The well-oiled doors were silent. A lantern hung from the tall ceiling swung with more noise than the hinges, pushed by the breeze. The low-angled sun sent their long shadows ahead of them, black marks against the wooden floor.

It was empty. The wooden pillars and rafters holding up the tall ceiling where what most filled the near deserted room, which looked so much like a meadhall, and almost yearned to be filled with idling, drinking warriors. Redmun felt a sudden pang of disappointment; he hadn't expected to find it so empty. Jessa shut the door behind them, and together descended the few steps from the wooden boards to the stone floor in the centre.

A few trophies stood proud on the walls – the skull of the almost-human centaur, a set of scales from a Grey Dragon, the helm of an old Dead March general, the eyes still glowing with the trapped spirit’s power – alongside a few banners of the old kingdom. Beyond the savagery there, the room was barren. Save for one soul.

“Excuse me,” Redmun said, seeing the ancient house keeper, drinking his tea at a side table. Faded eyes glanced up, his face deformed under all the wrinkles and warts. But there was a keenness in his eye that brought dignity to him even in his final, ugly twilight. “Excuse me,” Redmun said again, genuinely sorry to disturb the man from his rest. “I have questions, if you’ll answer them.”

“When came thee here, honoured sister and brother?” The man asked. His voice was like ripping dry paper, but pleasant in its own way.

“Only this morning, old brother,” Jessa replied, crossing her hands behind her back.

The man raised one of his gnarled fingers, and pointed to the far end of the hall. “The board will tell. If thee need more, only return.” He nodded as he spoke, then returned to his tea, his quivering hands barely holding the cup long enough for a sip.

Redmun moved to the board in question. It was an enormous thing, near an entire wall covered with sheets of paper and proclamations from across the land. His eyes picket out the closest at hand: the most recent list of caravans seeking protection; the list of Evil Species most in need of culling, and the reward for each one slain; the progress and estimations for the next Dead March – only a year to go, by most estimates – along with reports from the Wet Woods, which was as much as a threat for Hollow Grove as the Dead March was for Khelvorias. There was, of course, a corner of the board used exclusively to list the recent dead in their order. Part of Redmun hoped that Rose’s name had already passed through that list – the bitch was certainly old enough – but they’d check that only as a last resort.

There was one piece that covered most of that wall. A printed poster – a truly rare thing.

ATTENTION ALL

BY ORDER OF THE THREE KINGS AND THE RULING EMELIA KHELVORIAS WITH THE FULL AUTHORITY OF ADRIS ARCHWALD.

All capable Possessors not assigned to essential duties are ordered to report to any Three King's Redoubt Guild Hall immediately, save those in Habrack.

DO NOT ENTER HABRACK

It was very rare for a Possessor to be ordered to do anything. If such a thing did happen, it was quiet, and between only the Possessor, and their handler. For such a proclamation to order every Possessor that read it – and using the Three King's and the Ruling Emilia Khelvorias' authority to do so – meant dire, dire things were happening. And Redmun could only think of one thing that could be.

“When did they all leave?” Redmun asked the old keeper from across the room.

“Last night.” The old man strained to look up across the distance, his curved back obviously painful from the effort.

“Do you know who was here? I'm looking for someone.”

“I may.” He coughed, then coughed some more. He tried keeping his eye contact, but he had to put his hands on the table to keep a hold of his convulsing body, and only stopped the fit when Jessa rushed over and held the tea to his lips. He sat, leaning against the table, taking deep breaths, his fragility horribly plain. With a grunt he cleared his throat, then looked up at them once more as though nothing had happened. “I might,” he said again. “Who is it thou art after?”

“A woman called Rose,” said Jessa. “She might be your age, maybe a bit younger.”

The man grinned, showing his two – or perhaps she saw three – teeth. “Rose? After her, are thee?”

“You know her then?” Redmun said, folding his arms.

“Of course I do.” He said, then curled his ball into his fist, then slammed it into the boarded wall beside him. “Rose! Someone ‘ere for thee!”

Redmun stared at the wall, uncomprehending. Then, with horror.

“Tell them to fuck off,” a woman’s voice answered from the other side.

Yes, that was Rose. A sudden fear gripped Redmun. He hadn't seen his mother in years, and despite the fury he felt at her, that old terror choked his throat. It was a struggle to take even the first step forward. He could barely make himself grip the handle.

“Wouldn't bother her if I were you,” the old man said, peering over his cup. “Not a good one to rile up. Dangerous.”

Redmun looked down at his hand, daring the thing to turn. Instead he looked at the old man, meeting the yellowing eyes. “I know. She's my mother.”

The handle turned, and Redmun stepped into the dark. A single candle flickered atop a bedside. Beside it, a book held up by wrinkled hands. It lowered, and Redmun met his mother's gaze. She smiled, wide.

“Well, hello!” Rose spoke almost like an actual mother might greet her beloved son. It cut deep. She opened her mouth to say more – the hurtful barb he knew was coming – but he cut her off.

“I've found Gelstadt. Not here. Come on.” He turned, shut the door, and walked out of the building.

The building held him up as he shivered against the cold stone, trying to recapture the anger and determination he'd had just a few moments ago. Jessa came out just behind him, putting a hand to his shoulder.

“Is she even going to come?”

“She'll come.” Redmun knew his mother, and he didn't want to dig deep enough inside his memories to explain it. He knew her very, very well. He just hoped she didn't figure him out. He'd changed, and changed a lot, but that woman was like a child with a hammer, chisel, and magnifying glass. She'd find any and all cracks and strike them strong, precisely, and repeatedly. Gods know I have enough cracks right now to worry about. Just seeing her made him shrink down inside, a pitiful child just waiting for the next blow to land.

They waited in silence, watching the mingling mid-day crowds pass. None came near the hall. They all looked happy, or at least preoccupied, which came to about the same in most Possessor's estimations. All that would end soon, if news came from the north. How bad were things there already? Gelstadt must have done something dire to have warranted such a response, and it would take another few days to travel their way up to Habrack. How many would be dead by then?

The doors opened behind them, and Rose stepped out with light, whimsical steps. “So then, my son,” she said with a smile that was all cruelty, “found your Father have you? About time. And now you've come running back to me. Why? Want me to deal with it? Don't have the balls?” That smile grew only wider.

Cowardice blossomed inside. He shoved it down. “Not here. Do you have somewhere where we can speak privately?” Don't challenge her directly. Sidestep around. Address her from the side. Where was the anger? The fury and accusations? The need to bring the wretched whore to justice? It was there, but underneath that fresh layer of fear.

“Hah,” Rose barked with a tilt of the head. “You've grown. Good boy.” Then she walked between them and down the steps. “Come on then, you invalid. Let's hear it.”

She set off down the street, walking with that hips-swaying gait she'd out-aged almost as soon as Redmun had been born. Her red hair had fallen mostly to white. Her face and neck had sprouted wrinkles. Her slender, wiry-strong figure was just as deceptive as ever, tight beneath her leather armor. Her right sleeve had been removed, but the left hand was covered and gloved. That she would be so courteous as to hide her molten limb in the city was new.

Rose led them at least two miles, out of central Travven, past the residential areas, and into the slums. Down an alley, between the shacks, the ground underneath their feet a mixture of dirt and filth. She turned again, into what could only be described as an alley's alley, a passage only two or three feet wide, and then into a door barely distinguishable from the rotting boards. She left it open for them, and so they entered.

The first light to hit that dark room was the unleashing of Rose's molten hand. It touched a candle, and more light came. She dropped the leather-bound book to a table and sat at it. There was a bed, the table, and nothing else in that cramped space.

“I didn't know you read,” Redmun said, sitting across from her, and nodding at the book. “Where'd you get it?” Much too fancy a thing for her to have bought, unless she was working again. Even with these living quarters, she might be. Rose never cared where she slept, only where she drank.

“Won it,” Rose said. “Where'd you get that?” She pointed up at Jessa. “Pretty penny that cost, I bet.”

“You've met once before, I think, the last time we saw each other,” Redmun said. “At the start of the Dead-March.” He had his hands on the table, clasping each other, and was struggling not to fidget. Just having those eyes on him made his skin crawl.

Rose reached into a pouch by her side, and pulled out an ornate pipe stuffed with herbs. “And where's the old fart, then?” Redmun made sure nothing showed on his face, but Rose knew they'd been close. “Probably dead. That old fart always was a failure.”

“Liander is dead.” The fury was back. Master was a failure? At least he tried. “We killed him.”

Rose looked at him, a blank stare. Then the laughter spilled forth. She flicked her head back, even bracing her stomach with it, and laughed. Her laugh had always full and joyous. It was perhaps the best, most wonderful laugh he'd ever heard, and so it cut deeper and bled more poison with each ring.

“You killed him?” She asked, looking between Redmun, and Jessa above him. “Oh, good job. Good job, my boy.”

“Jessa had nothing to do with it,” Redmun said. Rose looked down at him from her laughter, intrigued but certainly prepared to giggle some more. He pointed at his chest, pushing down his scarf in the process. He could see the edge of the light already, and the dark that surrounded it and he wasn't even looking down. “We killed him.”

“Heh,” Rose said, but suddenly looked uncertain. Not that it made much difference, but it was pleasing to see. “Then why's this whore of yours not dead then?” Rose asked, shuffling forward.

Redmun broke eye contact. “We have a deal.” He couldn't see Jessa. Didn't particularly want to.

Rose chuckled, but it was brittle. “So, finally started turning, then?”

“Maybe in the future, but not yet. Not quite,” Redmun said. “But I know where Father is. And I think I have a plan to beat him.”

“I didn't realize beating him was a problem. Is that why you've come to grab me? Not strong enough two versus one?” She folded her arms against her chest, her molten flesh not hurting her boiled leather, or skin. “I'll admit Redmun, I'm amazed you're not dead, but I'm betting that's got more to do with that thing in your chest than anything you did. That thing was always the best part of you, and it's still creepy as all shit.”

It was a struggle not to rise to her mocking. Still bubbling underneath his nerves was the distinct need to dive across the table and bash her skull against the stone until there was nothing left to grip, that old, cold rage from his childhood that he'd never realized.

“That call to Habrack you ignored?” Redmun said, forcing the conversation forward. “That was Gelstadt. He's probably through the wall already. Looking for you.”

It took her a full minute to recover from that. Redmun refrained from smiling and simply held his serious, calm demeanor. But Gods did he want to smile into that rotten, wretched face of hers, to bask in unsettling her, at least once more in his life. When she did recover, she'd become the Rose that Redmun remembered best. The Rose that came out when the time for jokes was done. This was the Rose that entered combat with a stride that seemed to sprinkle her mercilessness across the battlefield with every flowing step. The Rose that had finished trying to teach her son a lesson, and thought it time to beat it into him.

She sat up from her slouch, put her hands on the table – careful to keep the fiery arm on her other, and away from the wood – and stopped smiling.

Rose looked down at him penetrating him with her glare, gauging his expression. “Tell me what you know.”

He left out not a single detail. If it came to mind, it was told, including all of his failures with Lutmouth and Cielaine and Dren. It took a few hours from start to finish. When it came to the battle with Gelstadt, and what Redmun learned there, the fire broke through his voice, each word spoken a damning accusation. Rose took it all with a shrug.

“This is all your fault,” Redmun told her once the telling was done.

Rose just smiled. “Maybe. And?”

Kill her, Redmun. The Evil's first words to him since he'd held a knife to his heart. This mother of yours is wretched, beyond saving. We don't need her. Kill her. Burn her alive, and let justice be served. Redmun said nothing to either of them, just glared at Rose. She waved her hand at him as if he were accusing her of stealing a bit of bread.

“You're right, of course. The man despises me. I can distract him, if he's really still there.”

“He is, at least a little,” Redmun said. “I'm assuming that's enough for you.”

“That's fine,” Rose said. Rose took a deep breath, brought hands up into a fold once more, and looked at Jessa. “And what'll be your job then, hmm? Moral support? Certainly got enough support to share, don't ya?” Her tongue bathed her lips, her eyes fixed on Jessa's breasts.

“I'll do whatever is needed,” said Jessa. “Don't you worry about me.”

Rose bit her lip. “Oh but darling, I can't help but worry about you. I bet Redmun can't either, aye boy? Mmm.”

“That's enough, Rose,” Redmun said. “Are you in, then?”

“Of course I'm in, you fucking idiot,” she said, slamming the table. “This is what I made you for, boy. Finding your fucking father is why I spent so much time and money training you. Just because you got yourself Possessed by some unthinkable Evil doesn't mean the job doesn't need doing. Just means – as always, you little shit – I have to fix what you've done.” She scoffed, standing, and reached under the bed returning with a half-full bottle. “Just like your father,” she said, mostly to herself but loud enough for him to hear. That was how she always told him the things that would hurt him most – as though she was speaking to herself. “Should have just killed you as a babe, saved myself the trouble. Saved everyone the fucking trouble.” The bottle emptied into her mouth in a single draught, which Rose followed up with a hellish burp. Her hand disappeared beneath the bed and found another, full bottle.

The two Possessors watched the old woman's mad performance for a minute or so before Redmun stood. Jessa was already out the door. “We'll get you in the morning.”

“Ah, as you please. Now piss off.”