Eris had an excellent memory.

To recall the precise arrangement of the arcane indentations in a spellbook, to never forget the method for casting a spell: these were useful gifts for a magician. But for an adventurer it was better still to always remember a face; to never forget a picture or place; to know for certain what words were said and when. She was not humble enough to recognize the deficiencies in her abilities as an outdoorswoman or charismatic negotiator—or, even, to recognize she wasn’t the world’s greatest magician, except in the direst of circumstances—yet she was right to be assured of this particular talent for recollection. It was always valuable, even if not perfectly infallible.

The Arktids hadn’t known her when she and Robur were captured, but they recognized her as she was dropped to the frozen earth at the Chieftain’s feet. No doubt surprise at her surviving an encounter with the owlbear was what tempered his rage enough to see her merely restrained, however badly beaten from their short battle, instead of flayed alive and eaten as she knew well she deserved. Thus she was locked away in their most secure holding facility—a keystone vault—and left there to rot.

Robur cast the Wisdom of the Sages on her when she was next brought before the Chieftain. It had been three days in captivity and neither were fed once in that time. To use the spell on another was a taxing ritual for the caster, yet vital for their survival. Eris did her best to think clearly.

“But I am no magician,” she professed, “you see my eyes clearly! I am a mundane woman!”

“It was you who stole the Holy Book, human,” the Chieftain snarled back at her. “I know you by your scent.”

“Yes, but—I was not in control. A spirit, the Essence of a manawyrm, had commandeered my body to steal your book. I could do nothing but watch. It was only with the help of my friend Robur that the spell was broken and I was freed and rendered as myself again!”

The Chieftain stared downward, glancing back and forth between the humans at his feet. Eris had no idea whether or not he believed her story, but clearly the change in her eyes—and perhaps some subtle change to her scent—had him confused.

He kneeled down to her level. “What became of it? Was it truly destroyed?”

She glanced away, bracing for whatever followed. “Yes.”

The Chieftain recoiled. Reading his expressions were like trying to deduce a dog’s mood without its tail. After a moment its paws clenched onto themselves. He grabbed her shoulder, claws digging into her skin. The next words came in a low growl that somehow still made their meaning clear:

“What. Happened?”

“I do not know everything, I swear!” she did her best to play the victim, pleading for mercy, fearful though she was actually very calm, “but as far as I know—the book bore powerful, ancient enchantments, and when their magic was siphoned for the wyrm’s purposes, the pages were destroyed.”

“…an interesting story…if it can be believed. If it is true, your spirit has my apologies; for a crime as grave as this even a puppet must face the ultimate penalty.”

He tossed her to the ground. From a rope tied around his waist he retrieved what appeared to be a finely-made Dwarven hatchet.

“Wait! I know the book’s secrets! They stayed with me, even after the wyrm was banished! With your leave and the correct supplies I may write you another—in fact I may translate the meaning of what was hidden within to you, meaning which you and your kind never might have learned if not for me!”

The Chieftain stepped back again. A sigh. The hatchet slid back into his rope sash. He turned to an advisor at his side. The two exchanged whispers. Eris took the chance to continue,

“I can prove it to you! The illustrations—I recall them clearly, and can reproduce them. Bring me ink and parchment and I will show you.”

He appraised her. She heard the advisor whisper, “Warchief. What is there to lose?”

A low growl. “Very well, human. Prove your knowledge of the Holy Book. And if you fail…”

He kneeled down to her level and showed her the claw on one of his paws. Holding it right before her eyes.

She nodded.

That was why the gray-faced Arktid Chieftain handed her an empty journal, a vial of ink, and sealed her back in her vault. No doubt they remembered the ‘wyrm’s’ terrible magic, though in truth a flimsy bamboo cage would’ve been sufficient to hold Eris at the moment.

Her explanation was a lie, but her claim was not. She had her memory even as her magic left her—and she remembered the tome’s illustrations well.

She also had her notes. Not many, she kept only the few she thought might be most important, but even one page was enough to help her memory back to Spring. It took some persuasion to convince the Arktids to let her have her backpack so she could retrieve them, but she did, and she set about her task. Robur was taken from her sight and not retrieved, but fragments of the Wisdom of the Sages lingered, and as the days passed she learned to understand their language. To speak it herself was more challenging, but communication was far from impossible.

She didn’t worry about him overmuch. He still had his magic. She was focused on her own task.

She remembered the various portraits from the tome best. Eris was no savant; her memory was excellent, but not eidetic. She could hardly see every detail exactly how it was. But then what were the chances the Arktids would if she could not? She proceeded to the best of her ability, and that was still a good standard.

Another point for her memory: illuminations. All apprentices at the Tower learned to illuminate manuscripts as children, mostly to see who would be best suited to learn the magical techniques involved in scribing spellbooks. Such a fate did not appeal to Eris even as a child; she had done poorly when it mattered on purpose, so that she might be overlooked. But in fact she had talent as an artist, and with her small two semesters of training it was enough to create a good facsimile of the illustrations in the tome.

The Chieftain was impressed. When she presented another, he was overjoyed—convinced, perhaps delusional, that Eris would be able to recreate the tome in full given time.

She did not intend to abrogate his expectations.

The writing on the pages were gibberish without Wisdom of the Sages, so she recreated that gibberish as best she could with help of her notes. Of course it was all pointless as an exercise when she lacked Manastone ink and had no ability to recreate the enchantments which lended the tome its true value, but she hoped the Arktids wouldn’t know the difference.

The Chieftain visited her often for the course of a week. He kept the vault’s keystone on a string around his neck. At first he was prone to violence, yet her story had him deceived. It was always easy lying to those desperate to believe. While he never grew so comfortable with her that he let her out from her cage, over the course of her week in captivity his faith in her story eclipsed his reason.

She presented a page of nonsense chickenscratch—very elegantly scribed, yet meaningless—to him upon one visit. Slowly she attempted to make the noises of the Arktid language in her human mouth. It took patience.

“The sense of this paper,” she tried to explain, “is of the Totem of Seers who aided the warchief of these woods many ages ago…”

Et cetera. With aid of her notes she managed to delve more into specifics with each visit, and soon she wasn’t even lying. The reconstruction of the tome had her obsessed. She almost believed she could do it. Even better, her efforts were close enough to the original that the Chieftain believed them true reproductions.

It became apparent to her presently that the Arktids had searched for a prophet who might decipher the book since it came into their paws generations ago. Not having magicians of their own, and being on poor terms with humans given the mutual instinct for one to view the other as food, they never completed their task. Until now.

“The wyrm was a presage of good fortune to come,” the Chieftain told her. “We are blessed by the woods! Tell me more!”

“Are you sure you wish to know? To have these secrets rot?” she replied. “You and I—we are not Seers of the Old Tribe, but men and Arktids; and being such lowly flesh, it is not fit for us to know such things.”

She did know how to excite enigma. Such statements drove the Chieftain wild, of course, and demanding of more explanation.

She found herself with leverage.

“To end my job,” she told him, “I will need more. Better feathers for quills, and more paper. If I am to stay here I will also need pillows and blankets…and silk, to keep warm, and a diet of meat only. Humans do not eat plants, I will starve…”

She forgot to mention Robur until the second week in captivity. But once the thought occurred to her, she was certain to receive guarantees of his safety, too. It seemed prudent.

All that was how she found herself imprisoned in a velvet cell one winter day. Now healed and well-fed (and well-clothed) she had spent at least a week on her project. Every day, all day, she did nothing else, except improve her understanding of her captor’s language where she found the chance. Thoughts of the future melted away under focus. If she did this thing, perhaps an opportunity to escape would present itself.

Beneath her concentration and outward warmth for the Arktids, however, she felt nothing but hatred for them. When she spoke to the Chieftain, she never hesitated to imagine his head on a pike. Once she was free, once her powers were restored, she would be back for vengeance.

But as it was she remained hard at work, even when she heard the door to her cell screech open. It sounded like an owlbear robbing a bank. Brute force overcoming enchantment—nothing at all like the true way such a vault was meant to be open. Yet to dispel such an enchantment a spell would be needed, and the only person Eris knew with such magic was Robur. Robur, or the Seeker himself—

That was who she expected to see on the other side. And what was there for her to do? Call for the guards? She stared, heartrate climbing, trapped like a cornered animal.

The door came to a stop. She stumbled backward when she caught a glimpse of him: the blond man with the sword, a jade ward on his wrist. But there was nothing to be done now—nowhere to escape—

Then she saw the elf behind him. The colossal female elf, stretched in furs and leathers and strips of mail, a sword in her hands; and she saw Robur behind her, and she looked again at the Seeker, and she realized he wasn’t the Seeker at all.

He was a tall man, three or four inches taller than her, with spectacularly broad shoulders. His hair was long and messy, swept back for now, and his face overgrown with stubble on a square, masculine jawline. His armored jacket mostly destroyed, his shirt was ripped beneath, revealing the flawlessly sculpted musculature beneath, like the tanned cuirass off an ancient suit of armor…

“Eris,” he said.

After so many miserable nights with Kauom and Robur, after a year of witless company, after months of constant setbacks, she had longed for Rook to swoop back down upon her. Then she might have someone to talk to again. Someone to trust. Someone to, perhaps, do other things with…

In light of more recent companions Aletheia seemed no large burden. In fact she had never intended to leave in the first place; it was a bluff that Rook called, and so great was Eris’ pride that she felt no choice but carry through. She regretted it often. But the past was sealed. The damage done. She had accepted a full year ago that she would never see him again. Her fantasies of reunion were nothing more than that.

And yet, here he stood. She took a breath to speak, her mouth opened, but she couldn’t find any words—her shock was too complete. She felt certain this was a hallucination, or a girlish dream that would end with her and Rook intertwined on her bed several seconds from now.

Certain, until she saw the two dead Arktid guards at the feet of Robur and Astera. That was when she knew. First, that no fantasy of her involved either of the two of them; second, that her fantasy of escape did not involve the destruction of her own plans.

“Eris,” Rook said again, “we need to go now.”

“You fools!” she snapped, finally, pointing at the fallen sentries. “Why did you kill the guards!”

That was her first response. A brief fit of apoplexy. Yet when she realized Rook was Rook, that they were together again at last, it all dissolved away. Massive relief overcame her. She was overjoyed to see him. ‘Happy’ seemed a trite description, and yet…

She was resolute to seem angry anyway.

“They were in the way,” Robur said.

“I had won their Chief to my side! Do you have any notion what you have spoiled? Weeks of ingratiation—”

“They were torturing you,” Astera said.

“Do I appear tortured to you, elf?”

“Fight later,” Rook said, stepping forward. His eyes met hers. He put a hand on her shoulder. His touch shocked her in the cold air. “Leave now.”

There was something about his confident manner that made her want to comply at once. She did not like it. She wanted to be in control. She was in charge, not him.

She found it very challenging to feign anger when meeting his eyes. She was too relieved to be near him again. That didn’t stop her from trying.

“Wait!” she said. “How did you enter?”

Rook glanced to Astera. “We climbed a tree,” he said, “I expect a fight on the way out. We—your eyes.”

“Your Essence,” Astera said. “I cannot sense it.”

“As I was explaining—” Robur attempted again, but Eris cut him off

She stared at Rook. “An illness. I cannot use my magic, I will explain more later.”

“Can’t use magic?” Rook said.

“Temporarily,” she added. She began gathering her backpack. “Now. There are things we cannot leave behind here. My jade ward is in the possession of the Chieftain, as is my Manastone circlet and my glove. Robur’s possessions are most likely in his hut.”

“Possessions can be replaced,” Rook said. “We’ve wasted enough time already.”

Barring the ward and circlet, she had persuaded the Chieftain to return her jewelry to her. But she didn’t intend to leave the rest behind.

“No,” she said. “These things are too valuable to abandon. We must retrieve them.”

“Then a fight will be required,” Astera said.

“‘Tis not my fault you disrupted my plans. I was well on course to freeing myself, with all my things, before you arrived with a sword in hand.

Rook tugged her out of the vault once she was re-equipped. He was irritatingly resolute not to argue. “Can you fight?” he said to her.

She shook her head. Rook grimaced. He pulled the jade ward off his wrist; then he pulled her wrist forward, forced her palm to open, placed the wristband within, and closed her fingers.

She was touched enough not to inform him that the Arktids did not use steel weapons and that the ward would do no good—and selfish enough not to feel the need. With that kind-hearted gesture completed he also handed her a dagger from his belt. That she took happily.

“Do you know of where this Chieftain makes his roost?” Astera whispered as they headed back down the corridors of the underground complex.

“I would try the largest structure outside,” Eris said. “They prefer not to live within the ruins themselves, or so I believe.”

“Then once we have reached safety, I will come back alone to recover your things.”

“That leaves much to your dubious abilities, elf—”

Eris never finished the thought, for the moment they found the corridor with a view of the domed entrance, they realized a fight would come sooner before later. Two juvenile Arktids were already charging their way toward the vault, no doubt to check on Eris, and they howled in alert when they spotted the party. The hall was too narrow for more than one at a time; the Arktid at the front charged toward Astera with its spear leveled, but she conjured a bolt of ice and tossed it like a javelin.

The creature fell to its knees at once and was easily finished off. Its backup stopped at the display of magic and fled, roaring, back toward the village’s surface level.

“Catch him!” Rook shouted.

Astera made chase. The party followed—but they were much too late. By the time they reached the room with the pedestal, the Arktid, who was faster than a human, had raised the alarm. He made it up to the surface—and all the sentries from the village poured down through the turtle’s neck. Six of them piled down the stairs, leveled spears, and formed a ring around the party.

The domed room became very cramped.

The Chieftain pushed past one of the creatures. He pulled a spearbearer aside to make himself more visible.

“Seeress,” he growled. Even she could tell there was pain on his voice. “Have you betrayed us again?”

“What’s he saying?” Rook said.

“Be quiet!” Eris said. She turned toward him. “My words were true, but my tribe has come to free me.”

“Liar!” the Chieftain roared.

“My job stays in the vault! I tell the truth! Now—you must let us go, or many more of your tribe will fall. Even if you win, the cost is not worth it.”

Eris realized then the reason she managed to fool the Arktids so easily. They were chimeric combinations of men and bears, no doubt able to trace their lineage back to both species. Yet though they were sapient, they were not much more intelligent than their ursine cousins, and they were not prone to reason when rage was an alternative.

The Chieftain let out a primal roar. He raised a hand, revealing again his Dwarven axe, his hatchet. His subordinates did the same with their spears. Roaring. Deafening her. Eris didn’t catch what he commanded next, except for one word:

“Kill!”

Robur was ready for a fight to begin. The moment the Arktids lurched to attack, a red shield flashed before them, and all were knocked backward against the wall in a gust of energy. Astera used the opportunity to slit one staggered bear’s throat, while Rook shouted,

“To the surface!”

He led them past the Chieftain, up the stairs, into the cold wind of Nanos. Astera was engaged in a lightning-fast melee within the domed room, while the Chieftain and three sentries quickly recovered and pursued them upward.

But the ‘neck’ of the turtle, the short staircase, was a chokepoint. Rook stopped there with his sword to fend them off. With Robur’s help he wounded one, and only at the aggression of the Chieftain was he forced backward—

But Robur placed another forcefield in the way, a red barrier holding the Arktids within even as they battered to break free, giving Rook the time he needed to reposition. So the fight went, while Astera inside continued her dance of flashing blades.

Excellent for them, Eris thought. She had other things on her mind. She turned: the village was deserted. From her previous time here last spring she knew hardly more than twenty Arktids called this place home, and some would be away on hunting expeditions. That gave her the room she needed.

She scanned the village for the Chieftain’s hut. All were of primitive construction, but she found the largest soon enough, and she darted toward it.

No door, but a fur hung in an entryway. She pushed past it; on the other side was a surprisingly warm longhouse covered in skins. It was dim—the sun was setting—and she realized only too late that huddled at the foot of a bone-fashioned throne were four more Arktids.

They were very small. Perhaps a quarter the size of the others in the village, yet clearly Arktid all the same. At first Eris thought they were cubs, but when one stood up to approach her she realized they were adult females.

She presented the dagger Rook gave her. “Back,” she commanded. “I am the one who stole your Holy Book. I have slain countless of your tribe with my magic. I will not harm you, yet I shall if I must.”

The largest of the females lowered her head. She said nothing.

Eris looked around. Against one of the room’s walls she saw a chest, metal, of Dwarven make, and she rushed toward it, still holding the dagger toward the females. They were small even compared to her, but with those claws, and in numbers, they could easily subdue her. A sensible person would have fled at their sight. Yet she needed to retrieve her things.

A giant lock clung to the chest’s front. She swore, yet when she tugged at its sides it opened, the mechanism already disengaged.

Within she found the gauntlet. She put it on at once. The jade ward was missing, along with her circlet, but Robur’s backpack was buried beneath various baubles and piles of copper coins. She checked inside: all that truly mattered was this pack. This was why she had risked coming to retrieve their possessions.

Everything had been stolen. All their funds. All their supplies. But tucked away, crumbled right at the bottom of the pack, were slips of paper—pages out of the book which described the manashunt, and notes on how to brew the antipotion. That was what she wanted.

She breathed a sigh of relief and took the backpack. But where were her other things—

She turned back toward the female Arktids.

One, a black bear without any gray, stood cowering behind the female in front. Eris saw then that she was wearing Eris’ circlet. Of course—what good were rings and armlets to bears? But a circlet, a wristlet, those things could be worn.

“Give me that crown,” she commanded, at first in Kathar, then remembering to repeat it in Arktid.

The black bear hesitated.

“Haven’t you taken enough from us already?” the largest female said.

Eris scoffed. “You took that from me. Return it and I shall never have dealings with you again.” They made no response. “Give it to me at once!”

Having no other ideas, she twisted the enchanted ring on her finger which produced a lion’s roar. The sound was deafening. All the females cowered reactively, and the black bear did as she was commanded. She tossed Eris the circlet.

Eris took it, put it in her backpack, and fled back out into the village.

The Chieftain had made it past the forcefield. Now out in the center of the village, not far from where Eris now emerged from behind the hut’s flap, he dueled with Rook. One Arktid was dying on the ground, but in the setting sunlight Eris saw the green of her old jade ward glint on the Chieftain’s wrist. The enraged, massive bear forced Rook farther and farther back.

The forcefield was gone. Robur was on the ground, blood streaking from his nose, struggling to stand up again. Astera stood now in the neck of the turtle, at the chokepoint, fending off even more Arktids who had swarmed from other parts of the complex, into the domed room with the pedestal.

Eris glanced between the two fights, then out in the woods. She could run now…

The Chieftain slashed his hatchet, catching Rook by the shoulder. He yelled in pain.

She stopped pondering. She tightened her grip on her dagger and rushed for the back of the Chieftain. She drove the dagger into his back—

And the blow was deflected, her blade pushed to the side.

The fight continued forward. The Chieftain drove Rook toward the village’s entrance and Eris had to run to keep up. The hatchet raised again; Rook slashed at him, but was forced to do nothing except parry when his blade couldn’t connect. But as the Arktid’s arm came up Eris saw the ward was on his right arm, his dominant arm, and she remembered what a terrible mistake that was.

She waited until the Chieftain was prepared to strike. Then, she lunged again at his back with as much strength as she could, barreling into him. The blade was deflected again, of course, but it was his wrist that took the force of the blow. His arm, not prepared, was twisted to the side, and he snarled in pain, surprised, turning then to see Eris for the first time.

The sight of her enraged him. The hatchet swept for her neck; she ducked just in time. One of his clawed feet struck her in the stomach, but she dived down to the ground, and when the hatchet came down on her stomach—

She gasped in pain as the blow was deflected onto her own wrist. It was enough to daze her, but just then she saw Rook to the Chieftain’s side: he put his sword in two hands and pummeled the Arktid with slash after slash, and with each hit the ward was damaged. The onslaught caused him to turn once again, and Eris used the chance to lunge upward, then driving the dagger downward into his foot.

Something shattered. A shard of stone hit Eris in the forehead—and the blade went straight into the foot.

“Die!” Eris shouted. She stabbed his foot again. He roared, swinging wildly.

Rook slashed his blade into the bear’s furred sternum. It went a quarter of a way into his barreled chest, getting stuck for a moment, before being withdrawn. Rook gave another slash on the Chieftain’s shoulder. Blood spurted outward and the Arktid fell to the ground, finally, forcing Eris to scramble up to her feet to avoid being crushed.

The silence as they panted, catching their breaths, was remarkable. Robur stood now, stumbling in their direction. Eris climbed to her feet. She grabbed the Dwarven hatchet, rushed to Rook, and tugged him up by the arm. “Let’s go!”

Rook was dazed, injured, but he managed to get up to his feet. “Astera,” he muttered.

“Forget her!”

“This isn’t where she dies,” he was delirious, “we don’t leave her yet.”

Eris had no idea what that meant, so the only response she could give was, “What? You are not thinking straight! Come!”

He pushed past her. “Astera!” he called.

Astera caught a swipe from a claw on the edge of her blade, cutting an Arktid’s paw terribly. At the sound of her name she looked over her shoulder, still retreating from the chokepoint. Seeing the way was secured, she darted toward Rook.

A torrent of furious Arktids pursued her. She was drenched in blood and fast as a lion. She made it past Rook quickly, leaving him staring off at the encroaching horde of four more Arktids now streaming their way from underground.

“Let’s go,” he said.

He turned and ran.

The four of them ran through the village’s entrance. Into the gully. Into the snow. Into the forest. They stumbled through frost.

“They keep many sentries,” Astera said as she bounded over snowbanks, effortlessly, but even she was panting.

They climbed the other edge of the gully. Their pursuers were gaining on them, but they were heavy and it was dark and late now, and they sunk deeper into the frosted-over snow than the humans.

“We may encounter even more—” she continued, but she stopped as she came to the top of the ridge, and the rest of them stopped, too, the moment they saw what lied beyond.

Three more sentries. All limp on the ground. The snow, even now in twilight, was covered everywhere in a solid sheet of blood, like all the white was cloth that had now been dyed red. Necks ripped open. Guts exposed. Arms torn off. A polar bear could hardly do so much damage—

And sitting on the snow, staring, wagging his tail, waiting for them to arrive, was Pyraz the Mutt. He barked when he saw them. When he spotted Eris he rushed toward her, bounding, jumping against her, whining. She was so overwhelmed that she kneeled down to pet him. He licked her face—his snout was covered in blood—and nearly pushed her back off the ridge. She was so confused that she could think of nothing to say, but after only a few seconds Pyraz pulled himself away. He looked back down toward the gully.

Now all five of the reunited party stared down at the four Arktids coming after them. They were nearby, but when they saw the unified humans (and elf and dog) they stopped in their tracks.

Eris raised the axe of the Chieftain. Her trophy. She called to them in her best Arktid, “Your warchief is killed! Back! Go! Or you are next!”

One of the Arktids roared, but Eris heard no words.

“Will they follow?” Rook said, panting.

“I do not know,” Eris said.

Astera wiped gore from her eyes. She put her hands together and began conjuring a bolt of energy; she did it clearly, so the Arktids could see, and by now they recognized the sight of casting. They turned—and with that, they fled.

And they were left alone.

They made a fire. It was still very cold. Pyraz rested his head on Eris’ knee. Astera kept watch, Robur was asleep from overcasting, and although neither Rook nor Eris found rest, nothing was said for hours. They treated their injuries in silence. As adrenaline wore off their pain became more pronounced and the desire to converse died down, yet there came a point, when the stars were clear overhead and the aethereal aurora snaked above them, that they had all settled into their agony—that was when Eris finally spoke.

She had noticed Rook’s especial despondence.

“Do not be too upset at their deaths,” she said to him softly. “They do eat people.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, then shook his head. “It’s done either way.”

“Quite sensible,” she replied. She stroked Pyraz’s ears. He was a flea-ridden mongrel, but she was surprised at how grateful she was to see him. That reminded her. “I see you brought one mutt. Where is Aletheia?”

Rook sighed. Immediately she knew something was wrong.

“She’s dead,” he said.

"Oh," Eris said. Of course many companions came and went. For some reason she thought that idiot blonde girl would be a permanent fixture, that she would never die. The words came as some shock, though they brought no sorrow.

That was when Rook told her everything. The whole story of Darom. How they became champions of Sam’al, how they rid Arqa of its spider infestation, and of how Jason and Astera had freed a greater demon from an ancient cage. Stories of undead armies and unkillable vampires, then the encounter, and victory, over Lukon in the forest. Eris could hardly believe the extent of the adventures he had pursued. They made her flounderings in Nanos seem very small indeed.

“That’s why we’ve come searching for you,” he continued. “We must kill Lord Arqa. For that, we’ll need an exorcism. And for that…”

“You will need a magician,” Eris concluded.

He nodded. Then he smiled grimly. “You left us because of Aletheia. I thought you might be willing to reconsider now.”

She considered the proposal, and at once decided it was insane, unreasonable, impossible, and foolish in the extreme. She was aghast that he would even propose it.

“Allow me to clarify," she said. "You have left Darom behind, yes? You are no longer at risk from Lord Arqa. He cannot reach you. He is also a demonic parasite who feeds on human blood, who is invulnerable, who commands legions of the undying, including many monsters and chimeras inhuman, and you wish to go back to that place to slay him—even though ‘tis hundreds of miles away?”

“That’s right.”

“You are an idiot.”

“Eris,” he pleaded, hissing in pain from one of his wounds as he shifted. “Please. We need your help. We have no one else to turn to. You’ve studied the aether. You know demons. You’re talented enough, surely.”

“I have had dealings of my own with demons in the last year, and I know well enough not to trifle with them out of foolish notions of pride and righting past wrongs. What you propose is suicide."

He stared at her, face awash with shock and disappointment. She felt a tinge of guilt suddenly, so she continued,

“And even if I do assist you—it does not matter. My Essence is infected with a shard of a manawyrm. I cannot use magic, and I cannot banish this Lord Arqa.”

That was when she recounted her own adventures, starting at the Kaimas Manastone Mines and her deal with the Manawyrm nearly two years ago. She explained her infection. Explained the danger it posed. Explained how she drank the manashunt, and until a permanent solution was devised she could not risk taking the antipotion.

Rook listened. He never broke eye contact, never seemed disinterested. When she had finished, he frowned.

“What if Astera and I helped you slay this Manawyrm? What if we took you back to Kaimas, into the mines, and killed it?”

Eris paused. Would that resolve the issue? She thought through everything she knew about terrestrial demons like manawyrms; a shard, as far as she knew, could not survive without the beast’s Essence still lingering. Yes, that would work.

She shook her head anyway. “You would need enchanted weaponry. It would be dangerous, even for skilled warriors. I would be of little assistance. The wyrm will be immune to magic.”

“But it could be done. And we could restore your powers.” Restore her powers. She nodded. "If we do this thing for you,” Rook continued, “would you promise to help us defeat Lord Arqa in return?”

This time there was no need to think the offer over. “Yes. If that is what it takes to rid myself on the wyrm, if you are willing to do this for me, I will come with you back to Darom.”

Rook smiled. He took hold of Eris’ hand. “Then we have a deal. Our next stop is Kaimas.” Then he tugged at her wrist, pulling them closer together, and he gave her a brief kiss across the lips.

Even though he reeked of blood and sweat, he still was delicious.

"It's good to see you again, Eris," he said. One more kiss...

And he retreated to his bedroll.

Yet even after he was gone, she shuddered, stunned, staring at him beneath his covers, wondering how it was she had gone so long without him, then frustrated she felt so good to be in the presence of another. That was a gross infringement on her autonomy. She wanted to be purely independent. And yet even after she averted her gaze and closed her eyes and tried hopelessly to fall asleep, she could think of nothing else except for him.

Clearly kissing was not enough to clear her mind. If she was going to travel with Rook again, she needed much more from him. Then she might be free of this obsession, this obsession she had almost shaken when he reappeared before her from the aether. She damned him in frustration for it all through the night. She worked herself into a fury, building up straw huts of hatred. But come the next morning, her heart fluttered when she saw him rise, and she realized she had neither the will nor desire to loath this unbelievably handsome man. She was simply grateful to be back in his presence again.