The severed head of the High Sorcerer of the academy landed on the sidewalk, rolling across the cobbles to settle in a narrow trench of the gutter. The feeble flow of rainwater rushing through it was not enough to bear it awash, and so it remained, lopsided, lips shrivelled back in a grin of death. In his unseeing eyes were reflected two dark figures facing each other in the pouring rain.

She smiled. Linder pulled his claymore out of its scabbard.

"I find it strange that you went for a poor old scholar first, rather than Draedona's Chosen One, if that is indeed what I am," he said.

"Poor old scholar, you say." The woman stretched out her hand, watching the rain clearing the blood off her long fingers. "Why, of course. You folk, of whom sword and valour is the greatest pride, would gladly label kings and generals and necromancers as the evillest of things. And why not? They conquer your lands and raise the dead."

Her deep-set, dark eyes glinted. "But you don't have to burn down a city to be evil. There are those who go unnoticed-- unpunished by heroes such as you. This man, the High Sorcerer, murdered countless of his own pupils, and claimed their work as his own. I just happened to return from the dead to teach him a lesson, because the law of this corrupt city never would."

Did one death matter when the whole land was on the brink of another Apocalypse?

"And so you would condemn all Midaelia for the crime of one man?" Linder asked with a wry smile.

She shrugged. "I'm simply fighting for the good king who put a roof over my head when I had none to turn to. Nothing against you Midaelians." A smile crept on her face as she spoke. "I am still one of you, aren't I?"

Like ghosts out of the mist of rain, figures emerged behind her, their steps slow, pale faces blank and eyes unfocused. One was a commoner, a peasant by the looks of him. The others, Linder realised with a jolt of his heart, were of the city watch. Those in charge of guarding the gates.

They bore wounds which should have been lethal. Slit throats, bashed in skulls, broken necks and stabs in the chest. Yet they walked to stand by their...Mistress with a cold determination, movements like puppets tugged by chains rather than strings.

Necromancy.

Linder's mind's eyes were back again on the yellowed pages of Ryffin's book, the macabre illustrations and the one supposedly dead sorceress whose extraordinary work the author referred most ardently in his notes.

He placed his sword down, resting his hands on its hilt with a nod of his head.

"Greetings... Avalyn Loneblight," he said. "It is a matter of great regret that we have met under such circumstances. In another reality, I could have been an admirer of your work in the field of sorcery."

Avalyn's eyes widened and the look of surprise that crossed her face now was genuine. "You have quite the nerve to mock me when I have you surrounded, I'll give you that."

"You misunderstand me. I have naught but respect for the hard work you did over all those years, but that's where it ends-- because the way you chose to apply that knowledge is despicable," he said, and raised his sword to hold it before him, the point aiming at her. "And I'll do all in my power to protect this city."

Avalyn stretched her arms wide, long-nailed hands clenched into fists as though to throttle the rain itself. The sudden rush of lethal magic as she gathered her powers hit him in the chest like a mace and all air was knocked out of his lungs.

He held on even though he swayed on his feet.

"You'll be the first kill that I'll ever regret, soldier," said Avalyn.

The Vasaen closed in.

✦✧✦✧

Linder knew in the back of his mind that this was a fight already lost. Years of tireless training in the study of the blade, or a relentless spirit to protect the land he lived on against this embodiment of evil would avail him naught against a foe on whom ordinary weapons had no power.

A strange calm settled about Linder as the bloodless faces approached him from all sides. Things made sense as though stars aligned to reveal his destiny.

He locked swords with one of them but for a fleeting moment, before dodging out of range.

I had been chosen by Draedona, bestowed with powers of untapped potentiality. I had the necessary guidance at my disposal-- the Royal Sorcerer and the entire company of skilled battlemages.

But could I ever use it?

Fate ever tossed one hindrance or the other in his way, and he never took hold of the chance to explore his powers.

Perhaps they were never meant to be used. The sorceress's next words only confirmed the suspicion that rose in his mind a bit too late.

"Do you know what it means to be chosen by Death?" asked Avalyn. Her black gown, now soaked, clung to her tall frame, a spectral figure in the rain.

Linder fought. Water danced in glittering spirals on his steel blade as it crashed, right and left, swerving up, dipping low, to the weapons wielded by the dead cold hands of her servants. Yet it felt like brandishing his sword against phantoms. They eluded his blows, and those which landed failed to inflict a wound that would not heal up in seconds.

In the end, he was the one running out of strength from the exertion. The corrupt limbs of the undead never tired.

The entire purpose of sending a company marching out to retrieve the Sacred Blades rendered itself pointless in his mind. Midaelia would burn before the army could set their hands on the hallowed swords.

Outside the deadly circle stood Avalyn in all her macabre glory, rain falling in torrents over her and heartrending sorcery emanating from her fingertips, controlling every move of her raised corpses.

"You're a fool to think Draedona would grant you powers," she said. "No, she merely needs someone--anyone--who is ready to throw themselves into destruction at her will. A mortal tool for her to use because her own hands are bound. A weak straw to grasp at, because she refuses to bow before me.

"And thus her creatures pick out miserable folk like you...so thoroughly tired of life that you do not hesitate to lose yourself into oblivion. Tell me, soldier. The way you still keep on fighting, is it heroism? Or your twisted way to...escape?"

To Avalyn's question, or rather accusation, he had no answer, for he did wish to escape. He had wished for a permanent break from everything since long.

Would today's fight grant him that sweet release?

Another streak of light set fire to the sky, followed by a thunder so loud as though the Drakhall was crumbling in the north.

The Vasaeni widened their circle around him to close in tightly again, like a bag closing shut with a sharp tug on the drawstring.

Avalyn tilted her head to one side, no doubt noticing his long silence.

"Your revered Goddess," she said, "she'll choose somebody else the moment you fall. Another pawn to toss into the fray. And once all Midaelia starts to fall, you bet there'll be plenty of cynical souls like you--more and more candidates for her to pick."

Yet here she was, to annihilate a threat she claimed not to be serious. A smile made its way to his thin lips.

"And still you came, personally, to finish me off," he said. "Should I be flattered? Or is this indication of the fact that Chosen Ones... are not merely pieces on a board of a greater game?"

Linder raised a hand, questing forth to the only thing that held him aloft in his misadventures so far, cleaved the road to the almost telepathic control he'd mastered over the servants of Draedona: it was not magic, nor skill in sword, but pure intuition.

The ravens flew at his command.

Not ten, nor twenty--but hundreds of them soared up; from rooftops, from cemeteries, from the eaves of the elegant estates perched overhead in the upper district. The rush of their wings against the rain were waves crashing on a stormy shore, and for a moment they hovered over the two in a black cloud, so great and terrible in its enormity it dulled the thunderstorm approaching in the wake of the late spring.

She looked up with a scowl rather than petrified fear. "These damned birds again," she muttered before turning back to Linder. "If you truly wished to know why I came for you in person...I am here to settle a score. A payback, if you will."

"And what business does a commoner like me have with a great sorceress?" he asked.

"How humble you are," she said with a grin that soon vanished. "It has got to do with the ravens-- these foul creatures you command, and the harm they brought upon the one I love."

Linder found it hard to believe such a thoroughly corrupt soul could feel anything at all, let alone affection.

When she looked up, her eyes blazed with a cold fire. "I set out to burn all of those wretched birds, but there are far too many. And so I decided to take it up with their king."

Avalyn's eyes narrowed and hands clenched. The essence of the magic she commanded, it was not of the forces of nature or sorcery crafted simply for assault. Instead it reeked of death, divine powers stolen, drained from a Goddess. His own patroness.

Her magic spread through the air and the flowers hanging from the creepers along the walls withered. It smote the cobbles and grass lining them yellowed and shrivelled before his eyes. The severed head of the High Sorcerer, lodged in the roadside gutter up till now, degraded to a bare white skull. Even as the lethal wave progressed toward him in a flurry of shattered cobbles and flying splinters, the Vasaeni resumed their attacks.

Linder's sword sliced the rain in a wide, sweeping motion, and ravens darted, mimicking the movement of his weapon. They charged where he urged them to, tearing through the dead flesh of the attackers.

For the first time in Byton, it rained black.

Yet the onslaught could achieve little against Avalyn, for she remained encased in a whirlpool of sorcery.

As another bright flash rended the sky, realization dawned on him as the city lit up for a lingering second.

Of course the ravens fail to overpower her.

She enslaves and drains their mistress, ever weakening their strength.

"Bow before me, mortal wretch!" she screamed in glee, "like your Goddess has already done!"

Yet she still bled red from where splintered stones struck her. Like a human.

Powerful as she might be, Avalyn was still a mortal. The great steel claymore clutched in his hand was enough to finish her, no matter how useless it might be against her undead servants.

The revelation could not be simpler.

The only two mortals here on this lonesome plain of battle, caught between undeads and immortal messengers of a Goddess, were...him and her. If judgement were to be served today, it would have to be by his sword, not by divine intervention, neither the sudden awakening of dormant magic within him that should conveniently choose this moment to arise.

And it was thus he called for the ravens to disperse.

A great collective reluctance issued from them to hit within his mind, hesitant to leave their master in mortal danger.

Go, he commanded, gently yet effectively. I have another task for you.

The giant cloud of ravens broke overhead. Dull grey light filtered in through the gaps of their beating wings, bearing them away.

For a moment, Avalyn watched with narrowed eyes.

Next, a harsh, ringing laughter filled the street, and it sounded as though many voices howled in Avalyn's throat, her arms spread wide and wet hair flying in tangled strands as a gust of stormy wind blew forth.

"What a foolish thing to do, to send away your little troop so eager to give you protection!" she said even as she relinquished the rein she had yet held over her powers. "At least they could have...delayed your demise."

"Perhaps I do not want it delayed. Perhaps I am, as you say, a cowardly hero eager for escape!" Linder shouted through the roaring downpour. He clutched his sword grip with both hands, heaving the large blade aloft before him, ready for what was to come. "If so, then finish me! You wished to seize the throne of Draedona? Then bring my death!"

And so it came. A mountainous blow of pure lethal magic came rushing like the enormous waves of an angry sea, dead set upon drowning any vessel that dared set sail across it. It obliterated the street, stripping off and shattering the cobbles, prying poles off their feet, tearing to shreds the colourful flags that hung overhead.

No blade, not even the sacred ones could withstand this. Linder dodged to roll to the side, but what should have been a swift movement was turned into him slamming against a wall, for the magic tossed him about like a giant hand.

Linder saw darkness as his head bashed hard against stone, limbs colliding painfully onto the rough surface. Bones protested painfully and ribs cracked. Blood trickled down his brow to obscure his vision.

And through that bloody haze, one slender figure approached him. Closer. Within the reach of my sword.

"This is easier than I thought, it seems," said Avalyn.

Limping, staggering, Linder got to his feet, leaning heavily on his sword. "But here I am, still breathing."

She scoffed. "Then cherish those last few breaths."

But this time, it was Avalyn's turn to be thrown off her feet.

Linder attacked in a clean, swiping blow. She conjured a ward at the very last second, yet it shattered audibly. With surprising agility, the sorceress wheeled back--and a long thin slit appeared across her torso, bursting blood.

She doubled over, and more blood spilled from between her fingers clutched over her wound.

Rain gushed relentlessly as the sky mourned the impending fall of this city. The water was glacial cold, as if the last traces of the long winter just past was falling awash through the heavens. It soothed his aches. His dark hair, now come loose, lay sprawled across his shoulders in damp waves. The water dripping from them was stained red.

Avalyn stared, one eye visible through the curtain of her hair. A small flicker of sorcery suggested she was healing herself.

Linder reached up with one hand to undo the silver clasp at his neck, and threw off his cloak. Wind carried it billowing across the ruined street. Black-dyed leather armour clad his imposing form underneath.

He smiled even as fire-like pain assailed his every sense. "You are less invincible than I thought."

It was at this moment the bells all around the city began to ring.

Not to proclaim the hour, no, but frantic, erratic wails that overpowered the raging storm, warning the city of an approaching danger. The deafening sound reached an ear numbing crescendo. From the royal palace high above, sorcerous fires flared up, faint figures appearing over the precipice.

"Now do you see why I sent the ravens away?" he asked. "My people would have figured something is wrong-- given the havoc you're wreaking. Yet I thought, why not point them all to the very source? After all, great practitioners of sorcery such as you know all too well to disguise yourselves. And that, I must not let happen."

She grinned, teeth all bared in a smile too wide.

"You'll save the city," she said. "But who saves you?"

Without another word, Linder charged again. She must not get even a moment to heal herself.

He could yet stand on his two legs and hold up his sword. A mortal blade, able to rend mortal flesh. He could do it.

Avalyn pulled out a sleek-bladed long-knife that clashed with his sword the next moment, with almost inhuman strength, as though all the lives she'd taken had added their power to hers. Sparks flickered even in the rain.

She and Linder came eye to eye, the two blades trembling in battle between their slender, dark figures in the grey rain. Sword against magic. Warrior against sorceress.

Hopeless bravery against cold vengeance.

Only now he understood why her power felt enormous. It was he who was at the end of his strength. His head throbbed with a dull ache, the muscles in his arms and legs begging for rest. Blood ran freely from the flesh wounds he'd taken.

"They'll remember you as a hero. Maybe even sing your glory," said Avalyn, a slow smile spreading across her lips. "But those won't bring you peace in the land of Draedona--the afterlife I've created."

And with that, she pulled away.

For a moment, the raindrops seemed to hover in the air. A streak of thunder spread across the sky, falling still. The mad ringing of the bells ceased.

There came her final blow like a storm.

Linder raised his claymore in a last attempt at an honorable end. The steel blade shattered in two.

The wave swept him away, dragging him, broken and bloodied and bruised across the dirt so hard a furrow split open across the bare earth. But that was not the end of his pains.

He loosed great cry, robbed of all dignity, hands pressed against his eyes. It was as though someone had plunged rusty needles into them both. His eyes seemed to melt in their sockets. Blood leaked, hot and stinging down his face. All he could see was darkness.

He was going blind, the silver rain fading out of his vision. He discerned footsteps through the storm, now blowing with a renewed rage.

Avalyn was standing right over him, looking lovingly at the destruction she'd made.

"An eye for an eye, so they say. I say two!" A mad, shrill laugh echoed.

She let her magic flow ever stronger, raising the pain evermore. "How's it feel, O King of the Ravens? To pay for the crimes of your subjects?"

Linder groped around at his belt, but found nothing to defend himself with. He cursed himself for depending so singularly upon his sword, he had not even a dagger.

In his darkening vision, he saw Avalyn lean closer to watch, hunched with her hands on her knees, a grim embodiment of misery. She was so close. So within range of a weapon-- any weapon. A sharp rock. A broken cobble. Anything would do, screamed his desperate mind.

Then he found it.

His bloody fingers closed around the raven feather quill in his pocket, the companion that never left his side. Its pointed, silver nib shimmered. Ink flowed freely from the Historian's quill.

Linder almost chuckled through the pain, when he remembered what Farren had said about it.

"Bad omen, things like those. Ravens are the harbingers of death, and you're carrying that blasted thing around in your pocket."

Yet it might just save our kingdom today, my dearest.

"Would you like me to put you out of your misery, Chosen One?" crooned Avalyn. "It won't hurt at all, I promise."

But Linder was not listening. That unfinished sentence from the ancient letter Royal Sorcerer Marches had recovered floated before his now unseeing eyes. Now was his chance to finish that statement.

Draedona's champion is prepared for...

Sacrifice, answered Linder.

If a pawn was what the Goddess made of him, he would play that role.

But he would take out the queen before he went down, swept off the enormous board spanning mortal and immortal realms.

In a sudden motion, he threw himself forward and plunged the quill into her neck, the sharp nib tearing through flesh and into vessels. Eyes bulging in shock, she struggled in vain, clawing her nails across his face. Yet Linder did not relent. Even with the last of his strength, he held on.

Ink and blood mingled in a surreal stream.

Avalyn fell to her knees, crimson splatters gushing from her throat slit open. The runoff that drained into the sewers today changed colour once more, turning from black to a beautiful red.

✦✧✦✧

"What do you make of this, Marches?"

"A bit too late to blame the storm as a bad omen, I would say."

Princess Lysandra lowered the hood of her raincape, and turned to Second Lieutenant Audryn, currently serving as a commander of the amalgamated company of soldiers and mercenaries, those of whom had opted to stay at Byton.

"Shut the gates and have the City Watch patrol the walls," she said. "And see if Sergeant Linder requires reinforcement."

With a curt nod, the soldier dashed off.

Rain lashed at the battlements the two stood upon, and below was a city in ruins. A strange explosion had shaken a street just down the upper district.

Once the ravens arrived, hoarse cries speaking of a warning that to them was all too obvious, he'd sensed a malevolent sorcerous presence not far from the upper district. Masked as it was, it grew strong, as though in battle. Yet moments ago, it...vanished.

It simply flickered out of existence.

Marches had thought whoever it was, Sergeant Linder had certainly succeeded in overpowering them. But he had been wrong-- for perhaps the first time in his working experience.

"Is it gone then?" urged Lysandra sensing his disquiet. "The threat you detected?"

The Royal Sorcerer hid his hands inside his sleeves to conceal their shaking.

"It returns ever stronger, Your Highness."

A roiling black shadow rose from where the threat had risen and vanished earlier, throwing the entire city under darkness.

What use is it to shut the city gates, if the siege ensues from within?

Thus commenced the Spring Fest day, twelve grim bells from Rhilio's temple tolling the dark hour.

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