RoH: Dinner in the Darkness

Remant stepped into the palace cautiously, though with Kalla and her family leading the way he didn't think he was in danger. The place was all high walls and stalagmite towers from the outside, dim light spilling out from the open doors. Everything here was stone and metal, or else an unfamiliar sort of cloth or leather. Limestone had been smoothed and shaped, ceilings carved into arches and set. There were no guards in evidence, which could mean any of several things. He hoped the Presbyterium realized that he came peacefully among them this time.

The light came from soft flames, set atop metal cones; similar to and different from the light-crystals the upper world had once produced. He would have loved to stop and examine their magics -- there were thing here that would be invaluable if he could reproduce them -- but this was not the time. Still, if he survived this gathering then he needed to return at some point simply for this. 

The scene inside was chaos struggling to become order: a double-dozen Undergray spreading out to find their seat at the carefully-arranged tables. 

"Honored Elders," Kalla said, her voice filling the space. "I present Remant of the Sunlit Lands, who is heir to our former master Huoron and also our savior from that mastery. We welcome him to Shadowguard, and give thanks for his company."

Remant was fairly certain that he'd never seen a room settle down so quickly. "I'm honored to be here," he said, forcing the words out but making them sound natural. "I regret that we were once enemies, and hope that we can be friends." 

One of the Elders raised his voice and lifted his glass. "Likewise," he said loudly. "We welcome you, and offer you hospitality."

That was binding, and with that reassurance Remant came forward into the room. "It is my honor and pleasure to accept," he said, raising his voice to make sure it carried. That was binding, too. It meant that he would be equally bound by the laws of hospitality. Any violation on either side was likely to be punished by the gods, even down here. Until very recently, Shadowguard had been hidden away from the eyes of the gods, but that was no longer entirely true.

"Then come and dine with us," said another Elder, and Kalla led him forward. 

RoH: Introductions

Remant had never been below the Grand Hall. When he'd come in here with the heroes, he hadn't needed to. Now, with Kalla leading the way, he found himself looking out into a sprawling underground city, scattered around the bottom -- and top -- of a massive underground cavern. A river rushed down the center of it, wide and shallow as it washed over the limestone floor. A few lights flickered here and there, some glowing faintly like distant stars, but mostly it was dark.

The structure she led him to was not far away, and he could see faint light within it -- not as bright as flame, let alone the sun, but some small glow to ease the way. Zara followed along, and as they walked another of the Undergray fell in beside them. "Durken," the man said, and offered a hand. "Kalla's husband, and Zara's father."

Remant nodded and clasped his hand. "I'm glad you're both happy." 

Durken grinned, squeezed firmly, and then released him. "I'm glad I finally get to meet you. I always wondered what sort of man you were."

"At the time? Desperate. I don't know how much your people knew of it, but up on the surface we were losing the war. Huoron's armies had wiped out most of the cities, burned out smaller settlements wherever they passed, and were laying siege to the last real source of organized opposition. The Gray weren't in much better shape, but my people had reached the point where even if we did defeat them, we'd have nothing left. Or if they won, neither would they."

"Ah," said Durken. "So they sent their greatest warriors away from the siege, to come here and slay Huoron himself."

Remant nodded again. "Exactly. Five champions, and the squires they accidentally acquired along the way. Two of the champions made it into Shadowguard; the rest of us were squires, replacements for the other champions: rich in magical blessings, but inexperienced, only partly trained, and utterly terrified."

"And only you lived," observed Kalla, sadly. 

Walking beside her, Zara gave a startled squeak.

Remant huffed. "Even so, I was much changed." He swallowed, then changed the topic. "What can I expect inside?"

Kalla hesitated, then said, "Reactions will be mixed, but not actively violent. Your intervention freed our people, but some of the Presbyterium still lost family -- close family -- to you and your friends." 

RoH: A Dinner Invitation

"I'd hoped to have you join us for a quiet family dinner," Kalla said. "Instead, I need to offer you an apology. As soon as word went out of your return, the entire Prebyterium began lobbying for a chance to host our savior."

"They're probably going to be disappointed," Remant predicted. "Still, I'm grateful for their hospitality -- and yours." 

"You'll do it, then?" She frowned. "You could just turn away. With a little effort, you could travel through this darkness like we do. Nobody would stop you."

"No, I..." he sighed, because to the left he really didn't want to do this, but to the right he was genuinely curious. "I'd like to meet your people."

"Don't sound so enthused," Kalla answered, gently ironic. "But okay, if you're still willing, come with me. They've been preparing for over an hour now."

Remant followed, making an effort to hide his reluctance. Zara followed them, holding on to a corner Remant's cloak.

RoH: Childhood Wisdom, and Wisdom Grown

Zara studied him closely. After a moment she said, "You look funny, not scary. Why is your skin like that?"

"Pale, you mean?" asked Remant. 

The girl nodded.

He shrugged. "Born this way. Among my people, it's pretty normal. Among yours, it may be funny-looking."

"Oh." The child looked thoughtful. 

Kalla knelt down as well. "Go and find your father, Little Curiosity. We need to finish talking about grownup things."

Zara considered that. "I can be quiet."

Kalla looked at Remant. He shrugged, rose. "All right. Walk with us, then."

Kalla said, "Back here," and led him in a wide circle around the altar. It was good to see that it was smashed, but what waited beyond was... wholly unexpected. 

The Undergray had emptied the niches of Huoron's visages, and used them to create shrines to each of the fallen heroes instead. Here lay the bones of the Aesil mage Elendor, surrounded by his robe, staff, and sword. The niche beside it held the last remains of Darik, the Vanil champion, the bones still encased in his gleaming golden armor, mace and shield set to either side. Next was Lisla, the Vanil squire who had taken on Winstala's blessing and equipment in a desperate bid to help win their battle; she was set between her daggers, and still wore her cloak. Her bow and quiver of arrows was set behind her. Last was Shima, who had boldly taken up the blessings and weapons of her Santu, the Mordil champion Gairlos. 

Remant found that he was on his knees. He could feel his eyes prickling.

"It pleases you?" Kalla asked. "None may touch the sacred weapons save the Presbyterium, and none may take them up save yourself. It is... taboo."

Remant swallowed, and forced the grief back. "It... Yes. It pleases me, that you honor them."

RoH: The Temple Revised

"I only came here to retrieve some gold from Huoron's vault," Remant said quietly. 

"I understand," Kalla said. "We haven't touched that. We bargain with the Cobalts by offering late-night help with traders and would-be conquerors, in exchange for the food that helps sustain us more... naturally. So far, it's been enough."

Remant nodded. "If you need it, though..." 

"I'll keep that to myself," Kalla said. "Otherwise, my fellow Elders will find reasons to need it. But while you're here..."

She stepped back through the doorway to the temple, and a voice called, "Mama!" and soft footsteps rushed forward. 

Remant followed her through the doorway and stopped. The Great Hall had changed subtly. The Temple had changed dramatically. It was lit, for one thing, though the flickering light of the flames didn't pass outside the doorway to the hall. The sacrificial altar at the far end was broken, and a slow trickle of blood was seeping out of it. The dagger lay atop the shattered altar. 

Shocked, Remant came to a full stop as a small Undergray threw herself at Kalla's leg. She clung there, looking for a long moment, then looked up at Remant. "You didn't come back here to kill us?"

Remant smiled and knelt. "No. No, I did not. I'm actually glad to see that your people have survived."

"There were some concerns," Kalla admitted. "Mine were not among them, which is why I was the one who went out to meet you."

"Well you did," Remant admitted in return. "I'd have listened and dealt fairly with another, but it helps that I remember how you dealt with me when I was still wounded and far more vulnerable."

"Still dangerous, though," Kalla pointed out. She gestured towards the altar. "And that thing was still on the floor at your feet." 

Remant scowled. "It was. How did you get it onto the altar?"

Kalla's face went flat, then sorrowful. "A dozen sacrifices. They lifted it, moved it, and they died. After the first one, they were throwing it, even knowing what it meant to touch it."

Remant paused. "I'm so sorry. It should have been caged where it was."

Kalla shook her head. "No, the risk there was even worse. Here, with the altar broken, the dagger calls out the blood and lets us feed. Their sacrifice was needed so that we could survive in this." She paused, then motioned to the child at her side. "This is Zara."

Remant nodded. "Your daughter."

"Some time after you departed, I married Lorran -- whom you don't know -- and gave birth to Zara, who is the center of my world."

"I still want a sister," said the girl. "I know you have politics to do, but I haven't forgotten."

"How old?" asked Remant. 

"Four."

Remant rose, came forward, and knelt again. "Hello, Zara. I'm honored to meet you." 

RoH: Old Allies, New Negotiations

The woman nodded. Originally, she had been one of the Gray: the secondborn of the races that the dark god Huoron had created, strong and savage and completely under His control. But she, among others, had been chosen to serve in and help protect Shadowguard, and their time here had changed them. Unlike Remant and his companions, they had already adjust to the deeper darkness and could see perfectly well, their eyes shining like lamps. They had grown slender, even gaunt, skin and hair adjusting to a pale gray that vanished into the stone -- and likewise the darkness. Here, they would be all but invisible -- even to those who could ordinarily see in the dark. 

Unlike the Vanil, the Gray had been created to serve Huoron unquestioningly. Their wills were utterly subservient to his own. But when the god had fallen, they had also been among the first to feel the shock and find themselves freed. Kalla had been the first to approach Remant in the wake of his disastrous victory, when he was still in the process of trying to repair his damaged body and control his strange new powers. She had promised to leave him unmolested, and only asked that he do the same for her kin in return. 

Remant had agreed, out of what his own sense of caution suggested was necessity, and departed. He had no idea what might have occurred down here since then. "You've returned," she said quietly. "Do you mean to lead us?"

"No." Remant shook his head, disgusted with the very idea. "No, if you've managed to survive down here..." He hesitated. "How have you managed to survive down here?"

"Theophagy," she admitted. "We have water, and we trade with the Cobalts and others for surface food, but mainly we survive by draining tiny bits of the blood of the fallen god. It's transforming us, but it's slow and the Presbyterium believes we can keep it under control this way."

Remant cocked his head. "You're a member of this Presbyterium?" he asked.

She smiled. "I'm it's leader." She paused for a moment to let him absorb that, then motioned him forward. "Come, let me show you something, and then come and dine with us -- ordinary food this time, cooked over ordinary fires." 

RoH: The Second Descent

Remant wasn't as familiar with this area as he was with some others, so once he was safely outside the gates he paused to invest a marker. Then he teleported back to... that place. 

The entrance was just as he'd left it, dark and seemingly empty. He entered and began the descent, retracing the way he'd taken just a few years before. He'd been younger then -- centuries younger, it felt like -- and armed and armored very differently. This outer area was composed of simple, natural caves, water-carved, damp, and dripping. He smelled the traces of Cobalts around him, silver-miners who'd retreated here and allowed themselves to be transformed, but they could see in the dark as well as he could. He had to pause briefly while they filled one particular cavern with song; but afterwards they retreated unseen, and he continued unbothered. 

It was beyond those natural caves where he found the opening to the deeper darkness, perpetual and impenetrable, and began his descent into Shadowguard. He'd only come this way once, but the way was burned into his memories. The shadow elementals waited, and when they thought he was unaware one of them attacked. He cut it in half with his blade, then called for a burst of light that sent them cowering back. He could have extended his own darkness, commanded them, but... no. He might have absorbed a portion of the fallen god's power, but he had no desire to use it. Especially not here, where the remainder of that divine power and blood had soaked into the stone below. 

The spirits drew back, and he continued his descent. 

At last he reached the Grand Hall, which was the central nexus of Shadowguard. All thing dark came together here. He remembered having only the vaguest impression of sight, when he and the others had first arrived. Now he could admire the full majesty of the place: the arched ceilings, the ornate columns with their carved masks looking down, the twin openings to the throne room and the temple. Huoron had made sacrifices only to himself, to increase his own power, but he considered that every bit as important as his throne, and at the height of the war the stream of victims who died screaming in the dark had been constant.

He hesitated. Something here had changed. As he watched, a figure emerged from the temple, paused to make sure it was seen, and then approached him carefully, hands raised and palms out. A good spellcaster could still attack from that posture, but Remant wasn't particularly worried. "Kalla," he said quietly. "You yet live." 

RoH: The Deal

"I do most of my work in my laboratory in the basement, or else out there in the gazebo," Dirimant Acklin, the former Viscount Durzen said quietly, "and of course we aren't looking to provide housing for our descendants if Lariza plans on moving to Foringelt. I could cede the entire north wing to you, if it would let me hold the manor."

Remant nodded. "I doubt I need more than a single floor," he said. "A bedroom, perhaps a study and a library. I travel a lot, but it would be nice to have a base of operations to come back to."

"Ah," said the dead man. "You fought in the war."

Remant nodded, and patted the sword at his side. "Now that you're dead, you can no longer be the viscount... but it's possible that I could, and simply direct that income to you to dispense as you see fit. Steward isn't as prestigious as Viscount, but as a practical matter it would probably amount to the same thing. And being dead doesn't disallow you from stewardship, so long as the property has a living owner."

Dirimant swallowed. "Why are you doing this?"

Remant shrugged. "I'd like a place to settle, or at least some place I know I could come back to. And I like it here. Your servants seem happy to serve you even now that you're dead, which suggests that you've treated them well, and..." He sighed. "I've already done enough killing to last me a lifetime and more. Probably more."

"Very well. You have yourself a deal. Purchase the house, leave us be, and take the north wing of the house; the servants will acknowledge you as their master, but me as the steward in day-to-day matters. I will see them paid and maintained. I take it you aren't looking to profit from this?"

"Not particularly," answered Remant. "I just want a place to settle."

"Done," said Dirimant Acklin, and put out his hand. "See if you can become the Viscount Dirzen; that would help. But even if you cannot, I believe we can manage." 

RoH: Death Trap Ballet

He was halfway down the path, hands still up, when they rose from the ground around him: a trio of wraiths, misty and half-seen in the midday light. "Call them off!" he shouted, and drew his sword. 

They moved, and he danced through them. Wraiths were hard to kill; ordinarily, they could allow a blade to pass through them without making contact. Remant, on the other hand, had been very specific when he had commissioned his blade: it wasn't all that powerful, but it could damage anything. The first wraith was dispelled before it knew what had happened; the blade sliced through its ghostly presence as if it were ordinary flesh. 

The other two hesitated, and Remant used that pause to cut down a second wraith. The third one tried to come at him from behind, but he spun and thrust. Impaled, it wailed its death-cry and dissolved. 

He sheathed the sword and walked towards the gazebo. He was aware that the figure back there had tried -- and failed -- to attack him with a spell when the wraiths attacked. "Don't do it," he warned. The figure -- the Viscount Forzen -- backed away, but didn't flee. He's planning something else, Remant decided, and stopped at the foot of the steps. "Former Viscount Forzen," he called up. "Will you step forward and speak to me?"

There was a momentary hesitation, and then the Viscount presented himself. Remant counted that as a minor victory, but not yet a winning move. 

In the light of the sun, the former viscount wasn't obviously undead; it was no wonder the servants failed to fear him. The signs were there, to a trained eye: very slightly sagging skin over slowly-thinning flesh, bluish undertones to the skin, dark circles around the eyes. Nothing yet that couldn't be attributed to advanced age, if one were inclined to ignore the signs. 

"You mean to take my home," the former viscount said indignantly. "Explain to me why I shouldn't destroy you here and now."

Remant sighed. "I suppose I could have done this the other way around, but here's my proposition: I buy the house outright from your niece, and basically ignore the fact that you're still here and effectively running the place. The servants seem pretty loyal to you, and you seem to be taking care of them as well. Is that still possible now that you're no longer a viscount?"

The dead man hesitated, then said: "I forget that I am dead. The spell to convert me was triggered by my death, and so for me I felt my chest clench, saw the darkness draw in, and then was... just lying there on the floor, untouched." He sighed. "It seems an unfair way to take my home and position away from me."

Remant chuckled. "I suppose it would," he said, looking up at the older man. "My question remains: without your position, could you still support your staff?"

"I believe so," said the dead viscount. "I am rather an accomplished spellcrafter, and even selling potions and scrolls would bring in good money. It would be demeaning to resort to trade, but I believe I could manage it."

Remant considered that, then nodded. "Your niece, who inherited this place, wishes to sell it and move to Foringelt. As it happens, I have money enough to buy it from her, and I have no objection to leaving it in your keeping -- if I am given a place here, perhaps a wing of the house for my own."

The dead viscount Dirimant Acklin regarded him from the top of the steps for a long, long moment. Then he came down. "Don't set foot up there," he warned. 

"I wasn't planning to," Remant told him.  

RoH: The Rear Garden

The back doors gave way to a long brick walkway, flanked by regular pairs of columns and leading to a massive gazebo. Sculpted trees and flowers were discreetly arranged around gravel paths to either side, but clearly the path forward was the one intended: there was a human -- or humanish -- figure waiting in the shadows under the roof of the gazebo. 

Oh, this is so very definitely a trap, Remant thought. Aloud, he said: "That is the former Viscount?"

"Lord Forzen, Dirimant Acklin," the servant confirmed. 

"Then you've done his will and brought me here," Remant said. "You should go back inside and close the doors."

The man swallowed. "Do you mean to kill him?"

Remant shook his head. "Not if I can help it," he said quietly. "I'd rather work something out."

The manservant touched his sleeve -- cautiously. "Then take care as you approach. The first two the solicitor sent here came armed as you are, and tried to put him down. Our lord was... not kind to them."

Remant sighed. "Legally, he's not a lord anymore. The dead cannot hold office; neither can they lay claim to the properties they held in life."

"He's still our lord," the manservant said, with a stubbornness that Remant couldn't help but admire. "And he's an accomplished spellcrafter."

"I'm walking into an ambush, I think," he told the man. "Don't follow me. Go inside and close the door. You've done your duty. If I die, that's on my head, not yours." 

Remant started forward, holding his hands up as he approached the gazebo.  

RoH: Entry Achieved

It was perhaps twenty minutes later when the door opened again. Remant had spent the time in quiet meditation, reviewing spells and tactics in his mind. Most of the undead he'd fought previously had been relatively minor: skeletons, a few zombies, a chained ghost. During the war, he'd mostly fought living opponents. 

"M'lord?" asked the manservant. 

Remant turned, keeping his movements relaxed. "Yes?"

"His Lordship the Viscount will see you now." The man motioned him inside, and Remant moved forward. 

"He bade me take you to the gardens in the back, if that is acceptable." The foyer was beautifully appointed, and Remant glanced idly around as he followed the servant across it and through the doorway at the back. He hadn't grown up with such luxury, but he'd been introduced to it later in life and knew the basics of navigating in Society. A maid looked up from dusting a bookshelf in the library as they passed, then quickly looked away. 

He could smell something cooking already, and the scent grew stronger as they reached the rear of the manor. Light came from old-style enchanted crystals in sconces; they glowed coldly, and their light could be covered but not extinguished. It was an enchantment that had largely been lost in the war; this place was old and well-preserved. 

The war had only brushed against Verovia. The invasion of the Gray had approached the city, but been turned aside by a gathered army of Vanil, Aesil, and Mordil led by mage-commander Verna Wendilar.  With reinforcements from the city, she might have prevailed; instead, she damaged the invaders so much that they were unable to successfully assault the city. 

Remant turned his attention back to the present. The servants were still employed, still being fed and housed and paid, and if he had some way of approaching them elsewhere he might have been able to learn a lot more about what was going on here. Still, he supposed there was something to be said for the direct approach. 

RoH: The Price of Entry Is Patience

The man who opened the door wore a servant's coat over a respectable shirt and slacks. His hair was gray, but his face was young. He looked Remant over, then asked: "May I help you, Sir?"

"I'd like to speak with the late Viscount Forzen," he said. "My name is Remant."

The manservant's expression changed only for the barest flicker, but he asked politely, "Have you come from that dreadful solicitor?"

Remant held up a hand. "I have, but I've come to talk. If the master of the house would spare me a little of his time, I believe we can resolve this."

The manservant held his ground. "We were given very specific instructions to turn away anyone that woman sent."

Remant paused to consider, but the manservant moved to close the door in his face. With a sigh, he stuck his hand in the opening, then forced it back open. 

"She appears to have the force of law on her side," he said, as the other man gaped at him, "along with enough money to make a compelling argument. I don't wish to see you punished, but I do need to speak to the former Viscount. So..." He thought as quickly as I could. "I will wait out here. You will go and tell him that you turned me away, but that I remain waiting outside to speak to him. Would that be acceptable?"

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" asked the manservant. "You could smash right through this door if you wanted. I couldn't stop you."

"Yes," answered Remant, "but that would be rude. And this is good mahogany, beautifully crafted. It would be a shame to damage it."

The other man swallowed. "Wait out here, please. I'll tell the Viscount."

RoH: The Mansion

Remant paused on the road up to the mansion, then dismounted and led his horse the rest of the way. There were ruins, artfully built and no older than the house itself, off to one side of the drive; there was a rambling garden off to the other. 

The stable was empty when he reached it, but it still held feed; he led Peregrine inside, found a stall, and set out food and water. Then he approached the main house. 

It stood three stories tall, with wide, two-story wings to either side and marble steps leading up to the dark mahogany doors. He saw no signs of movement through the windows, but then the servants should have been given their final wages and recommendations and dismissed after the death of the Master of the House. At least, that was how things had worked before the war, and Remant assumed that the aristocracy hadn't changed much since then. Having the Master return undead might have complicated the situation in any number of ways. 

He checked the sword at his side and the dagger in his boot, flexed his armored left hand beneath the soft leather glove, and sighed. He'd left the bow and his pack with the horse; he didn't expect this to be that sort of job. Mounting the steps, he lifted the knocker and let it fall, three times.

The sound echoed through the manor, and after a time he heard footsteps approaching. 

RoH: A Haunted Mansion

"He's supposed to be dead," the solicitor explained, "But he won't go to a grave, he won't turn the house over as his own will demands, and now he's summoned things to keep people out. It could be centuries before his descendants manage to claim it."

"So you want me to... enforce the will?" Remant asked. He wasn't bothered by the prospect; he'd dealt with undead before, though not frequently. 

The woman nodded. "My client -- his niece -- needs the house to be habitable, so she can sell it off. She plans to move to Foringelt."

"And she's offering one hundred gold from the sale to whomever makes it possible?"

"Yes. We have it on hand, ready for whomever completes the job."

"Huh." Remant considered that. "I'll right, I'll take it." 

RoH: Camp Disturbed

The camp was quiet when he returned, but the other guards were out and he stopped just beyond the trees, to call out and wave so he wouldn't get an arrow to the face on his way back in. Tamril was the closest of the guards; he shouted, "It's Remant!" and after that Remant knew that it was safe to approach. 

"Did you kill them?" asked Tamril, as he came within speaking distance. Tamril was young, barely into adulthood, but he had nothing of that sense of invincibility that Remant had once associated with men of his age. He came from a generation that knew that the world would cheerfully kill them if they let down their guard, the ones who had come of age just after the war.

Remant nodded. "It was just a few." 

"Really? With a spell like that, we thought--"

Remant shook his head. "I think they must have prepared it in advance, for whoever came through. I was fortunate to escape it, but beyond that..." He shrugged. 

Tamril nodded, doing is best to look sagely. It was common knowledge, or at least common belief, that spells prepared well in advance could be much stronger than a mage or magister could call forth in the moment. 

Remant had been counting on that; it helped make his story believable. "How is everyone else taking it?" he asked. 

"Ashela said we should leave them asleep," answered Tamril, and Remant nodded. 

He wasn't surprised. The caravan was led by the merchant Varkas and her six drovers, but they'd brought along a wagon belonging to a displaced family and two other wagons owned by puppeteers, for a token fee. If Ashela had awakened everyone, it would have been chaos... or at least a lot of shouting and recriminations, and the camp certainly wouldn't have been quiet when he returned. Also, explaining that the would-be bandits were dead would have been a lot more awkward. 

Ashela was helping him out. 

"Sensible," he said. "I'll go tell her what happened, and then I need to get back to sleep myself." 

"Quiet duties," Tamril said, the well-wish from one caravan guard to another, and Remant smiled and walked the rest of the way into the camp.

RoH: Fraught With Magic

Remant walked out into the woods, slipping between the trees and easing through the underbrush until the camp was well behind him. He was fully dressed now, with his sword on his hip and the dagger in his left boot, his bow across his back and a quiver of arrows arranged beneath it, slung crossways at the small of his back. They were still three days out from Doblim, and the woods here were thick. Whoever and whatever was out here, Remant doubted that they were anything more than rumors to the people of the would-be capital city. 

"You come to us?" asked a voice, soft in the darkness. 

It sounded nearby, almost at his shoulder, but Remant shrugged and disdained to look around. He didn't know what sort of magic had been used to project it, but he knew for a fact that nobody was standing behind him. "It seemed easier."

"Whatever it is you carry, it strains the fabric of this world. No difficulty to sense it, no fault to want it." This time the voice came from ahead and off to his left, but he thought that that too was misdirection. 

"On the contrary," he replied. "There is fault in wanting such things."

"Easy to say when you have them." This time the voice was behind him, but farther back. "Easy to say, when your place is secure." 

Remant sighed, but remained where he was. "There's some truth in that," he admitted. "What is it that you want?"

"A place of our own, safe from those who drove us out. Ascendancy, security. A world in which we make the rules by which we are judged."

"Do you not have that now?" Remant still wasn't sure what he was dealing with, but  it sounded as if these beast-bound had been driven away from Doblim, or possibly some other city, and taken a place out here in the woods. 

The voice moved again, or seemed to: "We do, but the cities rise again. With the power you carry, we could drive them back, separate them, isolate them. We could make the world safe."

Safe for whom? Remant shook his head slowly. "Clearly you have power already. Surely you can work out some way to live beyond the cities, to give them something they need and make them accept you."

"Diplomacy?" scoffed the voice, now somewhere off to his right. "We tried that before. Now, it will be conquest. And the power you carry will show us the way." 

The first attack came from behind him, and Remant met it with a sense of regret: four wolves, their shoulders as high as his own, charging in from separate directions, dodging from side to side as they approached. He cut and stepped back and to the right as one wolf fell, cut back and twisted to the left and rear as the second one reached him, forced his eyes shut as he called for a flash of light, and then stepped forward and cut down the remaining two as they stood, staggered. 

"Did you enjoy that?" he asked. "I didn't. Give up this poisonous dream and let me pass."

"We... do not yield," said the voice, and Remant felt the forces stir as a mist sprang up from the ground and spectral figures rose out of the mist. 

"Leave them to their rest," Remant growled, watching as the ghostly figures approached. Then he launched himself among them, and the blade of his saber cut them apart as if they were flesh. They screamed, fell, dissolved. 

"You do have your surprises," the voice admitted, this time drifting across the back of his neck. "But you will fall, and we will take your power."

"Promises, promises," answered Remant. He knelt, pulled the dagger from his boot, and held it in his left hand. His saber balanced easily in his right. "Come and try it."

They came, finally, from all directions: four men and eight women, pulling beast-forms over their human bodies as they fell on him. His sword cut their beast-flesh as easily as it would have parted human, and the dagger covered wounds with ice wherever it struck. They attacked, fell back, gathered over their wounded and attacked again; at the end of things, they all lay still and much of the forest around Remant was covered in frost. Spears of ice pierced several of the corpses. 

Remant sighed. "It didn't have to be like this," he said, though most of them were too far gone to hear him. "We could have sat and talked. You didn't have to raid the camp. You didn't have to try to murder me."

One of the dying beast-bound coughed and looked up at him. "I would-- I would..." Then there came a rattling sound, and the woman fell back a corpse. 

Remant shook his head and turned back towards the caravan.

RoH: Precautions

"Remant?" asked Ashela. She'd come up with a dagger when he'd touched her shoulder, but he was holding a glowstone in his hand, palm-up so that she could see his face. "What are you doing in my tent?" 

"Someone put a sleep-spell on the camp," he said. "How do you feel?" 

"Shit." She put the dagger away and shrugged out of her blankets. "Is everybody--?" 

"I'm not sure," Remant told her. "You're the first I woke. But I don't think they came for murder. They were looking for something. Maybe for me." 

"For you? Because--" Her eyes flickered to his left hand, and he knew that she knew. He'd thought that she at least suspected, and now he knew he'd been right. 

"Yes. And more will be coming. So I need you to check on everyone here, and make certain the caravan's defended."

"You're going out to meet them?" Ashela didn't sound surprised. She ran a hand through her dark hair, then clipped it back. 

He nodded. "Better than waiting for them to arrive here."

"All right." She reached for her left boot and drew it on. "Be careful. Don't die."

Remant nodded and slipped back out of the tent. Ashela was a skilled warrior and knew something of sorcery as well; he could count on her to keep the others safe.

RoH: Thieves in the Night

Remant came awake with his left hand around someone's throat in an unbreakable grip, while his victim flailed and struck at him with one arm. For a moment he considered commanding his hand to release its grip, but the figure above him wore a cloth over the lower half of its face and strange, dark lenses over its eyes. The lenses were held in some sort of wire frame, the design unfamiliar but the purpose obvious. It was night outside, and the intruder was Vanil, so the lenses most likely allowed their wearer to see in the dark. Which meant...

His hand clenched and twisted, and a cracking sound filled the tent. The intruder slumped, completely limp. Remant sighted and shoved it aside, then looked around. Yes, there was an unfamiliar dagger on the ground beside his bedroll. He slipped out of the blankets and rose into a crouch, then reached down and pulled on his black leather gloves. He didn't bother with his boots; those could wait. 

There were other figures moving in the darkness, but none seemed to have noticed him yet. There should have been guards at the edge of the camp, but none of them were visible. Downed, then, he thought. Hopefully not dead. He did not want to see what would happen if the intruders realized that anyone in the camp was awake and mobile. 

So he reached down and clasped his sword, and then he reached into the depths of his mind. The unwelcome remnants of power were still there; he touched them, and called for darkness. 

There were no sounds as the camp went black, but after a moment of stillness the intruders raised their blades; several of them silently called up spells as well. Remant couldn't see them; not exactly. But this darkness was his and he knew the place of everything in it, while even with their enchanted lenses the intruders couldn't see him. 

It was only a small effort to slip up to the nearest intruder and gut them. The darkness drank noise as well as light; the first death was silent.So were the second and the third. 

The fourth was trickier; that intruder had given up on seeing, and extended a sort of warning-web of magic around him. He turned to meet Remant's blade, and he fought well, trying to move in past Remant's guard with his shorter blade. It might have worked, too, if Remant's left hand hadn't caught the intruder's wrist and held it for the brief moment necessary for Remant to put his blade through the man's heart. 

And these were men, all of them. That was unusual; most bandit troops had some women among them. Remant puzzled over that as he killed and killed again, dispatching the last two intruders. Then, finally, he let his darkness withdraw. It was a relief, more than anything else. The darkness was hungry, and his control of it was limited; much longer, and it might have devoured everyone within reach, friend and foe alike. I really need to learn more of sorcery, he told himself again. Everything I know is either trivial, or dangerously extreme. 

The intruder at his feet coughed out a mouthful of blood. "They said... there was power... here." He drew a shuddering breath. "The beast-bound... will come... for--" There came a soft rattling sound, and his whole body relaxed. Remant wiped his blade on the man's dark tunic, then sheathed it. It was time to see who else had survived.

RoH: An Interruption

This is one of those concepts that I keep coming back to, so take a look through the Remnant of Heroes tag if you're curious about it. I originally began it as a series of short stories, with this guy wandering the world because he didn't really have any place to belong any more, and didn't want to be known for what he'd once been.

"How much farther?" called Master Cailiff as Remant rode past. 

Remant slowed his horse to answer. "Another hour to the next waystation, according to Jorral. Well before dark."

"That's not so bad," muttered Master Cailiff, his words pitched low for the benefit of his wife. She was sitting on the bench of the wagon beside him, a sturdy woman whose hair was just beginning to show some gray. 

Cailiff himself was older, his hair and beard turned to salt and pepper, his bearing dignified despite his corpulence. Remant wasn't bothered by him, but then Remant wasn't bothered by much of anyone. He was just a guard, paid to get the caravan safely to Doblim. What he might do when he arrived there, he wasn't sure. 

Ahead of them, Ikara gave a short, sharp whistle. Remant said, "Later," and rode ahead to see what the trouble was. 

The trouble was a child, unconscious by the side of the road. Darek, the only other male among the caravan guards, was standing several feet back, wrapping a bandage around his arm and muttering curses under his breath. 

"What happened?" called Remant, as he approached. 

"The child is a trap," said Darek, and spat as he tied off the bandage. "Or she's cursed. I tried to awaken her, and her shadow rose up and cut me." 

Ikara, sitting on her domek, nodded. "That's what happened." 

The domek was thick-skinned and heavy, strong and difficult to injure. It couldn't match a horse's speed, but then Ikara's job was to stay steady and call orders, not to charge into battle. She rode at the front of the caravan. 

"You just found her here?" asked Remant.

Ikara nodded. "I'm taking the caravan on," she said. "If you want to risk checking her, you can do that." She sounded as if she knew he wouldn't die, so Remant nodded back. "I'll tell you anything I learn," he said, swinging down off his horse as Darek mounted his and Ikara gave the signal to move along.

Writing Progress: Getting There, I think

So, I haven't made any visible progress on Shadow Academy. Last week was supposed to be the week when I'd regroup, re-evaluate my projects, assign some priorities, and generally just get my feet under me. Instead, well, work just fell on my head like an avalanche of snot. (It's a rare natural phenomenon, found only in the Eastern European nation of Mucosia.) I've spent most of the last couple of days trying to export data files on stored documents -- time-consuming, since some of these document types contain upwards of 65,000 documents -- and work on other projects in between, and listen in on training for a new set of applications that we're in the process of switching over to. 

Work, basically, has eaten my life. 

But I've been thinking about the story, and how it shapes itself from my opening scene, and what the vampire prince Dominic might say upon first meeting Darian, and how Darian might respond. It'll work, I think, and it'll carry the story forward, and as I bring in more characters we'll get some interesting groupings even before we get to the final arrival at the Sunhaven Academy of the Midnight Accord.

I've also had a few oblique thoughts about Remant and a book-length project set in the milieu that I've tentatively been calling A Remnant Of Heroes. But I'm not working on that one now; it was originally intended to be a series of shorts, somewhat like the Conan stories, to occupy me when I needed a break from other projects. Just take the character, throw him into something interesting, and see what he does. 

Only... he needs a longer story arc, and I'm not ready to focus on that right now. Not yet. Someday, time and attention permitting, but first I have to survive June.

Here's hoping your projects are going well, dear readers, and if you want to talk about them in the comments I'd be excited to hear from you.