its beady eyes narrowed upon her. It only studied her quietly for a moment before a great growl erupted from its mouth and its greataxe came up over its head, shaking in the air furiously.

"Stop it," she said, taking a step forward, her hands at her sides.

"Foolish child," Quelana whispered, shaking her head. She tested her inner flame, but found it was still not ready to burn. She was helpless but to watch as the girl moved closer and closer and the demon grew angrier and angrier. Once she was in striking distance, though, the beast's axe lowered a bit, and as Abby stepped even closer, the demon seemed to grow confused.

"Still your rage, beast," Abby commanded. "We mean you no further harm and expect none in return."

Miraculously, the demon's greataxe dropped from its hand. Its eyes watched the girl who stood not even half of its height step right up to its belly and rest her hand on its leg. "Lower yourself so I may look upon you," Abby spoke softly.

Quelana was speechless as she watched the lumbering monster who had just torn apart two grown men and nearly beheaded her lower to its knee and stare at the girl before it. Abby smiled and reached for the thing's furry neck. "I don't believe it..." Quelana whispered, climbing to her feet and approaching the baffling scene before her. She looked from the calm,

almost seren-looking, demon to Abby. First the girl had resisted her spell, and now this. "What are you?" Quelana asked.

Abby was still smiling as her hands stroked the demon's fur. "The Chosen One, aren't I? That's what you all told me, at least."

"No, girl..." Quelana said, swallowing a sudden dryness in her throat. "You are... something else."

Lautrec was back on his feet, but leaning up beside the barred hole in the dirt. His fists were wrapped around the bars and he was breathing very heavily. When he turned back to look upon the unusual sight of Abby and the kneeling demon, his face was red and furious. His shotels were back in his hands. He approached.

"No," Quelana told him, quickly stepping around the demon to block his path. "Can't you see the girl has subdued the beast? You don't have to-"

He shoved her out of the way. "You ran. You don't get a say in this anymore."

"I saved your life!" Quelana protested as she stumbled back and fell into the snow.

"Only to abandon it the next chance you got," Lautrec said moving towards the demon.

"It wasn't abandonment!" Quelana snapped.

Lautrec ignored her and walked up next to Abby, staring at the demon with a look of both wonder and hatred gripping his face.

"Please," Abby begged. "Battle is in this creature's nature. It wasn't his fault that he attacked. You have to-"

Lautrec shoved her down as well, and without a further word, he buried his shotel into the demon's jugular, a spray of dark blood painting his golden gauntlets with death. Abby screamed, tears swelling in his eyes, but a rage had taken hold of the knight and he began digging his shotels into the creature's throat in quick, furious, succession. And yet, the demon did not fight back. It only fell to its side and choked on its own blood as the knight dug into its throat.

It was dead long before Lautrec stopped hacking away.

Abby was kneeling in the snow, her face buried in her palms, softly sobbing. Quelana stepped beside her, knelt, and put her hands on the girl's shoulder. Patches had appeared above them on the edge of land overlooking the cage and scratched at his bald head. "What the hell..." he muttered.

Lautrec pulled his shotels free from the dead demon's throat. His gauntlets and chest plate were covered and dripping in the thing's blood as he stood panting and gasping to catch his breath. Quelana looked upon him shaking her head as she rubbed Abby's shoulder. "You weren't that furious at the demon. You're rage didn't awaken until you peered into that empty cage where your 'victim' usually resides," she said. He did not look back at her or respond, so she continued. "There are only two things I've ever seen that awaken such emotion in man. So tell me, golden knight, which is it that you kill that poor firekeeper over? Hatred... or love?"

For a long time Lautrec was quiet, and just when Quelana had given up on an answer, he muttered, "Both," and sheathed his blades.

As the pale circle of light that might have once been the sun lowered below the distant horizon and night came upon Lordran, they made their camp their at the firelink shrine. Lautrec had Patches and Benjamin fetch proper kindling for the bonfire from the surrounding lands, and then had Quelana light it before marching her away from the fire to a nearby stone pillar. Her reward for saving his life was to be seated and bound with ropes to it for the night. For her attempt at bewitching Abby, he replaced the gag in her mouth and then she was left to sit, quiet and alone, as the rest of them gathered around the bonfire.

"I'm cut," Patches grumbled, nursing to his bloody shoulder as he slumped beside the bonfire and chucked a twig into the flames. "God damned demon bastard... ugly too, hee-hee."

"I can close the gash with steel and fire," Lautrec told him, "but I have no way to stop any plague that may have crept into the wound."

Patches sighed, seemed to have an internal debate, and then turned to Benjamin, who was looking pale and ill beside him. "There's a hidden sack of wineskins back that way," he pointed, "under a pile of three, white, rocks. Go fetch them, boy."

"I'm sick," Ben protested, and to his credit, he certainly looked it.

"I don't give a piss, I'm bleeding! Get to it ya little shit," Patches shouted, picking up a small rock and chucking it at him.

"I'll get your damn wine," Lautrec said, tossing his gauntlets beside the fire and standing. "Though we're going to have to have a conversation about what other little 'stashes' you may have hidden around." He lifted his eyes to the sky, to the snow. "Assuming its still there. We have changed quite a bit in this wretched world."

Patches brow turned up. "Oh, wouldn't that be unfortunate? Not my lovely little wine stash, let those cursed gods freeze out the rest of the world, but for mercy's sake leave the wine!"

Lautrec disappeared behind the stone arches that lead to the cemetery Quelana had spotted from the crow's perch and returned a moment later, a brown sack at his side. Patches spotted it and a crooked smile twisted up his face. "Ah, so the Gods do still exist! Delightful! Hee-hee."

The bald man's laughter fell awake quickly and was replaced by painful wailing a few moments later as Lautrec doused his gashed shoulder with wine. Patches had to take a belt between his teeth as Benjamin held him when the knight heated his shotel's blade above the bonfire and pressed it to the wound, sealing it. When it was done, and Patches had finished grunting and groaning. The three began passing a wineskin around between them. Abby sat, cradling her knees, staring quietly into the fire and for the most part ignoring them until Ben turned to her and offered the wine.

"Made me feel a bit better," he said.
"No thank you," Abby said softly and rested her chin on her knees.

"Are you angry with me, girl?" Lautrec asked, taking a seat at the opposite end of the flames. "For killing your poor, sweet, demon."

Abby spoke no response, the subtle creasing of her brow the only hint she'd heard him at all.

Lautrec laughed and took a swig from the wineskin. "The question is," he continued, swiping at his lips. "What has changed in this cursed world that allowed such a thing to happen? Was it the deformed beast itself... or is it you that's special?"

Abby shrugged. "You told me I was special. That I was... Chosen."

"Well the both of you are," Patched interrupted, gesturing at Ben. "But the only thing worthwhile the kid here has done is stick an arrow in your chest back at the asylum! Hee-hee."

Ben looked chagrined. "I didn't mean to," he defended. "And I could do a lot more! It wasn't my fault you left me up there with the stupid crow to watch the action. I could've helped... could've killed that stupid demon thing myself."

"Why are you all so determined to kill everything?" Abby protested, her voice finally raising from a quiet whisper. "We could have saved him!"

"Saved it from what?" Lautrec asked with a grin. "It was a demon. They exist only to cause pain and destruction. It deserved death and death is what I gave it."

"What do you exist for?" Abby snapped back. "All I've seen you do is cause death and destruction."

Lautrec looked to Patches and the two shared a laugh. "She's feisty now that she's a demon charmer, ey?" Patches said and took a swig of wine.

"I'm cold," Ben piped up, wrapping his arms around his leather jerkin.

Lautrec sighed. "What cruel jest of the Gods was it to give me two Chosen, one that wants to hug our enemies into submission, and the other who does nothing but complain and miss shots he should have made."

Ben mouth fell indignantly agape. "Hey, I hit with a lot of those arrows."

"And missed with just as many," Patches added.

"You've got some natural ability, but you lack the discipline of a more seasoned archer," Lautrec told the boy. "Your back hunches and your elbow dips when you pull the bow taught. You have to fix that."

"Well... show me," Ben said.

Lautrec drank from the wineskin and Quelana could see the liquid within was setting to work on all three of them. The knight shrugged, stood, and led the boy over to the edge of the camp. Patches fought to his feet and wobbled after them, laughing at some poor joke about 'arrows in your arse'. When she was alone, Abby stood, wrapped her cleric's cloak closer to her body and crossed the clearing, moving towards Quelana. She trudged through the snow, up the short set of stone stairs, and stopped before her. Abby folded her arms across her chest and stared down at her. Quelana could do nothing but stare back. Back near the bonfire, Patches laughed, and Benjamin shouted something.

Abby looked from them back to Quelana. "If I remove the gag from your mouth... will you try to control my mind again?"

Quelana shook her head, and she meant it. The girl had not only saved her life, but it was clear to her now that there was something special about her.

Abby bit her lip, took one last glance over her shoulder, and crouched beside Quelana. She swallowed nervously as she flipped the hood of her dark cloak away from Quelana's face and reached behind her head to loose the gag's knot. It came away from her lips and Quelana licked at them. "Thank you, she said quietly to the girl.

Abby smiled, nodded, and took a seat beside her; facing her and tucking her knees up to her body again. A moment of silence passed between them, and then the girl asked, "How did you do that to me before? How did you... enter my mind like that?"

"It is a very old trick," Quelana said, shifting the most the ropes around her body would allow to try and get comfortable. "The better question is: how did you resist it? I've never seen that happened before."

Abby shrugged. "I... don't know," she said, and then upon further thought, "I don't understand it. The knight told me I'm the 'Chosen' undead. Aren't I supposed to be special somehow?"

Quelana nodded. "Yes. It's just... both that knight and myself have lived through many cycles of 'Chosen' heroes. None have been able to do what you did today."

"Then perhaps they were false heroes..." Abby said with a shrug.

"Perhaps they were," Quelana admitted and couldn't help a smile come across her face. She liked the girl. There was something... honest about the way she spoke, as if she had nothing to hide and nothing to lose. For all Quelana knew, maybe she didn't. "You said you came from Vinheim?"

Abby nodded, and when she did snow shook loose from her hair. "Yes. My parents sent me to the great Dragon School for mages and clerics there. I... I wasn't particularly good at either, though." She looked to the sky and smiled wistfully. "I had done so well on all the pretests, but when it came down to the real thing... casting and praying and all that... I was just no good. My parents weren't sad or angry or anything, but... they certainly didn't do much to hide their disappointment."

Quelana nodded. "Yes, many men and women I've come across have found the higher arts extremely difficult to grasp. They have to do with your mind, you know I'm sure. The school had to be good for something?"

Abby bit her lip and smiled before nodding. "Yes. Intellect for spells, faith for miracles."

"Mages minds are attuned to understand knowledge and logic on a deep level," Quelana said. "It is, unfortunately, something that can not be taught. A pupil of mine from long ago, Salaman, explained as much once. They grasp numbers and patterns better than others, and so they can see the knowledge of ancient truths that hide in this world and utilize it in their magics. Clerics... they rely on the Gods for their strength. When you cast a miracle, you really aren't casting anything. You are asking the Gods for a favor. Whether they hear you or not is out of your hands... it all depends on how deep your faith runs." She narrowed her eyes on the girl before her with the pretty blue eyes and the tattered cleric robes. "But I don't take it you're a very pious woman, are you?"

"No... not especially I guess," Abby admitted.

Quelana nodded, pausing to let her next words sink in when she spoke them. "But yet there are other high arts. Other... darker arts."

Abby's mouth had fallen agape. A flake of snow landed on her lip and she swiped it away. "You mean..." she nodded at Quelana's hands. "Like your fire."

"Yes," Quelana told her. "While mages pursue knowledge, and clerics lead a life of servitude, pyromancers lead one of control. You don't ask the flames for favor, you command them to do as you desire."

The girl's eyes had gone wide, and Quelana seized the moment to let a small trickle of flames dance along her hand, from thumb to pinky and back before snuffing it. Abby swallowed and lifted her gaze back to Quelana's eyes. "And anyone can learn pyromancy? They forbid talk of it at school."

"Anyone," Quelana said. "The only trick to it is to remember you command the flames," she spoke softly, and her mind drifted briefly to Salaman, "but you must fear them, too... less they consume you."

Abby's face was alight with interest, curiosity, fear, anticipation. She bit at her lip and stared at Quelana's hands. "So... you'd be willing to take me on as your student?"

"Yes."

Abby swallowed. "That knight said you weren't human. That you're... a witch. That you were born from the fire. Is that really true?"

"Yes."

The girl's brow lifted, clearly not expecting such a blunt answer. "Oh. I... see."

"We both came from dark souls, child," Quelana pressed. "We can't be that different."

"Perhaps not," Abby admitted with a nod of her head, and those pretty blue eyes of hers took on a glint of hope.

"What are you doing over there, girl!?" Patches' voice came across the clearing. "Get away from that fire bit-er, uh, fire witch and bring us another skin of wine."

Abby sighed. "I'm not sure how I feel about the rest of this party... they seem so intent on warring against everything. And now they drink when there could be dangers just beyond any one of these hills."

"War and wine," Quelana said. "Two things that men will always lust for." Her eyes traced the figure of the girl's body sitting before her. "And there is a third thing that they desire. You'd best be on your guard to protect it, for I can not help you in these ropes."

Abby thought for a moment and then recognition came across her face. "Oh," she said, grimacing and wrapping her robes tighter to her body. "I... I will try and talk them into releasing you. If I am to be your student, they cannot treat you this way, right?"

Quelana smiled. "You are... a sweet girl. Let us hope your words are true."

Abby returned the smile. "Alright. I'll talk to the knight first thing on the morrow."

"Approach him gently," Quelana warned. "A man's ego is fragile and he is prone to hurt the things that threaten it."

Abby nodded, and held the gag up, offering a sympathetic smile. "Sorry," she said and leaned forward to retie it around Quelana's head.

"A glove," Quelana spoke before her mouth was silenced. "A pyromancer needs a glove. Make it your priority to find one."

"Yes," Abby agreed and replaced the gag. "A glove and your release will be the first thing I ask for tomorrow. And... thank you."

Quelana nodded, the girl returned the hood of her cloak over her head, and then headed back to the bonfire to bring the group of rowdy men firing arrows into the dirt their wine. There was something about the girl that brought her a sense of hope she hadn't felt in some long time. Perhaps she'd be the one to finally bring peace to Izalith and release her sisters from their cruel fate. Perhaps she'd be the one to end this cycle of failures that had plagued Lordran.

It was with these thoughts of hope that Quelana drifted to sleep.

She dreamed of fire; of a great hero rising from a lake of ash to burn away all the world's monsters - man and demon alike. The hero was short and thin, but determined, and had the prettiest blue eyes.

Chapter 7

The shadow swam through the bed of ash and bones and in its path it left lines of fire and chaos; it was death and it was coming for all. The bones it shattered through formed a beast, and the beast made to stop the shadow, but the shadow's hands came alive with flames, and the bone beast was slain in a swirl of searing destruction. The liquid ashes took on the form of a towering golem, but the shadow's power had only grown. It rose from the lake of death like tendrils of black smoke. The fire that had started in its hands had spread to its arms and then to its body and then there was no shadow at all: there was only fire. The fire God kissed the ash and kissed the bones and kissed the sky itself. They all caught flame and the world was burning. The fire God's face looked upon him and it was her one second, then another person the next, then it was her again, then another.

"Ana!" Lautrec shouted. His eyes opened as he sat from the cold bed of snow beneath him gasping for air. His skin felt hot and sticky beneath his leathers, yet his hands were freezing. He tucked them beneath the pits of his arms and took a moment to orient himself.

Darkness was all around, still gripping the lands of Lordran in blackness. The fire they had lit before he'd fallen asleep was dead, and the vague shadowy figures of his traveling companions were unmoving lumps in a semi-circle around it. Shadows become fire, he thought for one mad second before shaking the foolish idea from his head. "Patches," he whispered across the bonfire; it was the bald man's turn on watch the last he remembered.

When Patches did not reply, Lautrec had another mad thought pop into his head. They're dead. They're all dead and frozen and I'm the last living man in the world. "Patches!" He tried again.

One of the still lumps shifted in the dark and grumbled. "Er... piss off."

"You fell asleep on your watch," Lautrec scolded him. "We all could have had our throats slit in the night."

The lump suddenly rose. "Curse the Gods... I, um, wasn't sleeping. Just... giving my eyes a rest is all." Patches paused and then added, "Bloody dark out here with no bonfire anyway. Doubt any attackers could even find our throats to slit in the first place."

"I bet I could find yours," Lautrec told him.

Patches nervous laughter was his only reply.

"Does this feel... wrong to you?" Lautrec questioned. He focused on the distant horizon of mountaintops, dimly aglow with pale moonlight. "This

night, I mean. It feels unnaturally long. Dawn should have broken by now."

"Perhaps we blinked the sun right out of existence? Hee," Patches laughed.

The joke didn't sit well with Lautrec. The sun already looked dying when they'd arrived in Lordran. The possibility that it was now dead wasn't as far-fetched as he would have liked it to be. The snow had given up falling, but the cold had grown even colder, and it didn't look like dawn was likely to break anytime soon. "We need to relight the fire," Lautrec said.

"On that, friend, we can agree," said Patches.

Lautrec stood, stretching the stiffness out of his back that never seemed to be there in his early twenties, but ten years carrying the weight of his golden armor had put a lot of mileage on it, and so it needed a good stretch after a night of sleep. He groped for his armor beside him, found his boots, and pulled them onto his feet. He grabbed a thick branch from the bonfire and headed off towards Quelana.

She was still sleeping when he came upon her, bound from shoulders to waist to a stone pillar at her back. He crouched beside her and shook her shoulder. "Come awake, witch. I have use of your flames." When she did not respond, he shook her a bit harder. "Wake up," he spoke more loudly. Again, she did not respond so he pulled the hood from her head and-

-gasped. In the dim light of the moon, he saw her pale face had grown even paler, and her eyes were turned back into her head, leaving two wide and white circles in their place. She was violently shaking and her teeth were sunk deep into the gag in her mouth. "Hey!" Lautrec shouted, reached up, and ripped the gag free. Her mouth clamped tightly shut, but he could hear her teeth rattling against each other within.

"What is it?" Patches voice called from the bonfire.

"She's... in a seizure or something," Lautrec said.

"Careful, Lautrec," Patches warned; his voice had grown closer. "She's a witch don't forget. Might be a trick. Could be trying to get you to let your guard down."

"It's not a trick, you fool, bring me something to wrap her in - she's shaking," Lautrec commanded, and the urgency in his voice took even him by surprise. The witch had saved his life, he supposed, and he found himself wanting to repay the debt if possible.

Patches was beside him a few moments later. Lautrec reached out and Patches dropped a thin bundle of cloth in his hand. "This is it? What even is it?"

"It's the robes of a man I killed. Nasty little cleric he was," Patches said. "It's all we got, Lautrec. We weren't exactly prepared for a cursed blizzard to take over Lordran."

"We weren't prepared for any of this. That's the problem," Lautrec admitted. He loosened the knot binding the witch to the pillar and she fell into his arms the second she was freed. He made sure here wrists were still secured before wrapping the cleric robes around her shoulders and body and pulling them tight. Besides that, he didn't know what else to do for her.

"Make sure she don't swallow her tongue," Patches said. "Hell... she is shaking like a damned leaf in the wind."

He sat like that beside her for a while, occasionally sticking his fingers between her lips and parting them to make sure her tongue was where it should be. Lautrec had nearly forgotten what it was like to hold a woman and how good it could feel, though he quickly reminded himself that Quelana was no woman, nor even human, and the shivering thing he held in his arms was a witch birthed from flame who detested him.

Dawn had still refused to break by the time she spoke, "I'm dying."

Her quiet voice caught Lautrec by surprise. He craned his neck forward to glimpse her face. Her eyes had rolled back to their rightful place, but she still shook in his arms, and her face was pale and wrinkled with lines of stress. "You're not dying, witch. You were in... a seizure of some sort," Lautrec told her.

"I've never felt like this," Quelana whispered, her voice shaking as much as her body when she spoke. "All the heat in the world... it is gone. It has fled from my body and only a lifeless layer of death and stone have replaced it. It shakes me."

"You're just cold," Lautrec told her.

"I've gone my entire existence without ever feeling this 'cold' that your kind speaks of," Quelana said. "You're telling me I'm just now experiencing it?"

"I saw a girl talk a demon into laying down before her yesterday," Lautrec said. "I witnessed a beast with two heads. I saw a blizzard overtake an entire world in the blink of an eye, and I've seen two young people die and be reborn together from flames. Things have changed, witch. Perhaps this is one of them."

"I did not feel like this before I fell asleep," Quelana said, still shaking in his arms. "And then I dreamed... or perhaps it was a nightmare."

"Hey, you had a dream too there fire witch?" Patches asked. Lautrec turned to his shadowy figure a few feet away; he'd forgotten the man was

even standing there. "Me too."

Lautrec frowned as a knot of trepidation coiled in his stomach. "...so did I."

"Yeah?" Patches asked. "My mother was in mine. Funny thing is, though: bitch has been dead for about twenty years now. Never once had a dream about her. She was all in flames and she was fighting all these great monsters and creatures. Like she was protecting me maybe? Too little, too late, sweet mother. Hee."

"My dream was about a warrior in flames as well," Quelana said, and Lautrec noted that her shivering immediately steadied a bit. "Except the warrior had the face of the Chosen girl. Of Abby."

"Sharing dreams with a witch?" Patches said. "That can't be good. Unless you dreamed the same cursed thing too, Lautrec."

"No," he lied. Her face was there again in his mind's eye, smiling one moment, crying the next, and finally begging. Begging him for what she deserved. "I dreamed of winning a tournament."

Quelana looked at him for a moment before saying, "A lie. But I do not wish to speak further of these dreams anyway. Dreams speak in riddles, and I'd like to think on mine."

And just like that, her shivering stopped entirely. Her sudden stillness beneath his arms was almost disconcerting.

"It's about time," Patches said, standing. "Dawn's broken."

Lautrec lifted his gaze to the far, Eastern, horizon and sure enough: that dead, blue, oval of light was rising, clawing fingers of sunlight between the mountain top peaks.

"Release me," Quelana said.

"You're welcome," Lautrec replied dryly and unwrapped her from the robes.

"You'll have my thanks when you hold true to your word and return me to Blighttown so that I may find out what's happened to my sisters," Quelana told him.

"In time," Lautrec said, growing impatient with her insistence on returning to that plagued place. "First, I need to find someone. I need to find out what's happened to Lordran since we've left. It seems like we were only gone for a short time, but... time may have been distorted. That night felt queer and overly long. Who knows how much time may have passed while we were clutched in the crow's talons."

"Could've been days," Patches said.

"It could have been years," Lautrec corrected. "Who knows? That's why we need to find someone."

"Or perhaps you'll be found by someone..." Quelana added, and the three shared an uncomfortable silence as morning came upon Lodran. Patches threw up his hands, shook his head, and walked off towards the bonfire. Lautrec was turning to leave as well when the witch's words halted him. "I wish to take the girl on as my pupil."

He lifted his brow and turned to face her. "The girl?"

Quelana's face was set in hard lines. She nodded. "Yes. Abby. I wish to teach her the ways of pyromancy."

"You just told me you wanted to be returned to Blighttown."

"And I do. With the girl." Quelana shifted a bit in her binds and narrowed her eyes upon his face. "Though, I don't expect to be set free so easily. I will accompany you without further protest or attempt to escape until you have reached whatever destination you desire. In return, once we are finished... the girl is mine."

A grin crept up Lautrec's face. "Claiming ownership over our little Chosen cleric girl, are you? You'd turn the poor thing into a pyromancer and I'd have the two of you to worry about setting me ablaze."

"I would strengthen her. Give her guidance and purpose. She would be a powerful ally to the both of us."

"And you are basing this, of course, off yesterday's little trick with the Taurus Demon?" Lautrec questioned.

"That," Quelana admitted, "amongst other things. And of course there is the fact that we both dreamed of her last night."

Laughing, crying, begging; her face, then Abby's, then her's again. "How could you possibly know that?" Lautrec demanded.

It was Quelana's turn to grin. "I didn't until just now." When Lautrec frowned, her grin only widened. "You can keep me in captivity for the rest of your days, knight, but you'd only be weakening your party and further endangering all of our lives. Free me and I will stay with you and take the girl on as my student until you no longer need us. That is my offer to you."

Lautrec weighed the witch's words, scratching at the scruff that was starting to emerge from his chin and jawline. Quelana stared at him with her emerald green eyes flicking from one of his to the other, awaiting his answer. Either she's sincere about taking the girl on and staying with us, Lautrec thought, or she's a very good liar. Either scenario didn't entirely sit well with him. "I know these lands well, witch," he told her,

approaching with his shotel. "Don't make me come hunting after you. I might not be as kind as I've been when I find you." With that, he hooked the last coils of rope that bound her and cut them loose. She sat rubbing at her wrists and staring at him until he sheathed the blade and returned to the bonfire.

"That might be the first mistake you've made, friend," Patches said when he'd made his way back, pointing the dagger he'd been running across his whet stone at Quelana. "We'll be picking fireballs out of our asses soon enough. If it comes to it... I will kill the witch." Lautrec simply fixed him with a cold stare and they had no further discussion on the matter.

Abby and Benjamin awoke shortly after: the boy complaining about stiffness in his neck; the girl bright and enthusiastic and even more so when Quelana joined them at the bonfire and told the girl she was to become her trainer. The girl's big blue eyes grew rheumy as a smile came to her pretty face, but when she came to thank Lautrec, he only put a hand up, shook his head, and told her to get ready to move. Their party packed up what little they had quickly, and then he was pointing them in the direction of the sloping hills to the West, and to the Undead Burg where he hoped to find someone... and not something. Patches took point, Benjamin beside him, and Lautrec made Quelana and Abby follow, taking the rear guard himself while keeping an eye on the witch. As they climbed the broken, worn-down, steps, he took one last look at the shrine, at the empty cage set in the earth, and at the dead bonfire in the middle of it all, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that he'd never seen them again.

They made it to the long and narrow sewer tunnel that would carry them to the Undead Burg without spotting a single hollow. It's as if all the world has gone and disappeared, leaving only the demons left to reign and rule, Lautrec thought as they began the ascent of the final flight of stairs. The demons... and us.

The sewer tunnel was dark, cold, and smelled like death itself. As they moved slowly through its gullet, Lautrec watched his traveling companions different reactions from his rear post. Patches groaned about the smell and made a rather poor joke about rats and plague. Ben trudged on beside him, quiet and sullen, his short bow swinging at his hip. Quelana kept jumping at every shadow, every sound, and Lautrec could see little kisses of fire threatening to leap from her fingertips each time. She's never been away from Blighttown, and she was rightfully cautious; after all he'd seen, Lautrec was glad to have another set of vigilant eyes holding watch on the dangers of Lordran. Abby had awoken with a smile on her face, and it hadn't faded in the slightest as they marched through sludge and grime. She ran her hand along the walls of the tunnel, commenting on the impressive architecture and comparing it to the homes in Vinheim. Quelana spoke something softly beside her and the girl laughed and replied just as quietly. Lautrec frowned, realizing that if

the two were to become teacher and student, their relationship would greatly strengthen. And then you'll be left with a useless boy and a man who would sooner kick you down a hole then pull you out of one, Lautrec thought.

He walked up behind the two of them and took Abby's arm in his hand, pulling her back away from the witch. Quelana stared at him with that guarded, blank, expression of hers, but Lautrec only waited till she moved on again.

"What is it?" Abby asked when travel had resumed.

"It's not wise to let a witch speak to you in such close quarters," Lautrec told her. "Lest you wish to become her slave."

Abby laughed. "Her spell cannot work on me, though."

"Can not? Or has not yet? Don't get cocky, girl," Lautrec warned. "You know nothing of the dangers that may await us... or even the ones that walk beside us."

"I'm not afraid," Abby said, her chin lifting just a bit.

"That's the problem. You weren't afraid at the Undead Asylum, either, and you took an arrow to the chest for it. You'd best learn this world is covered in barbs, and if you aren't wary, it will tear you apart."

Abby turned to look upon him and he noted there seemed to be an intellect behind those doe-like eyes of her's. "If this is true, why should I trust you?"

Lautrec nodded. "Now you're learning, girl," he said as they approached the end of the tunnel. "You shouldn't."

The Undead Burg was just as empty as the Firelink Shrine had been. The broken and decaying buildings of days gone past stood sentinel all around them; haggard towers of crumbled stone and warped wood hunched beside each other shoulder-to-shoulder. On the northern border, the ancient ramparts of the city watched over them, their tops caked with several feet of snow, their look-out posts and murder holes crumbled into ruins. In the pale sky above, the dead sun rained snow upon them and cold winds ravaged the streets.

"It's beautiful," Abby said in a hushed, reverent, voice.

"It's shit is what is it," Patches corrected her, turning to Lautrec. "Where the hell are all the damned hollow?"

"This place was supposed to be swarmed with them, right?" Benjamin said. "My friends and I often traded stories of the great doom that took the Burg we'd learned from our parents and their parents." He leaped atop a

stone barrier guarding the fall to the lower burg and held a hand to his brow. "But there's nothing. Were the stories a lie... or is this world a lie?"

Quelana seemed even more uncomfortable beneath all that sky above her. She took Abby by the elbow and held close to the girl. "We should not be here. This place feels... wrong."

"We're exposed out here," Lautrec said, pointing ahead. "If you all want to sit and speculate, do it with your backs to a wall. Move."

And so they moved. He called out instructions to Patches, and the bald men took them over bridges and under archways, through empty and decayed buildings and passages, up stairs and down slopes, and yet all the while as they probed deeper and deeper into the Burg, Lautrec could not shake the feeling that the witch had the right of it: something about the place was wrong.

It was as they neared the tower that would carry them up to the top of the ramparts that Benjamin said, "We're being watched. Building beside the bridge we crossed earlier. Saw movement twice, once before, once just now."

Both Abby and Patches turned to look and Lautrec felt a flush of anger rise to his skin. "And now they know we're aware of it at least," he scolded before turning to the boy, "Are you sure of it?"

Ben nodded. "You all call me useless, but I have a good eye. It's why my father put a bow in my hand when all I wanted was a quill."

"I'll flank back around," Patches said. "Get the drop on the bastard."

"Pointless. They know we're standing here talking about it now," Lautrec said and, without further risk of penalty, turned back to look himself. The building the boy had called out looked as empty and dead as all the others, but there were plenty of windows lining its wall; plenty of shadowed places to peek from. "I want to talk with him. Or her."

"You assume it's a person... and not another demon," Quelana said.

"Demon's know only aggression. They don't stalk, don't wait, don't plan," Lautrec explained. "Whoever's watching... they have their reasons."

"Then what?" Abby asked. "I'd like to speak with someone as well. Perhaps we go call out to them? They didn't attack us, after all. They might mean no harm," but when Lautrec set his eyes upon her, a look of chagrin came upon her and she sighed. "But I suppose... the world is barbed."

Quelana noticed their silent exchange and frowned. "Is that what he told you? Don't let him rob you of your optimism, Abby. It is a warm thing to have in this very cold world."

Abby smiled. "Thank you."

"Touching," Patches said dryly, "but if it's alright with the lot of you, I'd like to get moving before I get an arrow through my ass."

Lautrec opened his mouth to reply when he spotted the movement himself. It had not come from the far building that Benjamin had pointed out, though, it was from a window of the barracks right beside them. "Get down," he commanded, grabbing at Quelana beside him and pulling her to the stone floor beneath them.

"Unhand me," she snapped, turning to make sure Abby had lowered herself as well.

"They are in that building," Lautrec said, gesturing forward.

Patches led Ben out further behind the city parapets, spreading their target zone wide. Lautrec widened his position to the right as well and Quelana ignited her hands. Abby watched on in quiet amazement. "You're outnumbered!" Lautrec shouted, stealing a glance over the top of the parapet. The barracks were still and silent in reply; snow fall trickling from its sills and roof. "We don't want a fight! I only want to know what's happened to Lordran!"

There was a long gap of silence before a reply came back, muffled behind the stone and wood of their hiding place, "Outnumbered, am I? I think not."

The voice was accented peculiarly, and Lautrec found it familiar. He looks to his traveling companions, but none looked any more sure than he was. He stole another peek out and shouted, "What do you mean by that?"

Another lingering silence, then, "The sun falls. The dogs will come. I am your only solace. You do as I say."

Patches snorted laughter from further down the parapets. "Don't play the fool with us, friend! Dawn broke not one hour ago! We have plenty of day left to escape whatever 'dogs' you speak of coming."

After the now-expected silence, the voice spoke, "Then perhaps you really are some other worldly travelers. The days run short and the nights grow long in Lordran. Look to the sky and see the truth of it."

Lautrec lifted his gaze skywards. Snow fell to his brow, winds raked through his hair, and a chill took his spine. The man was right; the pale sun had already begun its fall towards the western horizon. "...impossible," he muttered.

"You do as I say, travelers, and you live through the night. Or you deny me and the dogs take you, though to call these beasts 'dogs' may be unfair. They are monsters, spawns of the darkness itself, and they seek only to

ravage and destroy. Take your chances with them in the night... or disarm yourselves and throw your weapons to me. Choose quickly. Night comes and with it... death."

Lautrec glanced to his left and saw his traveling companions were all looking towards him. For all their complaints and refusals and anger at his commands, when it was decision-making time, they still looked to him as their leader. His decision was easy: he needed answers and was intent on gathering them and so he stood, unsheathed his shotels, and hurled them up to the raised platform outside the barracks. Patches cursed, but did the same, Ben and Abby afterwards. Quelana had no weapon so she disarmed no weapon, but Lautrec and her shared a look and she quelled the fire in her hands, pulling them back up into her robes. Our secret, he thought, and her nod seemed to agree with him.

"Smart man," the voice said. "Now put your hands on your head and walk back the way you came. Do it quickly if you want to live."

As Lautrec marched, he finally placed the strange voice. It was Domhnall of Zena, the merchant and collector of rare items, and now his life laid in the man's hands.

And in the sky, darkness was coming fast. Coming for all of them.

Chapter 8

The pale blue sun was falling beneath the distant hills to the West when Abby and her traveling companions were led down into the lower Undead Burg; the mysterious voice guiding them urging them to make haste before nightfall, lest they be devoured by 'the horrors'. The peculiarly accented man's voice seemed to call to them from windows and alleyways, from rooftops and parapets, and yet they never spied a glimpse of him; at least, Abby had not. The lower Burg was very much like the upper Burg-haggard, crumbling, empty and forlorn-and so when the voice finally halted them at a big, rounded, wooden door, Abby felt relief wash over her. She didn't like the emptiness of the streets. It reminded her of her cell in the Undead Asylum, and of sadness.

"Now wait there a moment while I come and unlock the door," the voice spoke from some unseen nook or cranny and then went silent.

As their party stood waiting, Quelana stepped beside Abby and took her elbow in her grasp. When Abby turned, she saw a look of fear and concern wrinkling the witch's face beneath the dark hood of her robes as her eyes darted from place to place in the streets, cautious. Abby smiled, finding it humorous that Quelana was such a powerful pyromancer and yet feared so much, and laid a hand on the witch's own. "We're okay," she whispered. Quelana nodded, but the apprehensive look did not fade. Lautrec shifted from foot to foot, resting his hands on his hips one moment, his elbows the next, then finally dropping them to his sides and pacing. The knight was clearly uncomfortable without his hooked blades at his sides. The mystery man had commanded them to disarm themselves back in the upper sect of the Burg, and Lautrec had seemed on edge ever since. Patches appeared mostly disinterested, chewing on a leaf of grass and digging the dirt from beneath his fingernails with the point of his dagger. Ben looked like... well, Ben: sullen and agitated and tired. Abby offered him her smile as well, but Benjamin scoffed at it and turned away.

Something mechanical shifted behind the wooden door and it slowly rocked back on its hinged. "Come," the voice within commanded. Lautrec looked from the door to the rest of them, displeasure apparent on his face, yet sighed and became the first to step forward. Patches hung beside the door and motioned the rest of them to follow, the bald man himself taking up the rear.

The room within was just as cold as the streets. As Abby stepped inside, she saw the floor was laid with the same chipped stone as well, and the dingy wooden walls were warped and splintered all around them. Nothing else awaited in the small square except a long stretch of ceiling that ended with a rusty ladder hanging from the lip of a wooden platform. On the platform, their mysterious guide stood watching with his hands on his hips, his head cocked to the side. At first, Abby thought he might have

been a demon, but upon a moment's further reflection, she saw that it was only a helm that covered his head; bronze-cased with two twisting horns that led spiraling points away from his brow, beneath them a pair of bifocals hung over eyeslits. On his upper body he wore a shoulder mantle of pale pink with blue decoration, and a necklace of varying coins hung from his neck, the copper and tin circles clinking off each other as he breathed. "Aye, siwmae," that strangely-accented voice called down to them. "And a good day to you."

Abby smiled, finding the man's voice pleasantly amicable, and returned the greeting. "A good day to you, kind sir," but Lautrec fixed her with an icy look and she quickly pressed her lips together.

"I am Domhnall of Zena," he told them. "And you... you lot are about the strangest company I've come across in the Burg in... a very long time. Your names?"

"Are none of your concern," Lautrec answered for them. "We've disarmed and let you lead us all the way down here among the wretched ruins of this city, and the only reason is because I seek answers. I intend to get them, and I'd prefer them sooner rather than later, so if we could skip these little pleasantries-"

"Ah, but the pleasantries are all that separate us from the savage monsters that inhabit this world," Domhnall explained. "Our civility is a ladder, much like this one," he said, clapping the rusted ladder at his knees, "and only by climbing it do we distance ourselves from the lesser things that lurk below."

Abby saw the impatience draw the knight's face into hard lines. "Then lower the ladder and let us climb so that we may stand on... equal footing."

"Is that a threat, good sir?" Domhnall questioned. "I only asked for your names."

"And you asked that we disarm," Lautrec pointed out. "And that we follow your, blindly, down here. Now you ask for the last bit of use we have: our information. What comes next? Your men rush in behind us and take daggers to our throats?"

Soft laughter came from within the man's bronze helm. "You are one cautious fellow, my friend. I assure you, I live here alone. It has only been through a similar caution that I've survived for as long as I have. I only wish to know my guests a bit before I invite them into the last place of solace that remains to me in this very cold world of ours."

Lautrec's face only darkened. "If you think there are no other ways to reach you then that ladder, you are mistaken," he warned. "Now answer my questions."

"You know, I don't think I care for your demeanor, friend," Domhnall said,

and for the first time, Abby heard some of the amicability run out of his voice.

She'd heard enough. "I am Abby of Vinheim," she said, stepping forward. Lautrec's hand darted out to grab her arm and silence her, but she twisted away. "This is the knight Lautrec of Carim. This man is Patches. This one, Benjamin. Both he and myself are undead and we were rescued from the Undead Asylum by the rest of our party." She turned to Quelana, her pale face hidden beneath her cloak, and considered lying for only a moment. The man had been too kind, though, and he deserved honesty in return. "And this is Quelana. She is the daughter of the Witch of Izalith and the Mother of Pyromancies. And my teacher," Abby added and Quelana smiled. Abby turned her gaze back up to the man as Lautrec glared at her, fuming. "We are simple travelers, kind sir, and we seek only refuge from the coming night and to exchange conversation. You have been sweet enough to us so far and I apologize for our hostility, but we have faced many dangers on the road behind us, and so we approach every step with apprehension on the road before us. We certainly did not mean to offend."

The entire room drew silent then. Abby was aware of Lautrec's hard stare, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the man above. After a moment, his hands came up, gripped his helm by the horns, and lifted it from his head. The face beneath was round and of fair complexion. A shaggy mop of auburn hair covered his head, a light dusting of freckles on his cheeks, and most importantly: a smile on his face. He pulled the bifocals from his helm and tucked them onto the bridge of his freckled nose. "Well, then," he said, kicking the ladder down to them. "Welcome to my home."

"Thank you, kind sir," Abby said, stepping beside the ladder and turning back to take Quelana's hand.

"You handle yourself with maturity years beyond you, sweet girl," Quelana told her, smiling and rubbing her fingers.

Lautrec muttered, "There will come a day when your trust in others will be your undoing, girl."

"And a day when your mistrust will be yours, I'm sure," Abby retorted.

The two held each other's eyes for a moment, Abby with no intention of looking away, Lautrec seemingly of the same mindset, but then Patches shouldered between them and took up the first rung of the ladder saying, "Hope he's got something to bloody eat up there," and the rest of them soon followed.

Domhnall of Zena's 'home' was a welcome change from the barren wastes that plagued the rest of the Burg. After a long climb, they reached the platform, walked beneath an arched doorway, and entered a finely furnished room on the top floor of the building. The warmth of a burning

hearth was immediately apparent, and Abby watched as Quelana was quick to move beside the flames and fall to her knees before them, clasping her hands reverently and appreciatively. The walls up here were polished oak and varying banners of bright colors hung in regular intervals. The floor was carpeted in an exquisite, maroon, rug that was trimmed with silver and decorated with golden rose petals on its face. Tables and chairs stood lined against the far wall, rows of potted plants and flowers (though both had withered and died) clutched to the bottom of a long, opened, windowsill at the other end. Looking out, Abby could see the snow falling gently a dozen feet down to the upper portion of the Burg they'd first arrived in, their foot tracks already vanished in a fresh white coating. The sky had darkened considerably, and Domhnall's little fiery hearth cast a soft and orange glow upon the walls, the window, and part of the Burg beyond.

"It is a very nice home you have here, sir," Abby told their host, turning and offering a smile.

"Please, girl, call me Domhnall," he said, returning the smile. "And thank you. I've made due with what I have." The man turned to Patches and pointed out to the balcony. "I have some meat hanging outside if you all wish to eat. It will have to be cooked." When Patches asked what kind of meat it was, Domhnall's face darkened only a bit as he said, "Not the good kind, I'm afraid, but I've been eating it for weeks now and I'm still standing, so... it can't be all that bad."

Patches disappeared to the balcony and returned a moment later with a hunk of very dark meat in his hands. He sniffed at it, shrugged, and brought it to the fire.

Lautrec paced around the man's home with his arms folded across his golden chest plate, narrowing his gray eyes on each and everything the man owned. Domhnall took notice, but did not move to stop him, instead laughing and shaking his mop of hair as he took a seat beside the table. "Join me... Abby, was it?"

"Yes," Abby confirmed, seating herself across the table and folding her hands atop it. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Domhnall nodded. "I haven't seen humans in the Burg in... a very long time. You startled me quite a bit when I heard your voices. The last ones through here were bandits looking to pillage whatever remained to this cursed place." He looked to the window and his brow creased above his bifocals. "The dogs took them, though."

"What are these 'dogs'?" Ben asked, moving near Quelana and sliding down to the floor to rest near the fire. "Are they just feral beasts? My brothers and I used to hunt wild dogs outside the woods near my home."

"These creatures are no longer 'dogs', really. I only call them such out of

familiarity and habit, I suppose," Domhnall said. "They are spawns of the darkness itself. They are mutilated and vicious and seek only to ravage and kill." He grimaced. "They don't even eat their victims. It isn't about survival. They only tear them apart and move on..."

Lautrec had finally stopped pacing, seemingly satisfied no trap awaited them, and marched to the table to take a seat between Dom and herself. "Alright, merchant, start talking. What the hell has happened to Lordran. What has become of the sun? How long has the cold and the snows been coming? Why are the days short and the nights queerly long? Where are all the hollows?"

Domhnall raised a brow. "Surely you jest?" Lautrec's unwavering stare was his answer.

Dom turned to Abby. "Is he serious? None of you know the answers to any of those questions?"

Abby shook her head.

"Where have you been for the last few months? Down in the catacombs? The Tomb of the Giants? The Great Hollow?"

"Somewhere... else," Lautrec said. "So this has been happening for months now?"

Domhnall shrugged. "Well, yes. Since the Chosen Undead failed."

Lautrec's mouth fell agape. Quelana, for the first time since they'd arrived, turned her gaze from the fire and set it upon the man. Both Ben and Patches forgot temporarily about the meat they were tending to and stared at one another before turning towards the table. I'm the Chosen, Abby thought, clutching at her suddenly-dry throat. How could I have failed already?

Domhnall, upon witnessing their joint reaction, finally looked to realize that their party really didn't know what had happened in Lordran. He swallowed, ran a hand through his hair, and took a breath. "You... you really don't know?"

"Tell us," Lautrec urged him.

Domhnall looked to each of their faces in turn before staring down upon his own hands. "A hero came to Lordran a few months back. The few men and women scattered about took to calling him the 'Chosen Undead'; a great champion that would restore the fires in the Kiln of the First Flame and bring upon a new age of light, one which allow the world to march onwards-to live-and to flourish beneath the dawn of a period of peace and warmth." A smile had crept up Domhnall's freckled face as he spoke, but now it quickly faded. "But the Chosen failed us... and we failed him."

"How?" Lautrec demanded. "Griggs."
"The mage?"
"Aye."

Lautrec frowned. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"The man went mad," Dom told them, a look of disgust coming to his face. "He was there when Logan and the Chosen killed Seath and took the Archives for themselves. He was there beside the Chosen for the rest of his journey. But somewhere along the way the mage lost his mind, as most mages do, I suppose, and began seeing a... different outcome for Lordran." He paused, but when no one interrupted, he nodded and went on. "The man came to understand that the Chosen's true power did not reside in his will to succeed or his strength or his dexterity or even his courage. It resided in his ability to be reborn in the flames every time he failed."

Abby thought back to when she had died at the Asylum. It had been the most odd sensation of her life, like drowning in liquid flame, and it was there and gone in such a brief instant... then she had returned. She didn't understand it, didn't understand any of this really, but she knew the fire was important. Maybe the most important thing in the world. "A Chosen is given the chance to fight on even in absolute failure," she said. "That is our, er, their strength?"

Domhnall nodded. "Whatever sickness took Griggs' mind, it drove him to search for a way to disempower the Chosen. He found his way. If there are no flames to reborn from... then the Chosen can die. Just like you and I."

Lautrec shook his head. "No. There's no way to remove all the bonfire's of this world."

"There is," Domhnall corrected. "You just have to remove all the bonfire's keepers."

Abby watched the strangest look she'd seen yet come across the knight's face. He looked angry one moment, afraid the next. His hands balled to fists. "They're dead then? The Fire Keepers? All of them?"

"All but one now."

Lautrec swallowed, stared at the man. "It's her, isn't it? Anastacia...?"

Domhnall shrugged. "I do not know. I know one Fire Keeper escaped and Logan had a man in a top hat and a mask hunting the keeper down to protect them from Griggs. They passed through her a fortnight ago. The captive was beneath a hood."

Lautrec sat quietly for a long time, his eyes locked ahead on nothing at all, then he spoke. "It's her. Where is she?"

"I'd imagine where the rest of the world has seemed to up and move to," Dom said, nodding towards the open window at his back. "To The Duke's Archives. To Logan."

"Hold on there," Patches interrupted from beside the hearth. He was carefully circling the haunch of meat pierced by his dagger over the flames, cooking it. "Before you take this twisted little tale any further, how are you supposed to snuff all the bonfires out? Some don't even have a Keeper. Seem 'em myself, I did."

"They do," Domhnall told him. "Not seeing them and them not being present are two very different things."

"Where are they?" Abby asked.

Dom looked displeased to explain, but he pressed on. "A Fire Keeper is much like a fire itself. They need only oxygen to sustain their life. Many of the bonfire's around Lordran, in order to ensure their safety, have-well, had-their Keeper's buried alive in the soil beneath them... only a thin tube of piping sticking out somewhere so that they can breath."

Abby face contorted with horror. "That's horrible!" "How cruel..." Quelana whispered across the room.

"Every single bonfire?" Lautrec questioned. "Every cursed one has a Fire Keeper near it?"

Domhnall nodded. "That is what Griggs and Logan learned studying the endless tomes of books and documentation in the Archives. Griggs then used that information to hunt them all down, dig them all up... and end all their lives."

Silence gripped the room as Abby imagined each of her traveling companions was thinking on the sheer horror of what they were learning.

"And so Griggs got his wish," Domhnall explained. "All the fires in the world gone out... the last Keeper too far from their flame to make any difference. When the Chosen ventured down into the Kiln of the First Flame, Gwyn killed him." Dom's shoulders slumped as he shook his head. "And the Chosen never returned."

"Then Gwyn lives?" Lautrec asked.

"Yes. For how much longer, though, one could not say. The days grow short and the nights long and soon enough all the light in the world will have withered away, just as Gwyn's life withers with it."

"We light the flame," Abby said, a sudden surge of hope rising in her chest. The room did not seem to share her enthusiasm. "We just light the flame, right?"

"It's not that simple," Lautrec explained. "Gwyn must die."

"And the Chosen must sacrifice their soul to the flame to kindle it," Domhnall continued. "The Chosen is dead."

"The Chosen lives," Abby said. "For I am her."

Dom lifted his eyes to her, looked to Lautrec-who said nothing-and back. "I don't understand, my lady."

"Tell him, Lautrec," Abby urged. "Tell him what you saw at the Undead Asylum."

"When you mention the Asylum earlier, I said nothing," Dom interrupted. "But, sweet girl, you must be mistaken. You lot could not have come from the Undead Asylum."

"Why not?" Ben piped up.

Domhnall sighed. "Because it sunk into the ocean three months ago."

Abby frowned, looking to Lautrec. The knight again did not speak, only sat staring at his hands, brow creased. Patches had forgotten about his meat in lieu of this new information and had burnt one side black. Quelana had turned back to the fire in the hearth, silent. Seeing no aid in any of them, Abby slumped into her chair and stared down at her feet. "...what's happened to us?"

"What is happening at the Duke's Archives?" Lautrec finally spoke, ignoring her question.

"Logan is what's happening at the Archives," Domhnall said, a hint of disdain in his voice.

"You speak of Big Hat Logan, correct?"

"Oh, you wouldn't want to be caught calling him that now," Dom told him. "Heard he had the last man to utter those words castrated. But, yes, the same Logan. He helped the Chosen destroy Seath the Scaleless when the hero failed time and time again. Then? Then the man started losing himself in the wealth of information contained within the Archive's walls. I was there, you know? Briefly. At some point I think all of Lordran was there. When the cold came, that is. They have resources there, wood, fire, food, water, wine. What good it will do them when the long night falls however, I do not know."

"Why did you leave?" Abby asked.

"Because Logan is mad," Dom answered curtly. "He experiments on the living! He found ways to command golems to his will! He spends the nights reading by candlelight and whispering madness to himself, and the days wandering the Archive's halls aimlessly. They're all following a damned mad man up there! I urged them to follow me when I left, but... the comforts a set of rather large stone walls offer a man are enticing. When I finally set out... none followed."

"Who is there?" Patches wondered.

"Everyone," Domhnall answered. "Except me and all of you, apparently. I used to-" He went abruptly silent, cocking his ear towards the window. Whatever he heard caused the man to stand and spin towards the open balcony. Outside, night had taken Lordran, and the velvety blue darkness was draped across the streets of the Burg. "We must lower our voices," he spoke in a hushed, frightened, way before turning to Patches. "We can keep the fire, but it must be shrunk."

"What's happening?" Lautrec asked, and Abby saw his hand instinctively grope for a shotel that was not there.

"Dogs are coming," Domhnall said, closing the window shutters to a slit. "They can't get up here but it's best not to attract their attention and get them all riled up."

"You're sure they can't get in here?" Lautrec asked. "Positive?"

"Yes, yes," Dom said. "We're safe." He looked to each of their party in turn. "Do you want to see them?"

The balcony outside was dusted with snow, but an awning overhead kept it from growing unruly. Domhnall had Lautrec strip his heavy armor from his body, and then led them all outside onto it. At the doorway, the man dropped to his belly and crawled out to the wooden lip of the balcony's floor. Lautrec followed in the same manner, Patches and then Benjamin after him. Quelana was lingering beside the hearth at the now-dimmed flames hovering as close to them as she could. Abby went to her, took her by the hand, and gently tugged towards the balcony. "Come," she urged. "It's not going anywhere." Quelana looked from it to Abby, swallowed, and nodded.

They dropped to their bellies like the men before them and squirmed forward till all six of them were lined up in a row on the balcony's wooden floor. The boards below creaked and Lautrec asked if it would support their weight. Domhnall shushed him, put a finger to his lips, and pointed off towards the North. "They come," he whispered.

At first, Abby wasn't sure what he was pointing at. The streets of the Burg were very dark, only droplets of moonlight creeping out over the stone and wood structures, but then she spotted something moving down a

flight of stairs. It looked like a liquidy shadow that was more sliding down the steps then walking them. Then, before the thing took full form, she heard the growling.

"I don't like this," Quelana said, and Abby could feel the witch shaking beside her.

"Shhh!" Domhnall pleaded. "Just watch."

More shadows were creeping onto the streets. Some from the towering battlements of the city's walls, some from the lower Burg itself, some seeming to materialize from the stone itself. The growling Abby had heard earlier had grown to a chorus of rumbling which finally broke with a loud, shrill, howl. Another howl followed, and another, and soon enough the whole city was alive with the dreadful song of the shadow beasts.

"I have to return to Izalith," Quelana said. "My sisters... something very bad has fallen over this world."

"Would you shut her up!?" Patches hissed. "They're looking!"

Abby squinted and saw the shadow things were moving their way. One passed beneath a sliver of moonlight, and for a brief, terrifying, instant, Abby saw the beast's head was all mouth. It didn't seem to have eyes or ears or anything else... just lips and teeth; massive, sharp, teeth.

"Abby, come with me," Quelana pleaded. "You and I will escape this madness."

"Quiet!" Ben hissed.

Abby reached an arm around Quelana's shoulder and lowered her hand over the witch's mouth. "Shhhh. I... I will protect you," she whispered, though the words sounded funny when spoken from her to a witch with the power of flame that Quelana possessed. "Alright?"

Quelana's eyes were growing rheumy, but the witch nodded. Abby gave her a smile and squeezed her hand, but kept her other hand over the witch's mouth.

"We're spotted," Lautrec said.

Abby looked back to the streets and gasped when she saw just how many dogs had taken to the Burg. At first glance she thought maybe dozens but as her eyes flicked across the area, she thought the number might be closer to a hundred. Several were limping through the shadows towards the clearing below their balcony, their oddly-shaped heads angled upwards; all growling.

Quelana whimpered into Abby's hand, and Abby rubbed at the witch's arm. "It's okay," she told her.

"I think it would be a good time to head back in," Patches suggested.

"I think you're right," Domhnall agreed.

And with that, they started the odd task of crawling backwards into the house. Ben was first, and he helped Patches, Lautrec, and Domhnall in after him. Abby was still too nervous to release Quelana, so she kept hold of her as they lifted to their knees and crept back inside. It was just as they crossed the wooden border that the howling started below.

"What the hell are those things?" Patches asked when they were all inside and it was safer to make noise. "I ain't never seen dogs look like that. Where are there bloody eyes?"

"I told you they were no dogs," Domhnall said, glancing through the slit in the window shutters. "And now they're all coming this way. It's a good thing they can't get in here, or it would be the end of us." He looked at Quelana. "A bad time to have a nervous breakdown."

Abby let the witch go and Quelana lowered her head. "I... I am not brave. I am a coward. I fled from my home when it went to ruins. Fled from my family."

"You are brave," Abby assured her. "You command fire. Would it really obey if its master was a coward?"

"They aren't leaving," Lautrec interrupted. He was pressed to the corner of the balcony doorway, peering out. "Only gathering. Probably isn't the best idea to talk anymore. Let us rest for the night. Do the demon's always leave by dawn?"

Domhnall nodded. "Yes. At least we can take comfort in that."
"Good," Lautrec said. "Because on the morrow, I'll have more questions."

"And I shall have more answers," Dom told him. "The story isn't quite done yet."

Domhnall showed them resting quarters in the attic of the household. A short, cracked, ladder led up through a little box, and then the peaked ceilings of the attic greeted them. There were blankets stored in barrels at the far end, and all six of them gathered enough to keep warm in the cold of the night. Abby laid her blanket down beside a little, oval, window that spilled moonlight inside, and Quelana asked to lay beside her. Abby welcomed her, glad for the company, and that was how their party spent the first true night of their adventure; huddled together in the attic of a man with a horned helm and bifocals, listening to the howling of the dogs gathered outside, waiting out the long curtain of darkness ahead.

Abby did not fall asleep for some time, and when she finally did her dreams were dark, empty, and hollow; hollow like her, like Ben, and like

Lordran itself would become... if she did not save it.

Chapter 9

The blizzard had swept upon them suddenly and violently, and when it had come it was relentless in its attack. They were blind beneath its swirling curtains, deaf within its howling cries, and endlessly encumbered by its residual carpeting underfoot. By the time night had fallen, the world was a sheet of icy white hail that took on a haunted glow beneath the moon's pale light. Yet still they trudged onwards; still they obeyed his command. Though the deeper they went, the harder they pressed on, the storm only grew more fierce, its cold hands of frost swelling around them like the belly of a pregnant women; a child of pure ice waiting to burst from within and take them all to whatever hells awaited the frozen and dead.

It was Laurentius who came to him first. Solaire had fallen behind the party in his heavy plate armor, and so the hooded pyromancer had to backtrack through his own entrenched path in the snow to reach him. He looked like an ethereal spirit coming in the night, the snowfall playing tricks with his figure as he marched near. "Solaire, you fool!" He shouted to be heard over the winds. "You'll kill us all if you insist upon this cursed journey! Gods be good, let us turn back!"

"Back is death, friend!" Solaire bellowed his reply. "Forward will be our only solace from this wretched storm!" Ahead, faint and blurry figures stood watching beside the mighty trees of the Darkroot Forest, figures that Solaire knew were just as resistant to go on as the man before him. He returned his gaze to Laurentius and clapped him on the shoulder. "We will live, friend. The sun watches over us even when we can not watch over it. Praise it, friend. Praise it and its warmth will guide you!"

Laurentius glared out from beneath his hooded cloak, his eyes squinted against the wind's wrath, his beard and mustache layered with a sheet of icicles. "Solaire... we aren't asking," the pyromancer told him, igniting the glove he wore over his right hand in a spark of red and orange flame.

Solaire looked from the glove to the figures standing sentinel over Laurentius' shoulder, to the pyromancer himself. "Mutiny then is it?" He asked, letting his gauntlet fall to the hilt of his straight sword.

"It doesn't have to be, knight," Laurentius explained. "We are going back to the Archives. To hell with Logan and his mad mission. We can take you as our hostage. Tell Logan there was mutiny and that we forced you back at the point of our blades. Surely he will understand. No one has to die in this bloody storm here tonight, Solaire! Listen to reason!"

Even in the screaming winds of the blizzard, Solaire could hear the smooth shck of his sword coming free from its sheath. "There will be no such deception. I intend to stay loyal to the mission. If you are deserters, I shall treat you as such."

Laurentius shook his head with a sigh. "You foolish knight..." He raised a fist into the air, and the blurry figures behind him began to flank out to his sides, surrounding Solaire. "It didn't have to be like this."

"Of course it did," Solaire replied, widened his stance and raising his shield to his chest. "All things must be the way they are, or else they would not be at all. Praise the sun." He pointed the tip of his sword forward, bowed, and moved in for attack.

They had set out the previous night, early enough before dawn that the black sky was their traveling companion for the better part of three hours. Solaire had hand-chosen his fellowship from the capable men residing in the Archive's barracks, though now he thought perhaps he had chosen poorly; the lot were as craven as the hollow. He'd taken along the pyromancer Laurentius, the knight of Catarina, Siegmeyer, the knight of thorns, Kirk, and, though it went against his better judgement, the fool who called himself the 'Marvelous' Chester. None of them had seemed particularly thrilled with the notion of trudging through the cold and dark nightmare that Anor Londo had become to reach the firelink shrine and discover what the great crow had brought forth to Lordran in its talons, but none of them had flat out refused him either.

Chester had taken point-the reason Solaire had brought him along in the first place-and the rest followed along bundled heavily in leathers and cloaks and wool undergarments to shield them from the cold. They'd left the archives at night, and it was still dark when they had crawled the narrow passage that dropped them to the inner city of Anor Londo. The going was slow and quiet and cautious. Overhead, encircling the city's Great Cathedral, every one of them was aware that an army of hollow, perhaps in the thousands, had gathered; for what purpose no one knew. The journey through the dark streets of Anor Londo was brief and mostly uneventful, though they had to lie in wait as a squadron of half a dozen hollows who were stalking the alleyways of the city like a gang of decaying bandits passed them by. Chester led them through hidden paths Solaire had never heard of, let alone seen, and by the time the beautiful sun was clawing its way up over the Eastern mountains, they had come across a cracked and haggard chasm in the city's outer wall. Beyond it, a maddeningly steep fall of forest that would carry them down to the Darkroot Basin, and then to their destination beyond it.

It was a they reached the bottom of the long embankment and the sun was already rushing back to hide in the West when the storm started to pick up. By the time they'd reached truly flat ground, the forest thick and tall around them as night set in, the blizzard had turned the air to ice, the wind to a chilled dagger, the ground to a heavy swamp of snow that grasped at their ankles as they marched on.

And now here I stand, Solaire thought as he pressed forward to attack the mutinous pyromancer before him. With a party of craven deserters, and I'm like to die without the Sun on my back. A true pity.

Laurentius stepped back and further ignited his glove as Kirk and Siegmeyer flanked out wider. Solaire knew the pyro was the least armored, and made the man his target as he pushed through the heavy snow underfoot to reach him.

Aahwoooooooooooooooooo.

The horn blaring over the screaming blizzard winds froze all four of them in their tracks. Solaire swallowed his trepidation and stole a glance up the near cliffside to his left. Chester was up there. The man had scouted ahead and told them he was going to find a vantage point to get a look at what awaited them in the forest and beyond. The horn he carried slung around his neck by a little silver necklace was to be used only for warning of attack.

Aahwoooooooooooooooooooooooo.

Laurentius had been staring towards the cliffs as well, but now he turned his wide-eyed gaze back on Solaire. "We are under attack."

Solaire nodded, but did not drop his shield nor his sword. He kept his eyes on the flanking knights who were still widening out around him.

Laurentius quelled the flame encasing his glove before raising the fist in the air and opening his palm. The flank halted. "Battle would only weaken us all for whatever comes forth in these woods to pick us apart. I ask for truce."

"And I grant you none," Solaire said. "You are craven and you are deserters."

"I'll kill him," the knight of thorns voice came quiet and calm from beneath his spiked helm. The man was large and when he moved forward in the snowfall, his dark figure seemed to grow as tall as the trees; pointed thorns spiraled from his shoulder mantle and gauntlets. "You deal with whatever else comes."

"This is foolish!" Siegmeyer pleaded with them. The knight was large in his own way... though certainly not nearly as intimidating. "Solaire, please. Laurentius... this is not necessary. We are traveling companions! Let us face whatever threat comes together!"

"Silence, Siegmeyer," Solaire threatened. "You play the role of a honest knight, but were ready to drive your blade through my gut not a minute earlier. You are as bad as the knight of thorns there. Worse, really. At least the dishonorable fool knows what he is."

"We weren't going to kill you, Solaire," Siegmeyer explained. "That was never our intent. We only wished to save our own lives before this cursed storm-"

Aahwooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

"This is madness! We must regroup and take up defensive position!" Laurentius shouted. "Kill us all if you wish, Knight of the Sun, but you will be killing men who wish you no harm." He turned to the others and nodded. "There is a cave near. We make for it. Quickly."

Siegmeyer nodded and the two of them went wading through the knee- high snow as fast as the storm would allow. The knight of thorns held his ground, barbed straight sword clutched in his black gauntlet, but after a moment even he turned and joined them. Craven, Solaire thought, sheathing his own blade. The lot of them! And yet, he moved to follow them anyway.

Chester came sliding down a steep embankment, tufts of snow kicking up in his trail, and halted beside two thick trees standing guard at the hill's base. The man's top hat and jester's mask were still perfectly in place when he fixed his gaze upon Solaire. "Where are the rest?"

"Did you know of their treason, Chester? Tell it true," Solaire demanded.

"Yes," Chester confirmed casually enough. "Now where are they. There are dogs coming."

"Dogs?"

Chester nodded, pointing South. "From the way of the Undead Burg. Lots of them," then upon a moment's reflection, "At least I think they're dogs." He rose from the ground, shook snowfall from his hat and shoulders, and stared out into the maze of trees. "I see their path. We'd best stick together if we all intend to live through this night."

"You were going to murder me," Solaire snapped. "Kill me in cold blood!"

Chester fixed his eyes on him and, though his mouth was hidden by the mask, Solaire could feel the sly grin beneath fixed upon the man's face. "Only if you were going to insist on being so... knightly. Either way, you'll die without us now. I'd suggest you follow."

"Wait!" Solaire demanded, but Chester had already gone running off in pursuit of the other's trail. Solaire stood, cold and alone, in the snowfall staring after them. He turned his gaze South, towards the Burg, and held it there. Praise the sun, give me strength, he thought. What do I do? Take my chances with those treacherous cravens... or the dogs?

That's when he saw them: sleek, snarling, figures pawing their way down the distant hillside, skin as black as pure ebony, movement as liquid as shadow. They slipped in and out of clusters of trees, their massive heads and gaping jaws lined with fangs snapping at branches and snowfall. Solaire counted maybe a dozen coming down the hill... but when he glanced further to the left, he saw another two dozen seeping up from

under the Burg's wall.

"Sun save us," he muttered, turned on his heel, and gave pursuit after the men who'd tried to kill him.

The 'cave' Laurentius spoke of was really just a large chunk of rock taken out of the side of the cliffs that loomed over the Darkroot Basin. It tunneled into the earth, narrowing down to a fine point as it went, and came to an abrupt end a few dozen feet back. Solaire came upon it, stumbled beneath the tangle of moss and vines that draped its passageway and found the hard, snowless, rock underfoot within a welcome feel beneath his boots.

His eyes had not yet even adjusted to the darker lighting the cave housed, masked from the moonlight outside, before arms fell upon his shoulders and threw him to the ground. His helm smacked off the rocks, twisting around on his head and blinding him. He reached for his blade, but strong hands wrapped his forearms and held him in place as someone else removed the blade for him. "Cravens!" He shouted from within his twisted helm. "Unhand me!"

They did, but not before stripping his shield from his arm as well. Solaire clambered to his feet, fixed his helm, and stood before the four men around him, feeling naked and vulnerable without sword or shield at his side.

"Kill him," Kirk bellowed in his deep, calm, voice.

"No!" Siegmeyer pleaded. "Are you mad!? He's unarmed! He is no harm to any of us!"

Kirk shrugged. "I don't like him."

"You can't kill him," Chester said. The man in the top hat was at the back of the cave, taking a cloth along his crossbow, cleaning and checking every mechanical part on the weapon. "He is Logan's lapdog. We'd never get back inside the Duke's Archives without him. Kill the knight... and our fate is to freeze to death out here."

Laurentius ignited his glove and fixed it upon Solaire's chest. "Tie him up. Don't make me burn you, knight."

"You treacherous fools!" Solaire wailed, raising his fists. "I will fight you to the-"

It was the knight of thorns who stepped forward in the dark. It was him who drove his mailed gauntlet across Solaire's helm hard enough to strip the thing from his head and to loosen two of his teeth beneath the cheek. Solaire fell to the ground, coughing the blood from his mouth, and Kirk took hold of his arms, wrenching and twisting at them until they came together behind his back. "Cravens..." Solaire muttered, but even speaking

hurt his jaw where the man had struck him.

"You call me craven again," Kirk's bassy voice warned over his shoulder. "And I'll take your head off its shoulders and bring it to Logan as a trophy."

They made quick work of binding his wrists and elbows and torso and then tossed him aside to lie on the cave floor, bound and useless. Solaire felt his jaw swelling up and hoped the man in the dark armor hadn't broken it. He wrestled to his back and stared forward to the mouth of the cave, where the howling winds and the falling snow beyond looked like a portal to another world.

"How many mutts are out there?" Kirk asked, crouching low beside the cave entrance and unsheathing his barbed sword.

"They are no mere 'mutts', knight of thorns," Chester corrected him, stepping forward and shouldering his crossbow. "Don't treat them lightly. These things looked like beasts crawled straight from Izalith itself. And there are many. Certainly more than us."

"Can we survive this?" Laurentius questioned, his flaming hand the only beacon of light in the dark cave.

Chester shrugged. "Depends how intent the beasts are on ending us, I suppose."

"I will die to no dog," Kirk said.

"Better men have died to less," Chester told him. "Keep your guard up."

The men were very still then and very quiet. Solaire could only watch from his position on the floor of the cave as the rest of them stood guard before that white and blue portal that was the cave's exit. Twice he thought Chester was going to loose a bolt from his crossbow, but both times the man breathed relief and lowered it. The knight of thorns was as still as stone, and when the rest of them seemed to grow apprehensive, Kirk only sat, peering through the eyeslits of his black and thorned helm as calmly as if he were watching a play. It unsettled Solaire.

Finally, Laurentius quelled his flame and stepped away from the entrance. "They've passed. The Gods are good to us today."

"The Gods send a storm of whose magnitude has never been seen before down upon our heads, and you call them good?" Chester asked and a snicker burst forth from beneath his mask. "I'd hate to see them do us bad."

Kirk stood and sheathed his barbed blade. "Piss on the Gods. Let's eat."

Laurentius got them a little fire going at the back of the cave with his pyromancy, and the four of them sat around the makeshift bonfire,

sticking haunches of rabbit and bird out over the flames on the points of their daggers. Solaire could smell the meat cooking and had to fight urges to ask the men for some; he would not beg such honorless scoundrels for anything. He'd rather starve.

"We don't have to treat Solaire this way," Siegmeyer was the first to even mention him as they ate. "He is our friend and our companion."

"He would have stuck me with his sword for simply wishing to preserve my own life," Laurentius said. "He is a danger to us all. And to himself."

"Should kill him," Kirk muttered between bites of his rabbit, and that ended the discussion on Solaire.

It went on like that for awhile, the four of them sharing stories and complaining about the weather and about the mission and about the weather some more as they ate. As the bonfire died down, and the food had all but disappeared, Solaire rolled to his side and was ready to close his eyes and forget about this terrible night. When his eyelids were closed to slits, though, movement at the front of the cave caught his attention and snapped them back open. "Praise the sun," he muttered, desperately trying to wiggle back away from the entrance.

"What are you blabbering on about?" Laurentius asked, but he had only to follow the path of Solaire's eyes to find the answer. "Gods protect us! Arm yourselves!"

The dogs that they thought had passed them by earlier had returned. The entrance to the cave was choked with them. Solaire could see by the dim light of what was left of their bonfire that these were no dogs, either. Their muzzles were grown abnormally large, practically shrinking away the rest of their heads, and the teeth within were jagged and crooked and sharp and huge. A half dozen stood lined before the cave, but behind them, Solaire could not even make out the forest - there were too many waiting to follow the leaders of the pack in. All of the beasts were snarling and drooling from their enormous mouths; their beady red eyes were darting from person to person, rolling about insanely, hungrily.

"Burn them," Kirk demanded of Laurentius. "Burn the things back to Izalith."

"No!" Solaire commanded from the floor. He craned his neck up to face his captors. "If you go on the offensive, they'll grow aggressive and flood the cave. We'll be swarmed before we take down not ten of them! You have to stay defensive! Pick them off as they come! Free me you fools and I will help!"

The lead dog has breached the inside of the cave, and the monster's snarling was catching on the walls and echoing in a queer, haunting, way. His muzzle shook violently as he prodded forward, snapping at the air

before him menacingly.
"Burn them!" Kirk demanded, his cool demeanor finally broken.

"The knight has the right of it," Chester said, his crossbow fixed upon the nearest beast. "The fire will only awake their rage."

"My rage has awoken," Kirk spat. "Do as I say, pyromancer, or I'll feed you to the things."

"Back! Back!" Siegmeyer was shouting. The fat man in his rounded, steel, armor was swinging his big greatsword in sweeping arcs in attempt to keep the dogs at bay. "Back you beasts!"

Yet the beasts did not heed to his threats. More and more were funneling in behind the lead dog, cluttering the cave entrance so tightly they stood shoulder to shoulder.

"Siegmeyer, you grow to close!" Solaire warned the big man. "Return to the bonfire!"

"Back!" Siegmeyer continued shouting. "Back!"

Kirk stepped forth from the bonfire. "Here, Knight of Catarina, let me aid your attack." The man in the thorned armor laid his hand on Siegmeyer's shoulder and shoved. The fat knight stumbled forward, caught off balance, and drove his sword to the ground to steady himself. It landed beside a dog with a thud and stuck into the earth. The knight tried pulling it free-

-but then the dogs were on him.

"No!" Solaire wailed.

One beast lurched into the air and took the knight's arm in his muzzle. As Siegmeyer moved to free himself, another clamped down around his ankle, sending the man's head back in a scream of pain. The lead dog leaped into the air, found footholds on the fat knight's thighs, and sunk its dagger-like teeth into the spot where his helmet met his breast plate. Blood and flesh exploded outwards as the dog tore back its head.

"You killed him!" Solaire screamed at the knight of thorns. "You killed him!"

Siegmeyer groaned, raised an arm once more to bat the dogs away, and then collapsed to his knees. The beasts were on him immediately, burying their teeth into any exposed flesh at the kinks of the armor and dragging his bloody body back outside.

"Maybe they only wanted a snack," Kirk said. "Maybe I just saved us. The fat old knight will provide quite the feast."

"Murderer..." Solaire muttered, but then had to squeeze his eyes shut and try to picture the sun; the sounds of the dogs feasting outside the cave were too much to handle.

It wasn't long before they returned, though, and none of their anger... of their hunger had seemed to be satiated. The only difference was now their muzzles were painted in Siegmeyer of Catarina's blood.

"It's over," Solaire said. "You will pay in the next life for you crimes, knight of thorns, and you will still die here in this cave tonight."

Laurentius swallowed and spat a burst of combustion at the dogs from his glove. They didn't seem impressed with the attack. "Gods save us... we can't kill them all."

Chester set two additional bolts beside the one nestled in his crossbow's firing mechanism. "No. But we can kill a lot of them."

"I'm not dying to no dogs," Kirk repeated his earlier protest. He set his eyes on Solaire. "But if things get ugly in here... rest assured I am killing you, knight."

The dogs pressed inwards, choking the cave entrance once again. Fresh blood dripped from the points of their fangs. I'm the closest, Solaire thought. It is me who they will feast upon first. May the sun shine as brightly in the next world as it once had in this one. Praise it. The lead dog set its beady eyes on Solaire and opened its jaw.

Thud - thud - thud.
"The hell is that?" Kirk snapped. "Something in the forest," Chester said. "What?" Laurentius asked.

Thud - thud - thud, the sound came again, closer, as if some great giant were stalking through Lordran. For one crazed moment, Solaire did think it was a giant, that it was some great physical incarnation of the sun, come to save him for his lifetime of servitude. Then a dog outside yelped, and another howled, and yet another started a howl, but was caught abruptly short with another thud - thud -thud. Solaire thought that whatever it was, it sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

The dogs inside the cave began to turn around, their snarls and growls growing more violent and vicious as they did. They funneled back out into the night. Solaire listened intently as whatever battle raged outside took place. Judging by the number of yelps, it did not sound like the dogs were winning.

Thud - thud -thud. Was the final sound Solaire heard as the warring died

down, and he had put together what it was just as the answer revealed itself at the mouth of the cave.

The crystal golems stood huddled together peering in at their party, the swirling snow dancing around their metallic blue surface, the wind whipping at their hulking shoulders and backs. There were four of them in total, and on the blunt ends of their mighty arms, the blood of the dogs they had slaughtered dripped to the snow below.

"What is this?" Kirk demanded. "What do they want?"

"They're Logan's," Chester said, though his hushed and frightened voice was anything but confident. "...I hope."

Laurentius craned his neck forward and squinted. "What are they carrying?"

Solaire looked and saw that tucked beneath the golem's arms were large wheels, or perhaps cogs, that looked old and rusted. His eyes drifted back to their little heads and looked between them. Is it you in there, Logan, he wondered. Do you see through their eyes? Hear through their ears? Do you control them? Speak to them? What secrets have you uncovered in that infernal dungeon of yours?

And just as quickly as the golems had arrived to save them, they were gone again. Chester quickly rushed to the cave entrance and watched for their path. "They're heading back," he said. "Back towards Anor Londo... back to Logan."

"Well let's go!" Laurentius shouted. "This is a favor of the Gods! A convoy of protection to see us back home!"

Kirk sheathed his barbed sword and stepped beside them. "It's about time something went our way."

"We're not going back," Chester told them, his eyes locked on the golems as they trailed away into the blizzard.

"What?" Laurentius snapped.

"Don't think I'll let you stand in my way you snickering fool," Kirk warned. "I've had enough of this infernal blizzard and I'm going back to where its warm and there is food."

"And we will," Chester assure them. "But not yet. You see, the dogs weren't the only thing I spied up upon those cliffs," he turned back to them and looked between them. "I saw something else. A fire."

"Fire?" Laurentius echoed.
Chester nodded. "Coming from the Undead Burg. It seems that whatever,

or whomever Logan has sent us on this suicide mission to retrieve... is not but an hours travel from here. Surely, my companions, you'd like to meet whoever it is that has caused us such duress? And, of course, cost dear Siegmeyer his life."

Chester looked to Kirk and Kirk nodded his head. "Yes..." the man in the dark armor pulled his barbed blade free. "Yes, I would like to meet them. Very much."

"Good," Chester said. "Then we camp here tonight, and tomorrow... we head to the Burg. Then we find out if whatever the crow dragged back from the lands beyond... was worth it."

Chester laughed and Kirk joined him. Laurentius joined in shortly after, and then Solaire was the only one left that didn't find any humor in the situation. Bound and helpless on the floor of the cave, he only felt pity... not for himself, but for the poor souls left in the Burg that had no idea what kind of men were coming for them.

And coming for them soon.

Chapter 10

Embers rained from the ball of swirling fire, orange and red lines crisscrossing its core, heat emanating so fiercely from within, the snow three feet below was melting away into a puddle of warm water. Quelana loved the sight of fire. There was nothing more perfect in the world than the beautiful chaos of the flames lashing and whipping at the air. It was a particularly magnificent thing to behold, though, when it was birthed from the will of one of her pupils.

"Good job, Abby," she called across the rooftop. "You take to the fire as naturally as one of my own sisters."

Above the fireball, Abby's pretty blue eyes were aglow in a bath of red. Her lips spread into a smile and she looked to Quelana. "It's so... empowering." She turned the pyromancy glove that Domhnall had supplied her earlier in the morning ever-so-slightly on its side and the flames obeyed, twisting and snapping and following her lead. She raised it high, thrust her arms forward, and corkscrewed them. The ball of flame arched across the roof and barreled into a stack of crates on the other side. They exploded in a dazzlingly display of fire and splintering wood sprayed into the air as if thrown from a fountain. Abby turned her excited gaze on Quelana and her smile widened. "This is amazing!"

Quelana returned the smile, but held a cautious hand up. "It is, Abby, but don't let the flames get the better of you. Remember that. Always fear the flame-"

"-lest it consume you. Yes, I remember," Abby finished. "I will. I promise." She bit her bottom lip and grinned down at her glove. "I want to do it again. Can I?"

"You can do as you please. Just practice control and restraint as well as those flashy tricks. Where did you get the idea to twist your arms like that when throwing the fireball anyway? I've never had a pupil do that before."

Abby shrugged, a fresh coating of snowflakes falling from the locks of her chestnut brown hair. "It felt right."

Quelana measured the girl before her in the tattered cleric robes, nodding. "Many things do for you, don't they, Abby?"

"I suppose they do, yeah," she admitted, shaking more snow free that had grown caked to her boots. "Everything except miracle and spell casting, I guess." She laughed. "But this stuff... and the thing I did with the Taurus Demon? It just feels... natural."

That's because you are the true chosen, Quelana thought. The one who will bring a new age of fire to Lordran, and save Izalith from ruins. She

didn't mean to put anymore pressure on the girl's shoulders, though, so she simply said, "That's good. You can continue practicing that pyromancy spell now if you'd like. I will watch from here. My instructions, for now, are complete."

Abby nodded, thanked her, and almost immediately had another fireball cooking up in the palm of her gloved hand. Quelana watched, but also kept an eye on the streets of the Burg beyond the waist-high barrier encircling the roof. They had been with the merchant, Domhnall, now for two days, though the golden knight Lautrec was swearing up and down he refused to stay one more, so they'd likely be departing before nightfall. Before the dogs.

The dogs, for the most part, had quieted down since the first night, though they still lingered in the streets by day now, stray packs of two and three, and by night they came back in full force, their mutated and engorged heads kept fixed upon Domhnall's little balcony and window. The merchant man had been very kind to them, supplying them with food and drink and shelter, but Quelana could feel his hospitality beginning to wane as his supplies grew shorter in number. It would be for the best if Lautrec did in fact lead them away soon, to where, though, she did not know. The man was quiet most of the time. She'd often catch him staring off into the sky, rubbing at the stubble that grew upon his chin. Patches, though, did enough talking for both of them, constantly joking and laughing and even singing on occasion. Quelana still did not like nor trust the man, though, and kept vigilant of any tricks he might be looking to play. Abby maintained her positive and cheerful demeanor, and Quelana was thankful for it, but the boy's-Benjamin's-health seemed to be failing by the day. His skin looked waxy and yellow, and dark circles had cropped up below his eyes. She worried about him, but, really, there was nothing any of them could do.

The pale oval of 'sun' was creeping towards its apex and Abby was working on her fifth consecutive fireball when Lautrec came to them. Quelana turned and watched the man approach, reading the anger in his posture, the way he marched instead of walked, the way his cold and grey eyes were narrowed beneath his brow. "Abby," she called, standing and stepping between the girl and the knight defensively. "Abby, come here." She stretched back her arm and opened her hand, and soon enough Abby was behind her taking hold of it. "Stay beside me."

"What's wrong?" Abby whispered, but her eyes had grown wide upon seeing Lautrec angrily stomping across the rooftop.

Lautrec had, admittedly, gained some of her trust. After all, he'd had plenty of opportunities to hurt either her or Abby, and had yet to do so. He was a cautious, guarded, man, but he did not seem to share the same lust for cruelty that his bald companion did, and so Quelana gave him the benefit of the doubt as he crossed the roof towards them and did not ignite her pyromancy. Still, she was not yet sure of what the man was

capable of, and so she stayed at the ready.

Lautrec stopped a few feet before them and his frown deepened. "What are you doing? Do you think I've come to kill the girl or something?"

"What do you want?" Quelana asked. "She did nothing."

"No," he admitted, lifting a finger to her, "But you did. I wake up and asked Patches where you two are. He tells me on the roof. I ask what you're doing. He tells the girl's been practicing pyromancy with some infernal glove the merchant gave her... for hours."

Quelana frowned herself. "I don't understand. Why do you care-"
"You were practicing pyromancy at night!?" He snapped, cutting her off. It was Abby's turn to try and speak. "We thought-"

"On a roof!?" Lautrec shouted. "You were up here waving flames around in the night for the whole cursed land of Lordran to see? Do you know what danger you may have brought upon us in your foolishness, witch? I expect as much from the girl, she's young and naive, but you? You should have known better."

Quelana glared at the knight. "You have no right to speak of Abby like that. She is a kind young woman, and you are a paranoid, stubborn, man. Look around us, knight. There's no one here. No one coming to harm us. You're overreacting."

"I'm keeping us alive," Lautrec growled, "and you only seem intent on making that more and more difficult."

"It was Abby who saved us from the Taurus Demon," Quelana snapped back. "It was her who was wise enough to speak amicably with Domhnall and get us shelter from the dogs that would have torn us apart! What have you done for us?"

Lautrec was seething. "If it wasn't for me, the girl would be rotting in a cell."

"I don't think-"
"No, you don't, do you?" Lautrec cut her off.

"Please stop!" Abby shouted. "I'm sorry, okay? I... it's my fault we were up here. I'm sorry, Lautrec. Please don't yell anymore."

Quelana spun to face her. "Abby, you don't have to-"

"No, it's okay," she pleaded. "I understand. It was a mistake. I apologize." She shouldered past, carefully avoiding Quelana's grab at her elbow, and stepped before the knight. Lautrec looked to yell at her, but she reached

out and took his right hand between both of hers and squeezed. "I didn't mean to endanger us any further, Lautrec. I am sorry."

Quelana watched as the hard lines of the knight's face softened. Stress lines at his eyes smoothed, his brow lost some of its dig into his nose, his eyes lost some of their intensity, cooled. Quelana looked from Lautrec's face to his hand that Abby still had wrapped in her own. Mother of Izalith, she thought. The girl is using her calming technique on him. She is soothing his anger. Abby... what other secrets do you hold?

Lautrec's anger had subsided, but now he was regarding Abby with a look of both confusion and caution. He pulled his hand away from hers and looked at it for a moment before lifting his gaze back to her. "Don't do that again."

"I just didn't want you to be angry," Abby said quietly, folding her hands at her hips and lowering her head.

Lautrec looked from her to Quelana and back. After a long moment of silence he said, "Your hair should be cut," to both of their surprise.

"My hair?" Abby echoed.

Lautrec nodded. "If you're going to be playing with fire. Unless, of course, you don't mind accidentally catching a head of flames one day." He reached to his hip and pulled a short dagger from a leather sheath. "And it will be one less thing for a man to pull if we come under attack." He tossed the dagger to Quelana.

She caught it by the hilt and Abby turned to stare at it wide-eyed and nervous. Quelana looked over her shoulder at Lautrec and understood that, though his words were true, this was also a kind of punishment for her mistake. When she looked back to Abby, the girl was biting at her lip and running strands of her hair through her fingers. "You don't have to do this."

"No, I should. Lautrec is right," Abby said, nodding. "Take it off." She swallowed, closed her eyes, and lowered to a knee.

Lautrec came clearly into view behind her. His arms were folded, his eyes narrowed. "Go on."

Quelana took a handful of the girl's hair, thinking what a shame it was to take such soft and pretty hair away from her, and slipped the edge of the dagger beneath it. It came off easy enough, the dagger was sharp, and soon enough, tufts of brown hair were falling to the rooftop along with the snow.

When it was done, Abby's hair was shorter than even Ben's. Quelana looked to Lautrec and he gave a nod of approval, moved beside her, and took back his dagger. Abby opened her eyes and looked up a them. "How

do I look?" She asked, a hopeful little smile coming to her face.

"Like you might live longer," Lautrec told her. "Now go downstairs. Domhnall and Patches could use help cooking up the last of the food. Then we depart."

"Depart? But... where?" Abby asked, standing and shaking loose strands of her shorn hair from her robes.

"Somewhere else," Lautrec answered in his cold, brief, way, and nodded to the stairs. Abby sighed and headed off, but when Quelana moved to follow, the knight took her by the arm. "Not you."

Abby stopped and turned to give Quelana a concerned look, but Quelana waved her off. "Go on, Abby. I can handle the knight."

After a moment's hesitation, she turned and disappeared down the ladder leading to Domhnall's attic.

When they were alone, Quelana pulled her arm free from Lautrec's grip and stepped away from him. "What do you want with me?"

Lautrec stared at her for a moment before sighing, turning, and heading to the roof's barrier to peer down into the Burg below. After a silence, he said, "We are leaving after we eat. The merchant thinks we can make it beyond the walls of the Burg before dusk. He says the dogs don't stalk the Undead Parish and the church beyond. I watched yesterday from the parapets over there as night fell, and he appears to be telling the truth. We will head there to make passage for Sen's Fortress. I know of a shortcut there to take us to Anor Londo. From there... the Duke's Archives are a short journey. Domhnall says there is an 'army' of hollow in the city. I don't believe him, but if there is, we shouldn't have to stray close enough to fight them." He lifted his gaze to the sky, to the sun. "I mean to meet with Logan... and to see what answers he can provide about what has happened to our world and what we can do to stop it." He turned his head to her and stared, apparently awaiting some reply.

Quelana frowned and stepped beside him. "Why are you telling me all this? Aren't I your prisoner?"

"Are you?" Lautrec asked with a shrug. "You tell me. I stood no guard over you the last two nights. You could have left. You didn't."

"I thought about it," Quelana admitted, unsure why she felt compelled to be honest with the knight. "But I do not believe Abby and I could make it to Izalith on our own."

"I figured as much," Lautrec said.
"Still... why are you telling me these things?"

Lautrec sighed. "The girl and Ben are but children. Patches a fool. Domhnall I do not trust. That leaves you to consult with."

"Consult?" Quelana questioned. "You want my opinion?"

"That's what we do," Lautrec said. "Knights, I mean. We are used to talking amongst each other, taking orders, planning out our battle lines. You need to consult with others. I learned a long time ago that a man left only to his own thoughts is a man plunging towards madness." A piece of rock broke from the roof's barrier, and the knight took it in his hand, tossed it up and down twice, and let it fall to the Burg below. "So... tell me what you think."

"Why should I?" Quelana asked. She still wasn't sure what to make of this conversation. The knight had been mostly quiet, and when he did speak it was to give command, or to berate them for an error. She was wary of some trap he was laying.

"We don't have time to play this game," Lautrec said. "I'm being honest with you, witch, pay me the same courtesy."

Quelana studied him with suspicion once more, but the knight only held her gaze, his face calm and patient. She sighed and looked down to the Burg. "I think... you underestimate what Abby is. She is something special. Do you deny it?"

"No."

Quelana lifted her brow. "No? Then why do you treat her like a child?"

"Because she is. She very well might be the key to salvaging what's left of this broken world, but she'll never get there without a few harsh lessons. Taking her hair was letting her off easy. I only hope the next time she reaches for a handful of it and finds nothing, her thoughts turn to the error you two made last night."

He speaks with such confidence about everything, Quelana thought. But is it true confidence or a well played act? She watched his hands picking at the stone roof barrier. "I also have a thought about Benjamin."

"Go on."

"This morning after I had taught Abby the fireball sorcery, I went back downstairs to fetch her some water. Ben was kneeling on Domhnall's floor. His nose was bleeding, and when I asked him if he was alright, he looked at me as if I were speaking a different language. He crawled back into bed and curled into a ball."

"He's sick," Lautrec said.

"I don't think so," Quelana said. "He had another bout of 'weakness' back at the Firelink Shrine. It came after Abby used her ability to calm the Taurus

Demon."
Lautrec turned to her, understanding come across his face.

"And I'd imagine that just now when she used that ability on you, the boy had another bout of weakness."

"They're linked?" Lautrec said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. "Yes... that makes sense."

"They came out of the Asylum together. They look similar. They even share the same age. I believe that the stronger one of them gets... the weaker the other becomes."

"She's killing him," Lautrec said. "Your pyro girl is killing the boy."

"Perhaps. Though, what can anyone do about that? If she can stop this cold... reverse this terrible ailment that has befallen the world..."

"Then what is the life of one, sick, boy?" Lautrec finished for her. The corner of his mouth almost curled into a grin, but he stopped himself. "You sound like me now. What was it you called me yesterday? A cold- hearted fool?"

Quelana ignored him. "He might not die. He might just grow more and more ill."

"Yes, I've heard plenty of cases where a man grows so ill he becomes healthy," Lautrec said sardonically.

"He is no man," Quelana pointed out. "He is a Chosen. They are something different than you."

Lautrec was quiet for a while then, watching the clouds move listlessly through the sky. Finally, he said, "We leave him then. Here with the merchant. We ride ourselves of a sick traveler, and the merchant gets a companion to help him hunt and cook."

"Abandon him?" Quelana said. Like you abandoned your sisters, her thoughts quickly reminded her.

"Not exactly. If he's going to be sick all the time, travel will only make that worse. It's better for everyone if he stays behind. The boy will understand."

"And Abby?"

"What about her? If your asking if we should inform her of this... situation they are in together, I think the clear answer is: absolutely not. She's got too kind of a heart. She'll stop growing stronger intentionally."

Quelana thought on it, and found she had nothing to add. She turned the

subject instead. "What will we do at this 'Duke's Archives' you speak of?"

"Dig for more answers."

"And your promise to see me back to Blighttown..." she said quietly, trying not to appear too eager; she didn't want him to know he had such power over her.

Lautrec sighed. "You and that wretched swamp... yes, witch, you'll get back there. Where we are going there are dozens of men, or so Domhnall says. I will talk someone into taking you. Me, myself?" He shook his head. "I'm never going back there. I have two things to accomplish, and neither will lead me to that stinking pit."

Quelana brushed snow from the roof's ledge. "I would hope one of them is to reverse this terrible cold that you just may be responsible for creating."

"It is. Not to save the world... but to have one worth living in when this is all said and done."

Quelana thought for a moment, staring at Lautrec's face. "And the second thing... you're going to kill Anastacia of Astora."

Lautrec looked to his hands resting on the barrier. They balled into fists. "Astora... keh. Yes, witch, I'm going to kill her."

Quelana turned on him so fiercely, snow that had gathered on her cloak flung off and smacked his golden chestplate. "She is the last firekeeper in Lordran if Domhnall spoke true two nights ago! You would kill the last chance Abby or Benjamin have to be reborn from the flames!? Surely not even you can be so bullheaded and-and... selfish!?"

"Killing Ana is the least selfish thing I may ever do," Lautrec said calmly.

Quelana stared at him. "As long as we're being so honest with each other here this morning, you should know... if we make it to her together, I'm going to try and stop you."

Lautrec turned to her, held her angry look for a moment, and grinned. "Fair enough, witch. Fair enough."

Their conversation didn't last much longer after that. Quelana was too angry, and Lautrec seemed eager to move. He went over the plan of his journey with her once more as she quietly listened and nodded. She knew nothing of the lands of Lordran, save for what her previous pupils had told her, and so had nothing to input. Before he departed, he informed her he'd made a bargain with Domhnall, his golden gauntlets for bundles of warm clothing for the four of them, and that she was to abandon her robes. When she protested, he cut her off by informing her that in her current state, their party looked like they were traveling around with a witch and that was a bad thing. Quelana could find no counter to his

argument, and so when she joined him downstairs and he tossed her a bundle of clothing, she headed into the private confines of Domhnall's bedroom, stripped her black robes from her body, and pulled on dark breeches and a matching tunic, a heavy overcoat of fur and leather, and a wool scarf that wrapped around her nose and mouth and neck. Finally, she stuck her bare feet into a pair of boots, and frowned at the strange feeling of the ground not beneath her soles. She could not understand why humans would want to rob themselves of such a telling sensation, let alone bury themselves in such heavy, restrictive, clothing.

When she returned to the main dining hall where the rest were gathered in heavy clothing of their own, they all stared at her as if she were some new and rare creature they'd spotted. Abby's thin neck and shaved head poked out of a heavy dark blue coat with white trim around the neck and sleeves, and she smiled upon seeing Quelana. Lautrec and Patches were in dark brown leathers and thick coats of grey and black. Domhnall was sipping at a cup of some steaming hot drink, seated at his table, and Benjamin was in the very back of the room... dressed in the same leathers they'd rescued him from the Asylum in. He was sharpening a dagger, his face dark and brooding as he worked.

"Benjamin..." Quelana said softly, crossing the room to stand beside him.

"I already heard it all from the rest of them," Ben snapped, not taking his eyes from the dagger. "Go on and leave me already. You'll regret it, though. You all will. I'm not some helpless little boy. I could have helped..."

"You are helping," she said. "You're needed here now. Be strong. Don't-"

"Leave me," he cut her off, and after that there was nothing more to be said.

Domhnall saw them back to the ladder they had first climbed to lead them to his home two days earlier. The man was in just as pleasant a mood as he had been that day as well, and he insisted on shaking hands with Lautrec and Patches, and hugging Abby and wishing her luck. When his eyes fell on Quelana, it was clear he felt some apprehension about getting too close to a witch, but after a moment's hesitation he reached out and patted her shoulder. "Aye swimae," he said, grinning and turning to face Lautrec. "Good luck on your travels friends. The boy is in good hands here, I assure you."

"Thank you so much for all your kindness and hospitality, Domhnall of Zena," Abby said, smiled, and stood on her tippy toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. "And, of course, for the pyromancy glove."

Dom laughed. "A sweet girl," he said, then to Lautrec, "Keep her safe, aye?"

Lautrec nodded. "Our paths may cross again someday," he said, taking the first rung of the ladder beneath his boot. "Until then."

"Until then," Domhnall agreed and waved.

The Lower Burg was quiet, cold, and deserted. With the sun still not beginning its descent, Quelana felt good about their chances to make it out of the area before the dogs arrived. Her steps were awkward at first, taking up the tail of the party with Abby at her side. She found these 'boot' things to be heavy and cumbersome to her feet, but the snow underfoot had already made the task so difficult, she barely noticed by the time they'd climbed back to the upper level of the city the extra weight. The coat was worse. With no hood to hide her face from the sky, she felt exposed and lightheaded, and once she nearly fell. Abby was beside her to steady her, though. Quelana composed herself, offered her gratitude, and they walked on.

The upper sect of the Burg was windier, but, thankfully, not much different. As they climbed stairs and lowered themselves from ledges, ducked beneath arched alleyways and followed twisting slopes around crumbled buildings and towers, the sun moved up past its apex and towards its Western descent. Lautrec must have noticed this too, because he began hurrying them on more strictly then before, and when Patches requested a 'piss break', Lautrec's dark look was his only reply. They did not stop.

They came upon a tower that Lautrec referred to as 'Havel's Hole'. Within, they were shielded from the biting winds and the heavy snowfall outside, but Lautrec pressed them to climb the spiraling staircase as quickly as possibly anyway, hopeful to be free of the Burg long before night came. Quelana, slowed by the clothing and boots she was still getting used to, was last to climb the stairs behind Abby. The rest had made it up to a flat section a story higher in the tower, Quelana trailing along behind, when she halted and turned her head back to the bottom of the stairs. Voices? She thought, her heart frozen as stiff as the icy streets outside. I must be imagining things. She stood, listening intently, but no other sound came. I've grown as paranoid as Lautrec, she thought with a shake of her head and moved quickly to catch up.

The tower stairs wound and wound upwards for an eternity, and when Quelana believed her legs were going to collapse beneath her, she reached the top where Lautrec and Abby took hold of her arms and pulled her the last bit of the way. Lautrec allowed them a two minute rest (which Patches used to relieve himself in the rounded corner of the room, whistling a melodic little tune as he did) and then he was pushing them to move once again.

They crossed a long, narrow, walkway whose parapets spilled out on one side to the inner city, and on the other side to a great and sprawling forest. Quelana stared down upon it as they walked, amazed at all the

pretty shades of greens and blues buried beneath all the suffocating white of snow.

"It's beautiful," Abby remarked. "What is it?"

"Darkroot Garden," Lautrec explained. "We're not going that way."

"A shame, really," Patches said, shifting the heavy pack on his back and spitting a blade of grass he'd been chewing on from between his teeth. "Hear they have a big, plump, talking cat down that way. Hee hee."

"A talking cat?" Abby echoed, and even with her hair gone-perhaps particularly so-her smile brightened every inch of her face. "I'd love to see that someday."

"'Course, with all these new changes to things... might be a talking dog now, hee," Patches said.

The wind was howling across the parapets, digging icy fingers into their faces and arms, and Quelana twice had to steady herself before she fell. Thankfully, the trip across was brief, and then they were descending a short set of stairs that spilled them out to the mouth of a massive, wide, bridge. Their party walked out to the end of it, and Quelana, once again, was amazed. She had spied the enormous structure from the Burg below- it was hard not too-but up here, actually standing at one end of it was breathtaking. There were no such feats of architecture in Blighttown. Only giant pillars and swamp.

"This will take us to the Parish," Lautrec said, turning to eye the sun above. "And we've made it with time to spare."

"The Gods are good today," Patches added. "They want us to make it. Let's not piss 'em off, ey?"

"On that, we agree," Lautrec said, nodding forward before heading out onto the bridge.

Quelana laid the toe of her boot on the bridge and swallowed. Something so big and so open drove terror into her chest. Abby looked back and, upon seeing her hesitation, returned to take her arm in her own. "It's okay," she said. "I'll walk beside you."

And so she did. That was how Quelana crossed her first ever bridge; clutched tightly to Abby's arm, desperately keeping her eyes on her own boots, and not the sprawling pale blue sky above. She had focused so intently on her own feet, she nearly walked right into Lautrec, who was halted before them. She lifted her head and opened her mouth to question his abrupt stop, but the look on his face answered her question. Voices. You weren't paranoid. "We've been followed?" She asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

"Get to that indentation at the halfway point of the bridge," he commanded. "Patches, help them." He narrowed his eyes over Quelana's shoulder at whomever was approaching. "One of them has a crossbow."

"Oh no," Abby whimpered, but the girl took the knight's command well enough. She was practically dragging Quelana forward, the two of them tripping over their own feet in the knee-high snows. Patches grabbed Abby by the arm when they neared a slight alcove in the bridge with a set of stairs leading down to a lower level and yanked her behind it. Quelana tripped to her hands and knees and crawled the last bit of the way. Patches disappeared below almost immediately. "Where are you going?" Abby pleaded, but the bald man, if he'd heard her at all, offered no reply.

Quelana clambered to her feet, grabbed the edge of the indentation, and stuck her head out to see what was happening. Lautrec stood alone in the middle of the bridge, his golden chest plate held before him in both hands like a mighty shield. Beyond him, at the mouth of the bridge they'd entered on not two minutes earlier, four men were huddled together in dark armors and cloaks, one with a black bag pulled over his head, his arms bound. The fire... Quelana realized with a sense of dread stirring up a knot in her stomach. Lautrec was right. We were using fire at night and these men saw it.

...and now we've led them right to us...

Chapter 11

As the men neared, four dark figures moving forward in a straight line between the bridge walls, they began to take form; the swirling drifts of snowfall from the previous night's blizzard whipping around them, obscuring them just enough to give them the appearance of other-worldly creatures coming forth in dusk's last light. Abby clutched tightly to Quelana's arm as she kept her head low and peeked around the stone wall to watch them. One of them, she saw, was a prisoner. He was garnished in heavy plate armor and his arms and wrists were bound with rope; his head and face hidden beneath a black bag. Beside him, trailing slightly behind the others, the crossbow-wielder stalked forward, and Abby could swear his face was painted like a jester's and his expression was twisted up into inhuman contortions. It wasn't until he neared that she realized the face beneath the man's top hat was, in fact, a mask. On the far side of those two, a cloaked man with sharp features and a bearded face came, his hand aglow with a lit pyromancy glove, not unlike the one Abby wore on her own left hand.

In the center of their group, a tall knight in dark armor strode forward, and Abby found her heart quicken with fear upon the mere sight of him. A barbed sword was dragging at his side, cutting through the snow playfully as he walked. Hung from his opposed arm, a small shield with spikes and thorns growing from its trim. His shoulder mantles were sharp with thorns as well, and even between the distance that separated them, Abby could hear his deep voice speaking with the others, laughing with them.

Only Lautrec stood between the men and Quelana and herself, and Abby knew there would be nothing he could do against the four of them-three, if they kept their prisoner bound-if they charged him. "What is he doing?" Abby whispered to Quelana. "He's going to die!"

"There's nothing else to be done, Abby," Quelana told her, the witches eyes locked on the approaching men. "If these men wish us harm, we must fight them."

"We?"

Quelana shook the insulated gloves free from her hands and the pale skin below took on the red glow of pyromancy. She turned on Abby, fixing her with an almost sympathetic expression. "It is a shame we didn't have more time before you had to use your glove. There was much more I would have like to prepare you for before setting the flames on the living."

"Stay where you are," Lautrec shouted back to them. Apparently he was close enough to hear their conversation. "You're unarmored. The crossbowmen can have a bolt through your chest before you take three

steps."

"Then what do you want us to do?" Quelana asked.

"If they rush me, I'll lead them backwards," Lautrec explained. "Then we hope they come close enough for you to set one of those fire spells upon them."

"And if they don't fall for that?"

Lautrec paused, eyeing the oncoming troop. "Then hope they fight poorly," he said, and upon a moment's reflection, "Or that I fight very, very, well."

Patches barreled up the wooden stairs he had disappeared down earlier, out of breath and red in the face. Abby frowned. "Where did you go running to? Lautrec needs your help!"

"There ain't no bloody way out down there," Patches said, spitting, and unsheathing his dagger. "A shame. I wasn't particularly looking forward to dying today."

"We're trapped?" Lautrec called over his shoulder, chest plate still held forth in his hand like a shield to protect himself for the crossbowmen.

"Aye," Patches said. "One path is a dead end, the other buried in so much rubble we'd have their blades up our asses before we even get the first stone moved."

"Is there enough room to maneuver?" Lautrec asked. "Can we get down there, set them an ambush?"

"Possibly," Patches answered. "Though, if they're even half-witted they'd approach slow, realize we've got nowhere to go, and wait us out. Maybe rain some of those crossbow bolts down on us from the stairs to pass the time."

"Hellooo, friends!" A voice shouted further on down the bridge, and Abby poked her head out again to see the group's pyromancer had one hand cupped around his mouth, the other waving above his head. "Fine day for a stroll on the bridge, isn't it?"

Lautrec did not reply, though Abby saw his stance widen, his knees bend ever-so-slighty, and his grip tighten around the gold edges of his chest plate.

Twenty feet away, the men finally halted their march. Their bound prisoner was struggling beside the crossbowmen and Abby could hear muffled shouts coming from beneath the hood. The tall knight in the thorn-laced armor turned on the prisoner, laughed, and drove the blunt end of his sword into the captive's stomach. The prisoner doubled over in

spurts of coughs and collapsed to the bridge, the bag coming free from his head as he did and exposing the man beneath. He was round-faced and badly beaten, his hair blonde like Lautrec's, but a fairer shade and cropped close to his head. His left eye was swollen shut; dry blood caked his upper lip. Abby clutched her hands to her chest and felt a wash of sadness come upon her. They had been beating the man.

"Set your little 'shield' down there, friend, and let us talk like men," the pyromancer continued, ignoring the coughing prisoner at his feet. "We mean you... no harm."

"Lies!" The captive shouted from the stone floor of the bridge, spitting blood from his mouth and lifting his head to stare wide-eyed at Lautrec. "Craven! The lot of them! They murdered their own! They-"

The thorn knight wrenched his leg back and drove the steel tip of his boot across the prisoner's jaw. The prisoner's head snapped back, his eyes closed, he fell silent.

"I wasn't in the mood for games and deceptions anyway," the knight said before turning back on Lautrec. "Let's tell them the truth."

Abby could see the pyromancer was annoyed his 'game' had been given up so quickly. He took a breath, shook his head, but pressed on anyway. "Well... I suppose that first sentence was a lie. My apologies. We do mean you harm, actually. How much, however, is up to you. I am the great pyromancer, Laurentius. My... eh, blunt, friend here is the knight of thorns, Kirk. The man with his crossbow set, I'm sure, between your two eyes is the Marvelous Chester. Our prisoner is... well, of no concern to you. Now, you can either lay your weapons down and-"

"Piss on that," the tall knight, Kirk, grumbled from beneath his black helm. "I want combat. I know this knight. He's Lautrec. Hails from Carim, no?"

Lautrec was silent.

Kirk laughed and went on anyway. "Those Carim knights don't use shields, which explains the way he's using his damned armor as one." The knight laughed again, fixed Lautrec with a stare, and then pulled the helm free from his head. The man within had thick and curly black hair that framed his rather ugly face. His lips were plump and scarred, and his eyes were like black pits sitting beneath the lines of his dense brows. He pursed his lips, leaned, and spit between Lautrec and himself. "Never did kill a knight of Carim. Would love to add a notch to my belt."

The crossbowmen, Chester, leaned his head forward and Abby saw his eyes fix her way beneath his mask. She shivered and pulled herself closer to Quelana, who wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. "The knight rides with girls," Chester said, his voice only slightly muffled beneath the jester's mask. "And... oh, my. Patches? Trusty Patches?

Patches the Hyena? Ha! I've never seen a sadder group assembled."

Abby looked back expecting Patches to retort, or at least say something, but all she found was a man who looked just as afraid as she was. He said nothing.

Kirk's plump lips curled up into what Abby assumed was his version of a smile as his eyes moved from Lautrec to Patches to Quelana and herself. "Here's how things are going to go. I'm going to face you in combat, knight of Carim. I'm going to win. Then I'm going to take the bald head off your friend there and toss it to the streets below so the dogs can feast on his skull tonight. Then? We're going to take your girls... in more ways than one." He laughed a terrible, horrendous, laugh and the pyro and crossbowmen joined him.

"What say you, knight?" Laurentius questioned. "We won't get involved if Kirk here wants a fair shot at you. Will you face him?"

"You can always try running," Chester added. "And see if your legs are quicker than my quiver full of friends."

"I'll fight," Lautrec said, and it had been so long since he talked, Abby jumped a bit upon hearing his voice so close to her.

"Ooooh," Kirk taunted him, grinning and shaking his head. "A man of few words. I like it." He pointed to the others and waved them off. "Either one of you interfere in this, you'll be picking the barbs of my blade out of your ass tonight."

Lautrec took four steps back so that he was parallel to them and spoke quietly, holding the shield a bit higher to hide his mouth. "If I should die, you'll have to charge them with everything you have. They will show you no mercy if I fall."

"Please..." Abby pleaded, but when Lautrec look to her to continue she realized she had no other words to offer. "I just... wish this wasn't happening."

"Wish in one hand, shit in the other, isn't that how the saying goes?" Patches said.

"Witch..." Lautrec said, his eyes falling on Quelana. "If I fall and you should somehow go on... tell Anastacia I tried."

"You tried?" Quelana echoed.

"She'll understand," Lautrec said, turned to his opponent, and lowered his chest plate to fix it back over his body.

"Done strategizing with yer girls?" Kirk taunted, fixing his helm back over his head. Over his shoulders, Chester and Laurentius stepped back to give

them room. "Clear some of this snow up, Laurentius. Give me so mobility," Kirk said, and the pyro sparked his glove and threw a fireball to the bridge between Lautrec and the Knight of Thorns. The snowfall melted away there, exposing more of the stone beneath. Kirk prodded it with the toe of his boot. "It will be slippery... see which man can adapt to his surroundings better, ey?"

Lautrec said nothing. He stepped into the clearing, his hands reached behind him to the small of his back simultaneously, and he ripped free the dual shotels that hung there. The blades made an audible shck sound that echoed off the bridge walls, and then Lautrec held them low and to his sides, the sinking sun setting them ablaze with its final fingers of light clawing up over the Western horizon. Ten feet before him, Kirk, nodded, raised his spiked shield, and pointed his barbed straight sword directly ahead at Lautrec.

Abby had dreamed of such confrontations when she was a girl. It was like a poem out of one of her school books. Two knights meeting on a bridge in single combat. She had always fantasized that they had both been valiant and honorable and handsome in polished steel plating and white cloaks; that their faces were clean and teeth white and hair perfectly neat and rested upon their comely faces. This didn't feel like one of her fantasies. This... this was two men, faces dirty and armor rusted, ready to murder one another in cold blood and all Abby felt was a sense of dread and a queasy feeling stirring in the pit of her stomach. She felt like crying and suddenly realized how right Lautrec had really been about her all along. I am a girl, she thought. Nothing more but a silly, naive, girl and now I'm going to watch a man die, and if the wrong man should die... I will surely follow him soon enough.

She was pulled from her daze with the sound of metal smacking metal. It was a sickening sound that filled every inch of the bridge. She held tighter to Quelana still and forced herself to lean out to look.

Lautrec was in pursuit. He was driving on the Knight of Thorns, pressing him back, his shotels raising and falling in rapid succession. Kirk could only deflect the blows with his shield, step aside others, and backpedal. Lautrec shouted and pushed harder, and Abby saw he was trying to get the other knight's boots in the heavier snow behind him. Kirk, apparently, realized this as well. He blocked a slash, feigned a thrust of his sword, and barreled forward with his spiked shield held before him instead. Lautrec was gut in the chest and heaved backwards, nearly loosing his footing as his arms pinwheeled for balance. The Knight of Thorns pressed the attack, looking to take advantage of the opportunity, and switched the barbed sword to a two-handed grip before lunging forward with the tip of it stretched outwards. Lautrec's left arm swept down, the shotel clutched in his gauntlet catching the sword and throwing it out of the way. Kirk stumbled to the side and Lautrec swiped at him with the opposite shotel. The spiked shield came up just in time to catch the blow and for one brief

moment that seemed like an eternity to Abby, the two knights stared at each other, waiting to counter the other's attack. When neither did, they both feigned and backpedaled, but now they had switched sides and Lautrec's back was to the pyro and the crossbowmen.

"No!" Abby wailed when she saw Laurentius spark his glove and raise his arm.

Quelana stood so suddenly, Abby nearly fell. The witch sparked her own pyromancy and held the hand up high, threatening to douse the Knight of Thorns in a bath of flame. Laurentius looked from Lautrec to her and his mouth fell agape. "How..." Was all he managed before Lautrec and Kirk were going at it once more.

The barbed sword and the shotels clanged off one another as the two knights moved in close. Lautrec's free hand came up with the second shotel to swipe at Kirk's neck, but the Knight of Thorns twisted free, deflected the blow, and brought his spiked shield down across Lautrec's temple. The hit landed, a spurt of blood shot from Lautrec's brow, and he stumbled backwards to the snow.

Abby's breath caught in her chest, her eyes watered, her legs felt made of rubber. Kirk's pursuit was relentless. He darted forward and stuck the blade into Lautrec's stomach. It's over, Abby thought, her sense of dread ready to overtake her entirely. But it wasn't over. Lautrec had narrowly avoided the attack, wrapped his shotel around the knight's ankle, and pulled. Kirk's leg came out from beneath him, and the big, lumbering, knight spilled backwards into the bridge wall. Lautrec scrambled to his feet, rushed up to his opponent, hooked both shotels around the back of Kirk's helm and ripped. The knight lowered his shoulders just in time so that only his helmet came flying off and not his entire head. Helmless, he wailed a war-cry and swiped the barbed sword at Lautrec's face, but Lautrec had anticipated the attack, parried with the shotel in his left hand, catching the sword in the curved angle of the blade, and ripped it free from the Knight of Thorns' hand. With only his spiked shield left to him, the knight shouted, took it in both hands, and tried driving it down into Lautrec's chest. Lautrec ducked the attack, buried his shoulder in Kirk's abdomen, and tackled him to the ground. When they landed, Lautrec was straddled ontop of the knight, his shotels raised and ready to cut the man's jugular.

"Enough!" Laurentius shouted, threatening Lautrec with a ball of fire.

Chester raised his crossbow. "Congratulations. You win. You're still going to die."

Before Lautrec could respond, Kirk took the opportunity to throw his weight to the side, freeing himself from Lautrec's pin, and rolled back to his barbed sword laying near Chester's feet. He stood, his face as red and furious as the pyro's fireball, and glared at Lautrec panting and heaving.

"Again!" He demanded. "Again you coward! Do you hear me!?"

"Are you sure? Your friends won't be able to save your life again next time," Lautrec said as calm and collected as Abby had ever seen him. He lives for this, she realized. Combat comes as naturally to him as Quelana's pyromancy has to me.

Kirk's face twisted up into a scowl. "Witty words, knight. A shame they will be your last."

"What about these?" Lautrec taunted, and Abby saw he was loosening his chest plate once again. "Now that I know the measure of your fighters, I think I can hold you off." He explained and quickly brought the plate forth to shield himself from the crossbowmen's potential attack once again. "You may yet still win, but we're not going to make it so easy for you. Quelana," he called back over his shoulder. "Take Abby down those stairs and get ready to fortify a position. These men are weaker than I had expected."

"Quelana..." Laurentius echoed, his eyes widening, his mouth falling agape once again. "That... that cannot be..."

"He lies," Chester snapped, trying to spot somewhere on Lautrec to fix his crossbow. "He does not travel with the Mother of Pyromancy. He's trying to scare us off so we don't come after them."

"No, Chester," Laurentius spoke quietly, almost reverently. "I saw her before. She birthed a flame from her bare hand! No glove! She is... she is a Daughter of Chaos..."

Chester turned to the pyro, his face unreadable beneath the mask as he stared. He turned back to them and laughed. "Well... our catch just got a whole lot more valuable. Logan might be so pleased with us we could finally rid ourselves of our knightly guest here," he said, kicking at the unconscious man bound at his feet.

"Piss on the lot of them!" Kirk shouted, still red in the face and furious. "I want the knight in combat! I can beat him! I can win!"

Lautrec was taking cautious steps back towards them. "You will certainly try," he told the group. "But you might have a long night ahead of you. If I were you, I'd hope the dogs from the Burg don't venture this high up, or perhaps it won't be such a long night." He glanced back at Quelana again. "Downstairs. Quickly."

Chester laughed. "We will eventually get you, knight. The lot of you. Then we're going to have our fun."

"We'll see," Lautrec said calmly, still backstepping.
Patches stood beside Abby and she turned to see his eyes were narrowed

on Lautrec. She frowned at him and meant to ask what he was doing, but then she saw the dagger clutched in his hand; his knuckles as white as bone around it. She gasped, the horrific realization of his intention coming over her, and opened her mouth to scream, but the back of his hand swatted her across the cheek and she fell. "No!" She wailed once she'd recovered. "Lautrec!"

But it was too late.

She looked just in time to see Patches rush up behind him and bury the dagger into the side of his body where the chest plate and its backing met and the flesh beneath was exposed. Lautrec's back arched violently, his 'shield' dropped from his hands, and he winced in anguish. Patches grunted, drove Lautrec to the side walling of the bridge, and shoved him up over the top of it. Lautrec folded over at the stomach, and Patches hoisted his shoulder beneath the knights legs and pushed. Lautrec disappeared over the side.

"NO!" Abby screamed, and her vision blurred with tears.

"Good evening, fellas," Patches said, catching his breath, sheathing the dagger, and turning to the confused party of men before him. He smiled a sickening smile and tucked his thumbs into his coat pockets. "Never liked that bloody knight anyway. He tried choking me once. Pisser. Who go the last laugh now? Patches did. Hee hee."

Quelana had been staring forth in a shock of her own, but now her brow furrowed and her teeth barred and she was ready to rush out and burn the bald men.

"Stay where you are, woman," Chester warned, his crossbow now fixed upon her.

"Quelana..." Abby muttered. She couldn't breath, couldn't stand, couldn't think.

Quelana fell beside her and pulled her close. "It's okay, sweet child. Shhhh. It's alright."

"Some on you know me, some of you don't," Patches went on, the threat of Quelana's fire quelled. "For those who don't, my name is Patches, and I do believe I just saved us all a good long night of uncomfortable violence. Heard you mention Logan? I'm guessing you're heading back to the Archive's where the rest of the sensible men of the world have gathered. I'd be grateful if I could join you. And you, um, Laurentius was it? Yes, that is the Mother of Pyromancy. She's quite the fire bitch, though, hee, and you'd be wise not to underestimate her. Me? I'd personally slit the bitch's throat and be done with her. The other girl, though... I've seen her do some fairly miraculous things. She's the Chosen Undead, you see, and I'd be more than willing to split the reward Logan would likely pay for such

a-"

Kirk stepped forth and drove his shield into Patches' stomach. The bald man choked on his words, sputtered, and then dropped to his knees gasping for air.

"You robbed me of a victory," Kirk told him, laying the barbed sword beside Patches' head. "I don't like to be robbed."

"Kirk..." Chester said, stepping forth. "He did save us some trouble by murdering that pesky knight."

"You want to trust the man who stabs his own traveling companions in the back?" Kirk asked.

Chester shrugged. "Break the hand he held the dagger in." He laughed. "Then he can't stab any of us."

Kirk fixed Patches with a cold stare. "Fine. Lay your hand down."

Patches looked between the three men, a look of stunned incredulity frozen on his face. "You... you can't be serious? I just-"

"Lay your hand down," the Knight of Thorns repeated.

Patches fixed each of them with a pleading stare once more, but when he apparently found no sympathy he winced, swallowed, and slowly set his shaking hand down to the stone floor of the bridge. The moment it landed, Kirk took his shield in both hands and smashed it down upon Patches hand and Abby heard the sickening sound of bones being crunched and shattered. The knight did it a second and third time, and by the fourth Patches was screaming and pleading for mercy.

"Won't stab no one in the back now, will you?" Kirk asked with a cruel smile fixed on his ugly face.

"Killed him..." Abby muttered, swiping tears from her eyes. She felt more hollow then she had when she'd actually been hollow. "He saved me from the Asylum... and that man killed him... killed him... dead..."

"Shhhh," Quelana hushed her, the witch's hand stroking her hair. "The world is a strange place," she whispered. "Those that live may die, and those that die may still live yet. Do not be afraid, Abby. He was defending you. You are still more important than anything. Be strong. Do not let these men break you."

The men strode forth, passing casually by Patches who was balled up on the bridge floor, cradling his smashed hand and weeping like a child. The three of them stepped beside the bridge's indented section and loomed over Quelana and herself, their shadows burying them from dusk's pale light. Kirk cocked his head to the side and licked at his disgusting, plump,

lips. "It won't be safe here for long, but... I'd like to have my fun with them now. The woman is damned beautiful to be in the company of an ugly fool like you," he called back to Patches. "And the girl... what a sweet, pretty, little thing. When's the last time you had something that sweet, Chester, even with her hair all chopped up like a boy's?"

"Too long," Chester said.

"Me too. We have some time to spare before night. Let's make it count."

"No," Laurentius said, stepping between them.

Kirk's face darkened. "You'd better have a damned good reason for blocking those pretty girls from my view with your ugly face."

"This is Quelana of Izalith!" He pleaded. "Do you realize what this means? She... the legends say she's never been to the surface! She..." He looked upon her and stared. "Her mother is responsible for all the fire in the world! And she herself birthed the art of pyromancy to teach to humans! You can not defile her! It would be... it would be sacrilege!"

Kirk sneered. "You're not making nearly as convincing an argument as the thing between my legs is."

"Logan will have us all killed," Laurentius said. "He has been studying this world for so long... can you imagine the treasures he'd reward us with if we bring him the mother of pyromancy and a living daughter of the Witch Izalith unsullied and pure as the day she was born? Think of the punishment if we fail him in this task. I assure you, friends, if you want woman, Logan will provide more than any of us could ever dream of if we bring the witch to him!"

Kirk held the man's gaze for a long moment, the displeasure clear on his face, before saying, "Fine. But the girl is mine."

"The girl will not be touched," Quelana snapped immediately. "If any of you lay one hand on her, I'll kill myself, and if I can't, I will tell this 'Logan' of the treacheries you performed and ask, no, beg, him to end your miserable lives. Leave her be, and I will hold my tongue if we should make it back to him. You have my word."

"Piss on your word," Kirk snarled.

"No, she has the right of it," Chester intervened. "Leave the little girl and her witch alone. Laurentius speaks the truth. We will have our reward at the Archives where it's warm," he looked to the darkening sky, "and safe."

"Denied victory in war and in love in the same hour," Kirk said, turning his head to the side and spitting. "Logan's reward better be worth it." And with that he turned and strode off, kicking once again at Patches' quivering figure.

Chester lifted his crossbow. "Do any more travel with you?"

Ben! Domhnall! Abby thought, but bit her lip and lowered her head to hide her desperation. Please don't find them too!

"No," Quelana lied.

Chester stared at her for a long time before sighing. "Fine. Bind them and get them ready to move, Laurentius. Night comes and the dogs with it. I'd like to be back in the woods before that happens."

Chester stepped back and fixed his crossbow on them as Laurentius pulled a bundle of rope from a sack at his waist. When he bent to their eye level, he was staring at Quelana so intently, he seemed to almost forget what he was doing. "I never dreamed of the day when my eyes would lay upon you, mother of pyromancy. It is... an honor beyond words to just simply be in your presence."

Quelana stared back at him, clearly fighting to hide her disdain. "Just keep the girl safe and untouched and you'll have my gratitude."

Lautrec, Abby thought as the man took up her arms to bind. Please live. Please.

Please be alive.