XII. An End

Khagra packed together her bag of healing herbs and bandages methodically. She and the demon were out in the Argent Forest, near a small flowing stream that was surrounded by thick growth of lush grasses and wildflowers of a dozen varieties. Weeping willow branches trailed into the rippling water, swaying slightly in the faint breeze from the east. She'd been relieved of duty guarding Naris by Lieren so that she could go replenish her supplies before the battle. "Would you have saved Devyn if you didn't think his death would break Holland?" she asked as she rolled up the clean linen strips that she'd cut after she finished gathering plants necessary to make poultices and tonics.

Orobas was silent for a long moment, considering the question. He seemed less out of place now that they were in the woods again. Seeing him in the palace and even Tamaris as a whole had been strangely jarring, even though the orc knew that he had once dwelled in a great city. Maybe it was just because she knew him as the Horned King of the Mere. Then the quiet continued until Khagra realized that he wasn't going to answer.

"She told me to ask you about the Throne." The healer closed up her kit and slung it over her shoulder as she got up off her knees. She stopped to brush away some of the dirt and grass that she'd gotten on herself while rooting around for plants.

"THAT WAS MY ORIGINAL PURPOSE IN HEADING TO THE KEEP. I HAVE AN ANSWER." The demon's voice was as thoughtful as ever.

"And?" The orc was a little bit impatient, but only because the sky was beginning to lighten. Nearby, Zajar gnawed on a deer carcass with an abandon and noise that most would have found incredibly distressing. The cracking of bones could be heard as he tore free chunks of meat and gristle before gulping them down. He was used to hunting in woods, though he preferred more open spaces when possible. Thankfully, this was nowhere near as impenetrable to the sky as the Vale of the Undying.

"THE DESOLATE THRONE IS NOT, AS I BELIEVED, CONCEALED IN YSSA. IT IS NOT ON THIS PLANE AT ALL. IT EXISTS AS AN ISLAND AMIDST THE VOID, LAID AGAINST THIS REALM BUT NOT WITHIN IT. ONLY ONE ENTITY CAN CALL IT ACROSS INTO EXISTENCE HERE AND NOW: DEUS."

Khagra felt a horrible twisting dread start. "Orobas, does that mean...?"

"IT MEANS THAT WE WILL REQUIRE THE SHARD. IT ALSO MEANS THAT WE WILL REQUIRE HIS ASSISTANCE."

"Holland's going to have to make a deal with the Deceiver?" Khagra shook her head. "And here I thought the bad news for today was going to be death and dismemberment."

"THAT IS STILL VERY MUCH POSSIBLE. LAENUS IS A SKILLED COMBATANT AND HE HAS BATTLED AGAINST HER BEFORE. SHE HAS CHANGED, YES, BUT I DOUBT HER BATTLE-MIND IS SIGNIFICANTLY DIFFERENT FROM WHAT IT ONCE WAS. HE IS UNIQUELY QUALIFIED, OF ALL FOES IN THE EAST, TO KILL HER."

The orc sighed. "I know. We all do. This isn't going to be like her fight against that ogre. This is...it's not about honor or proving herself."

"IT IS ABOUT AN END." Orobas bowed his head to the orc. "MAY YOUR SKILL SERVE HER WELL, KHAGRA OF THE WING."

"I'm gratified you think I'm skilled," Khagra murmured.

"I DO NOT THINK. I KNOW." Orobas raised a clawed hand in farewell as she approached Zajar.

It was not a long flight back to the training grounds, but she still was barely there in time. Holland and Laenus were already about to begin, walking out onto the grassy field beside the barracks that stood just down the street from the palace. It was normally a place for knights to train their horses or themselves while the more professional soldiers drilled in the area. Khagra jumped off Zajar's back at the edge, hitting the ground beside Ardashir. Everyone else had flinched away when they saw the incoming dragon. His bloody snout didn't make him look particularly harmless. "How was she?"

Ardashir sighed a little bit. "Quiet. Less angry than she was before." He didn't know what to call the emotion that had been lurking in those hazel eyes. "How was your talk with Orobas?"

"Could be better," Khagra said softly. "He has an answer about the Throne, but it...it's not good." She knew her worry was visible.

The knight felt his heart sink. "Is it out of reach?"

"Not exactly. I'll tell you when she walks off that field." The orc made it a point to say 'when' and not 'if', for her own sake as much as Ardashir's. Orobas was right about the danger, but she needed to hope. She doubted they would be able to handle the Imperium without Holland. Even if the penitent didn't want to be in charge of anything, this was something she'd created and would have to lead. Seva could broker deals and build an army, but even she was doing that because Holland asked. Khagra couldn't imagine not having the penitent at the head of this storm she'd been growing to answer the darkness in the west.

Ardashir nodded and turned to look at the two Immortals standing facing each other on the grass. Neither of them were wearing any armor of any kind, but instead plain white doublets and dark pants tucked into their boots. Laenus's blade gleamed, catching the golden light of the rising sun. Holland's was dull in the light, the surface of the dwarven blade still concealed by smoke stains. There was a wary sort of confidence in the dark eyes of Saraqael's servant and that same undefinable expression in Holland's hazel ones. The watching knight said a small prayer for his friend. He was far from the only one praying. There was a large crowd around the field, half there for entertainment and half there because they knew their futures were riding on whatever had happened. The visiting ambassadors in particular looked concerned. They were having thoughts similar to Khagra's.

Holland hadn't been back in Tamaris long, but she was already indispensable. She brought the force of will they would need to take on the most powerful army in the world.

"In the name of the gods, we begin this test of justice under the eyes of heaven," Cadeyrn intoned. As Lord Protector, it was his duty to preside over judicial duels that the Crown had a vested interest in. "May they grant victory to the righteous and death to the wicked." The Immortals tapped their blades together to show they were both prepared before immediately backing up to clear space. Holland nodded slightly, her eyes never leaving Laenus. Cadeyrn waited for a matching nod from her opponent before letting his hand fall to signal the beginning of the duel. "Begin!"

For Holland, the world fell away, leaving only Laenus and all the phantoms that his presence conjured up. Neither of them charged in. They began to circle and move, testing the reactions of their opponent by passing closer or further away. Blades danced from guard to guard as they matched each other. It was almost like shadow-boxing, the way they moved. Laenus would even make little feints just out of distance, his blade barely more than a flicker of reflecting light. Both of them moved their weapons with such speed that it was hard for the audience to really keep track of them, but to the Immortal and former Immortal, it was as if the world was moving at half-speed. Both of them had found purpose in combat for centuries.

Holland didn't respond to the feints, continuing to spiral slowly inwards towards him. She was keeping it so gradual that he would be hard pressed to notice. He broke her plan by closing distance with a wicked strike from the shoulder. Holland hit his blade in a parry, winding her blade against his into a thrust to his face. Laenus recoiled back, bringing his blade back to protect himself. The moment he started to move backwards, Holland was after him.

The clash of swords rang out, caution suddenly evaporating in favor of fury. It was hard to see who was doing what, but Ardashir caught a flash and saw a line of crimson appear across Holland's cheek just below her eye at the same moment that she kicked Laenus in the stomach, knocking him back. He managed to catch himself before going down, but he was struggling for breath.

You didn't protect him when he needed you most, one of the phantoms whispered in her ear. You let them turn him into a monster, and then you had the gall to be surprised when he turned those fangs you gave him on you?

She parried the next blow as the blood rolled down her cheek like crimson tears and riposted to his side, slicing along his ribs but not cleaving through them. She'd misjudged her distance slightly. He was a bit further back than she'd anticipated, which robbed her of some of the power. A brief, relieved smile flashed across Laenus's face involuntarily when she failed to do him a lethal wound. Both of them had sorcery flowing through their veins now, mingling their pain with that strange pleasure. There was nothing quite like fighting another Immortal. Who else could keep up?

Was it his fault that Saraqael always loved you more? That the Divine Prince could always find criticism for him but barely for you?

Laenus's blade flashed towards her leading leg and then he surged close the moment she dropped the tip of her blade to defend herself, slamming into her with his shoulder to send her reeling. He was bigger and stronger than Holland and he knew it. She'd always relied on her speed and technique to get the better of him, using her flexibility to generate power instead of raw muscle. The penitent managed to keep her feet despite her stumble, whipping her sword in a cut to his head to keep him back. Laenus was faster than he had been, but then again, he'd had a quarter of a century to improve. "Not as easy as you thought it'd be, Ilex?" he said with a little chuckle.

You're no saint. They never gave Laenus the name 'Cruciatus'. Why is what he did so evil but what you did to the Oameni or the Relicta or the Igigi acceptable? Oh, you say you regret it and maybe you even do, but you hated him more than you hated yourself.

She didn't answer him, focusing on her breathing and what she was going to do next. They were back to circling each other like tigers. She pulled a smooth breath in and let a smooth breath out. The next clash, he cracked her ribs with a kick to the side and she laid open his thigh.

Your penance was death. Why do you suddenly think you deserve to live and be happy? Because of Seva? If she really knew who you were, she would never let you touch her again.

There was a rhythm to their fights, if a stuttered one, as cautious and careful maneuvering was broken up by sudden flurries of blows. The only constant was motion. Neither of them had ever been one to take a brute's stance and remain still on the field. Their feet traced circles and angles on the grass and dust with a grace that dancers would have envied. It was almost like they were just practicing again, though the stakes were higher now than they'd ever been before. They inflicted pain on each other effortlessly, trading one blow for another. They were evenly matched. It was just a question of who would make a fatal mistake first.

You did this to him, Cruciata. You bring pain and suffering wherever you go.

"Not going to correct my form?" Laenus said. She knew he was trying to needle her for a reaction. "Did I break you of the habit on the saltire?"

Everything you touch turns to flames. You will never be happy.

Holland's breath came a little sharper, a little more forcefully, but she didn't react outwardly. Exile had added heat to her temper, but she wasn't feeling it at the moment. Battle always brought the cold back. She could feel it creeping through her veins, the frost trying to form in her heart. But this time, it wasn't quite able to overpower the feelings. Maybe Seva had finally given the softness something to take root in. Whatever was happening, she couldn't quite find it in herself to freeze.

They've all put their faith in you, just like he did. What makes you think it will be any different this time?

She caught Laenus's blow with her edge, but he put so much force behind it that she had to stagger backwards. Just like she'd chased him, he pounced on the apparent weakness. She stepped off line, closing distance with him at an angle, but he caught her movement and nailed her in the side of the head with an elbow. Blackness tried to swallow her consciousness and one knee hit the ground, but she didn't drop further than that. When he brought his blade down in a vicious arc, she dove out of the way and rolled, coming up on her feet with an acrobat's ease.

You're running because you're afraid. You're afraid of getting what you deserve.

"You're not looking so perfect at the moment, I have to say." She could tell he was starting to get irritated despite the flippant words, however. He was annoyed that he couldn't get a rise out of her or any real reaction.

You never were perfect, were you? And you never will be.

He was right. Bruises were forming across her body, some of them even visible. Then again, Laenus himself wasn't looking wonderful. They clashed again and again, blades locking. Their limbs collided, raining blows on their opponent. Soon they were both spattered with crimson and limping, covered in little wounds but still awaiting a brutal wound. The sky was a beautiful azure above, the breeze brushing free strands of brown hair across Holland's face, where they caught in the blood. "You will never be better than me!" Laenus snarled as he closed with her.

You will never escape who you are.

Then it happened: an imperfect parry.

Holland felt a sharp pain through the wave of combat high as Laenus's blade pierced her midsection. His crosshilt struck her body as he drove his blade completely through her, driving some of the breath out of her in a little gasp. She saw victory flare to life in the dark eyes right in front of her own, that triumphant grin start. She hadn't seen it in such a long time. It was as wicked as it had been in front of all those people, a parody of the innocent, pleased smile she'd seen on him when he was young.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Holland's hilt smashed into his face. When he reeled back, he lost his grip on his sword. He looked at her, dark eyes suddenly wide and frightened. For a split second, she saw that little boy again in his blood spattered face. For a moment, they were both in a different place and time.

...I'm scared...

...Don't be...

Then her blade connected, shearing through his neck. She didn't take his head completely off, but she wasn't far from it either. His body hit the ground with a dull, final thump. She staggered forward, dropping to her knees beside his head. The light was bleeding out of him far faster than his boons could ever compensate. The anger was gone as she cradled his head in her hands, holding it how it should have been without that wound. There was crimson everywhere as his skin turned grey and pale. His dark eyes were glassy and empty. Gone was the boy who had brazenly declared he would be the best warrior in the world, the young man who had smiled so quickly and thoughtlessly at his lover's laugh, the man who had followed her into so many battles without ever showing a sign of fear. He was no longer the loathsome specter she had spat such curses about in Yssa before she left. The shadows that had clung to them both for years and years evaporated, leaving just her holding an empty, once-beloved and once-hated shell.

"This isn't what I wanted for you, Laenus," she said thickly. She could distantly hear Seva screaming her name, but she didn't have the strength to stand and go running to her lover. Laenus's blade was still in her body, but she could feel the blood dripping quickly around it. Her insides burned and itched as the sorcery in her body began its dark work. Holland stayed where she was, slumped on her knees with her head hanging down.

She could taste salt as much as copper.

Holland didn't struggle when familiar hands eased her back away from Laenus. She just set his head down instead of letting it fall and let her head tilt back to look up at that azure, cloudless sky. It was so blue. The world was muffled, like everything was becoming more and more distant. She could barely make out the voices.

"...is she going..."

"...I don't think...move her..."

"...hold on..."

Everything faded to grey and then black.