Chapter Text
Beneath a mountain of stone and steel, in a lightless chamber, the mad sorcerer, Enebra, lay imprisoned for one hundred years.
Hung by chains at the wrists.
Blinded and gagged.
Runes etched into his very bones.
Bound in the blackest pit, yet his influence still haunts far beyond, in the lands he shaped, in the whispered legends, in the menacing shadows. A scar that never healed, no matter how they wished to forget. The dwarves guard his prison, in hopes that, with the passing of generations, the humans at least will find peace as his infamy fades to memory.
The wardens knelt and saluted as Catrion Steelheart herself marched past. She was in full armor and held a collar and chain in her hands. In such solemn duty, in the grim posting of these dimly lit tunnels, surrounded by leashed monsters, to be visited by the paragon was akin to the sunrise melting the long winter. They knew not her visage, but her armor and helmet held a thousand titles sung in a thousand songs:
Catrion, Steelhearted and Steelminded;
The Hearth of Nations;
The Warm Embrace;
Bane of Night;
Shield of the innocent;
Doom of Enebra. That was the title she was most known for. Even in defeat, he left his mark, a stain she was told to cherish. Every step toward his chamber brought back memories that were buried in the shallow grave of time.
One step that echoed on the stone brought her back to her first step out of her mountain home. Her first steps into the human world that seemed no less wild than the forests, yet was infinitely warmer than the rigidity of her own people. Her first steps after joining a band of human mercenaries—adventurers, they called them, because mercenary had a different connotation among humans.
Another step brought her to the first bloody battlefield of her life, her first real war after roaming from village to village, knocking over goblin dens and worg fens. Her first heroic deed, the one that earned her the title ‘Trollhewer’, saw her celebrated by a human lord. Her first time having her family acknowledge the real her. Her first time falling in love. Her first certainty for her new future.
The next step brought her to the turmoil. There were always quibbles and squabbles, but the simple acts of slaying monsters and helping people were supposed to pave over all that nonsense, to show everyone that they could work together. But the seams of connection they painstakingly sewed unraveled before them, the pillars of trust they had sculpted crumbled in their hands like sodden rotwood breaking into splinters. The love she opened her heart to became another dagger to wound her. Those would be the last days of peace and hope.
The last step at the iron gate brought her back to reality. He was behind this gate. The man who tore apart kingdoms. The man who tore apart her life. If her fists clenched any tighter, either the chain she held would break, or her bones would.
She loosened her grip and nodded at the guards on either side of the gate. They nodded back and took up chains that trailed out of holes in the stone. The guards heaved the chains out, and the heavy iron gate slowly raised, metal groaning and dust rustling loose. Catrion ducked under to save them the effort. The guards released the chains, and the gate slammed back down with a crash.
He was in front of her. Enebra. If that was his real name. The only light in the room came from the lantern at her hip next to a pair of manacles. His hair fell to cloak his face. Under his rags, he was bone gaunt, but that was downright healthy for a man who had not been fed for a century.
If he was a man. He appeared to be a human male, but in body and soul, he was unrecognizable. They tried many ways to be rid of him, but he always returned. Dismembered and scattered, or submerged in the depths of magma and oceans, he returned. That was why they settled for containing him here with other fey-born monsters.
Catrion lowered his chains so that he was kneeling. She brushed his hair aside and removed his blindfold and gag. He was still asleep. She pried open his eyelid. He was still asleep. She called for him to wake. He was still asleep. She gave him light taps on his cheek. Then she gave him a light smack on his cheek. Then she slapped him across the jaw with her gauntlet. Each slap that followed wound further and sprang faster than the last. Heat built in her as she hit him. She raised the iron collar, about to bludgeon him, when, finally, he awoke with a long, wide-mouthed yawn. He smacked his lips and fluttered his eyes open.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said, “I was hoping it had been long enough that they would send someone fresh, but I expected you would be the first choice. That’s the trouble with dwarves: monotonously stagnant in every way. Predictable to a fault.”
The collar’s chain rattled as she shivered and lowered her arm.
“After so long, that is what you have to say? To me?”
“It is not like I have any life updates to give. This cell is terribly uneventful. I just erase the memories of the passing days. If you came to say hello, I will erase this moment too.”
The collar and chain continued to rattle as Catrion shook. With a deep breath, she steadied herself.
“You have been imprisoned here for a century. Is that worth remembering?”
“Not really, no,” he answered, as if she were a bother. Dismissive and blase, even after a century of imprisonment. If he really can erase his memory at will, then all the punishment and confinement were meaningless. The runes carved into his bones should restrain his magic, but perhaps he can still affect himself. For the sake of her sanity, Catrion chose to set aside the implications for the moment. Still, his demeanor, the very sight of him, made gall rise in her throat. She pinched her nose.
“Why?” She asked. “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
She seized him by the throat. Her thick fingers easily enveloped him. Deathless he may be, mind manipulator he may be—
“It would still feel good to snap my neck, would it not? To hold me helpless before you. To feel my bones break and meat pulp. To vanquish a villain. I still feel the sting of you hitting me just now. The euphoria of victory and domination, the satisfaction of effort and risk rewarded, there is no greater bliss. You are the hero who hews monsters. I am the villain worth overcoming. You seek glory and adventure. I sow the turmoil and the drama. Together, we keep the world interesting. We both do what we do for the same reason. We simply have different ways of getting to the same destination. I need no magic to read you. I know you very well, Cat. I always preferred this side of you, and, beneath the public displays, I know you preferred this part too. Deep down, you’d be bored in a peaceful world. That’s why you can’t resist coming back to me.
Is that the answer you came looking for, my dear?” He purred.
There it is. The fop was an irritating exterior. Beneath it was the snake, its sibilant whispers creeping into the mind, digging into the crevices of doubt and insecurity and intertwining with one's thoughts until it supplanted them completely. That was how he made people believe that everything they knew was wrong, that what he wanted was what they wanted, that the ideas he planted were wholly their own.
She removed her hand from his neck and clasped the collar around it instead. She held the chain like a leash.
“Still on the same pattern. Just as I expected.”
His eyebrow twitched, too faint to recognize unless you knew what to look for. She undid the chains that hung him by the wrists only to clap her own pair of iron manacles in their place.
“I see. You are here to transfer me. Found a way to kill me, have you? Or a new way to try, at least.”
She picked up the blindfold and gag from the ground and strapped them back in place. She pulled the leash, and he fell flat on his face. He may yet live, but his malnourished body was too weak to save his fall.
She knocked on the gate, prompting the guards to raise it again. He was just stumbling onto one knee when another yank threw him back into the ground and dragged him across the gravel. It was only after the gate slammed behind him that the dragging stopped. A rough hand hauled him onto his feet. With nary a moment to catch his breath, the chain pulled again, gentler this time, yet demanding he follow willingly lest he be dragged unwillingly.
They walked for what must have been miles. Dwarves and their contemptible labyrinthine hovels. They must have passed by countless more guards. More witnesses to Enebra, shackled and barefoot. Perhaps they have abandoned killing him and instead opt to humiliate him. Dwarves naturally hold grudges until death, either yours or theirs, but since he can not die, they may look to satisfy their resentment another way. Humans would pelt spoiled vegetables at those condemned to the stocks and pillories; perhaps the dwarves took a page out of their book.
Ha! Like that would happen. Dwarves were too stubborn to change as it was, especially if it meant incorporating the ideas of a juvenile species like humans. A good joke like that helped pass the time and distracted him from the gravel biting his feet.
The plunging temperature in the air and stone meant they were close to the exit. The howling lashes of chill wind meant they were outside. He trudged through ankle-deep snow even as his legs numbed into stiff logs.
As intriguing as the suspense was, Enegra did not care for these sensations. Dwarves might shrug off such hostile conditions, but he was rather uncomfortable. Wherever she was bringing him, coming down from this mountain would take quite some time in the elements. More than he would tolerate if he did not have to. He could put his mind into recess and—
ERASE
A kick to the ribs startled him awake. He was on his back. The glittering cosmos of the night sky was above him. No blindfold. No gag. No manacles. He sat up and looked to the warmth and light at his side. A crackling campfire with a bubbling pot of trout stew hung above it. A ram was resting at the other side of the camp next to some luggage. Surrounding them were forested flatlands. He could hear the river running nearby. Were they in human lands? He pinched at the new clothes that adorned him. Not the prisoner’s rags, but a peasant’s tunic and trousers were hardly better. At least he had shoes now.
“What is this?” He warily asked Catrion. She did not have on her armor or even a helmet, just a leather jerkin. Her bare face and arms were as leathery and scarred as he remembered. There were not enough guards for a transfer unless they had an insultingly low estimation of him. There was no way she was freeing him. The dwarven committee would never allow such a thing, let alone her. It would be more reasonable to assume that the runes had trapped him in his own illusion.
“Not going to pretend to sleep? Caught your attention, have I?” Said Catrion as she stirred the pot with a ladle. “First things first, your name is Eduard Schmidt. I am Ceiteag Stonefoot. We are a pair of adventurers. Repeat it back to me.”
“I am… Eduard Schmidt. You are Ceiteag Stonefoot. We are a pair of adventurers.” Eduard played along, wanting to see where it goes.
“You can follow orders. Keep doing that, and you will not be left in a hole forever.” Ceiteag poured out some of the stew into two bowls and came to sit beside Eduard. She set the bowls down.
“Let me get straight to it, Eduard: you broke the human world. In the past hundred years, it has not recovered. Congratulations. You got what you wanted. You had your fun. You won. Now, I want you to fix it.”
Eduard raised an eyebrow. “Why would I undo my own fine work? You might as well ask an artist to rip up their painting.”
“To keep this world interesting. You want to be entertained? You won’t have that if the world is in ruins. You like the intrigue, the manipulation. Primalcy, true and total chaos, is as antithetical to you as stagnation. It is in your interest to keep the world balanced. You don’t need to save the world. Just keep it from ending.”
“My my, much must have changed while I was locked away,” Eduard grinned, “tell me, what dire portents would have you seek my aid?”
“The human kingdoms are still fractured by paranoia. They waste all their potential fighting and squabbling among themselves. Meanwhile, the orcs have grown without heroes or armies to keep them in check. Their raids get bolder, and their hordes grow larger. Humans no longer come together to protect each other, instead seeing opportunity in their peers’ misfortune. On the other side, the elves…” Ceiteag trailed off before returning, “I don’t know what has gotten into them. They usually kept to themselves in their frozen city of the night. But suddenly they have gotten active. To protect the world, they said. They hunted down all the dragons. Then they claimed neighboring human kingdoms as protectorates.”
“That is a, quote unquote, good thing, is it not? They are hunting monsters and protecting people.”
“That’s what everyone thinks. Maybe they are right. Maybe the world would be better off under the loving guidance of eternal winter rather than the chaos of turbulent seasons. My people… my people would agree. Manlings can’t take care of themselves, same as ever, less trouble with someone to corral them. They wave me off when I ask why the elves would stop with humanity. Really, they’re the ones closing their eyes and plugging their ears, hoping the problems go away on their own so they don’t have to admit how helpless we really are!” She raised her voice. She clenched her fists, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “If it were just the orcs, then maybe we would have a chance, a future. But a world encased in ice? Even you can’t want that. That’s why… that’s why… I have to ask you for your help.”
Eduard looked at her, a smile still beaming with satisfaction.
“And so, you came to me alone, most likely without the blessing of the committee or the Rune Queen. That is the side of Cat I like the most. The part that casts off dwarven stuffiness with reckless abandon. Still, as delicious as this all is, therein lies the problem: I can’t help you with these runes etched into my being. Only the Rune Queen can remove them, voluntarily, or in death.”
“That is why we will start small. You have already told me you can still use some magic. We will test your limits, see if we can expand them. But you have to follow me. Refuse anything I say, at any point, and I toss you back into a cell and submit myself to execution for my foolishness.” She stepped over his lap and clapped both hands on his shoulders. “Swear to me now. Swear we have the same goal.”
“Now, Ceiteag, Catrion. Cat. Would you really believe me if I did?” Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly. Callused. Strong enough to crack bones and boulders. He sighed and rolled his eyes. It was adorable how desperate she was for anything to cling to, no matter how ephemeral. “For my liberation, and for promises of adventure, I, Eduard Schmidt, swear my metaphorical blade to Ceiteag Stonefoot’s cause. May death take me for betraying this oath. Happy? You already gave me something enticing to bite. Let's chew on it overnight.”
She held his shoulders and his gaze for a moment. He could usually guess at what she was feeling: anger, regret, fear, disgust. But right now, for the first time in however long, he was unsure what was in her eyes. Something like a false assurance that was necessary to find motivation. He would have to study her further.
She finally released him so that they could eat in silence. The stew was bland, mechanical, as to be expected of dwarf cooking. What he was not expecting was to be shackled in manacles again.
“Really? I swore to you and everything. I can not save the world with my hands literally tied.”
“And I can not trust you to do what you want out of my sight or when I’m sleeping.”
“You can not keep me in your sights forever.”
“I know. That is why I will take every moment I can get. Now, lie down.”
Eduard sighed and looked around. Then he looked around again. There was only one sleeping mat on the ground.
“I said lie down.” Ceiteag grabbed him and hauled him onto the mat. Then she sat on top of him, hard and heavy on his ribs like an iron gate.
“Is this necess—” he was saying, but she was already sleeping like a stone.
Enebra.
Hand of Fate.
Master of Minds.
Death of Hope.
Now, Eduard, the toady. Being sat on like a delinquent dwarven child.
This was his life. For now.