The day was bright and the sun shone freely on the afternoon that Bridgit Canliss rode the stretch of southern road that led to the demon witch's lair.
Bridgit was new to the surcoat of the Lissian Knights, and eager to break a lance in service to Queen and country. The lush queendom of Aqueliss was a jewel box, rich in resources from the bustling western seaport to thriving ore-laden mountains, dense thriving forests bounding the northern reaches and a fertile southern valley. Their land was also low-hanging fruit for monsters, which sprang from every direction to sweep across the defenseless populace.
In ancient times, Queen Arcathia's response to the constant peril of monstrous outbreaks was the formation of the Lissian Knights, whose sole purpose was taking up arms against the monsters that plagued the land. From that time forward, the lady knights served the people and kept them safe in their peaceful pursuits.
Bridgit, tall and strong-limbed, had grown up with tales of the Lissian Knights and had wanted to join their ranks since childhood. At the earliest age possible, she had applied for entrance to the exclusive order, and rejoiced in being accepted to the demanding rigors of training. She grew into strength and fierceness as she excelled at each challenge set to her, and kept her black hair long as a taunt to those opponents who might think they could use it against her in a fight.
The request from Sheaf, a remote southern community, had been received by the head of Bridgit's order the very day she had received her red and black surcoat—the garment that marked her a full Lissian Knight once she drew it over her armor. Bridgit was duly rewarded with the quest in service of proving her worthiness to the sword and shield she had taken up.
She sang a sprightly ballad as her enormous black charger, Obsidian, pranced along the road at a brisk trot. Bridgit had been riding for days, but the end of her journey was in sight at last. The sun was hot on her armor and she was sweating into the quilted padding that kept her armor from grinding against sensitive flesh. The breeze from the south was fragrant, though, and it kept Bridgit braced as she anticipated what to expect upon arrival.
Demon witches were rarely encountered in practice, and Bridgit only heard of them as she learned methods of dealing with that type of monster alongside all the others in the extensive bestiary of fiends that plagued Aqueliss. Her plan was to charge in wielding her righteous sword, vanquish the monster that had beset Sheaf, and set aside her arms in time for tea.
Bridgit knew that her confidence was not unfounded. She'd finished her squirehood with highest marks, and her apprentice knighthood at the top of the class. Great things were expected of her, and so it would be the greatest of achievements to which she would set her spurs. This was only the first embossed mark upon her shield.
Signposts guided her from the open, sunny meadows onto a track that had seen less use, and from there Bridgit followed the landmarks provided in the missives from Sheaf. Before the hour was out, Obsidian was prancing down a wooded lane that provided relief in its cool atmosphere. The woods were shadowed, and Obsidian's hoofbeats were muffled by the denseness of surrounding foliage. Bridgit kept a hand to the hilt of the sword at her chain-mailed hip, alert for ambush.
It never came. After a meandering ride through vine and moss-covered hills, they happened upon a neatly-thatched single-story cottage within the woods. It met the description of the demon witch's abode from the letters that the residents of Sheaf had sent, pleading for a knight.
Bridgit called up her knowledge on demon witches. She was wary of traps, and drew her sword with a steely rasp. This particular demon witch had plagued the children of Sheaf with nightmares, stealing their tears to feed her sinister third eye. It fit with the lore that Bridgit had learned. Demon witches were a distinct breed from either demon or witch, and all the more formidable and crafty for it.
She prowled toward the front gate, a gaily-painted wooden construction in layered colors and symbols that reminded Bridgit of similar craftwork in towns near the Queen's capital. She hesitated, looking for wards or other evidence of spells that would blast her off her feet or strike her down with powerful dark magic. With slow, cautious movements, Bridgit withdrew a crystal from her hip pouch and passed it along the gate and its latch, dowsing for hidden spells.
Nothing manifested, and Bridgit drew in a relieved breath.
She eased the latch open, keeping her sword gripped low. Her approach to the house was equally quiet, and she was glad for the well-oiled state of her armor that kept it from betraying her steps.
To all appearances, the cottage could have been some benign forest witch's dwelling, or the home of a woodcutter family. Bridgit tilted her head, mouth tugging downward as she took in the details of a well-kept lawn, not a twig astray, the neat garden to one side with its ordered rows, and the sleepy cluck of chickens scratching for grub beside a shed around the corner. This was all atypical for any kind of demon, witch or otherwise, who would dwell in darkness and nest in chaos.
It had Bridgit wondering whether there was some mistake as she checked the door for malignant magic. Finding none, she put her hand to the knob and eased it open.
What she found within the cottage disarmed her utterly.
A tall young woman with her back to Bridgit was whisking a long-handled broom over the floor. She wore a simply patterned floral housedress that hugged slim curves, and a fall of platinum hair graced her back. The interior of the house was tidy and put Bridgit in mind once more of the order and harmony of a benign witch's domain. Bridgit watched, mesmerized, as the witch swept the kitchen floor with movements so smooth and flowing she could have been dancing.
She set aside the broom and turned to reach for the bar of an oven door, bending at the waist.
Bridgit tensed, reaching a hand for her sword. As she readied herself for potential mischief, her eyes lingered on the slender wrist and forearm that had stretched forward.
A quiet gasp escaped her. The skin of the wrist, the hand and fingers—in fact, all over—was sheened over with a mottled, pearlescent substance, like a nacreous shell. It was as though the limb was sheathed in mother-of-pearl.
The blonde head turned, and Bridgit found herself looking into enormous, pupil-less sapphire eyes. Not descriptive hyperbole, but actual gems.
"Oh," a melodious voice pronounced, sounding resigned. "I knew this would happen someday."
"You knew..." Bridgit faltered, gripping her sword though she had the instinct to lower it. The scene was so regular, so domestic. Not to mention, the demon witch wasn't flying at her, talons extended. All the lore she'd learned had drilled into her the fact that demons were creatures of violence. When faced with a threat like the drawn sword Bridgit wielded, they always attacked.
"May I take out the scones, at least?" the demon witch asked. Her melodious voice was breathy, even cultured. "If I don't, they'll burn and that would be a shame."
"I... don't understand," Bridgit confessed, gripping her sword even more tightly. "You're a demon witch, but you haven't attacked me?"
"My name is Sylvaine." The slim figure straightened, one opalescent-skinned hand lifting, making Bridgit tense, but all Sylvaine did was put a lock of pale blonde hair over her shoulder. "I believe there's been some misunderstanding."
"Quite," Bridgit said faintly. She was beginning to feel silly, wielding her sword in the middle of such an orderly kitchen. The counter surfaces gleamed and the curtains in the window were gingham. This was not the lair of a chaotic, disordered soul. Demons couldn't abide cleanliness.
The point of her sword dipped.
"I'll get those scones, then," Sylvaine murmured, turning to the stove once more. "It would be a shame to waste them."
Bridgit remained on the alert for a moment longer, wary to some trap. Certain witches had shown an affinity for ovens and fire, after all. Yet the cottage, from its neatly trimmed hedges and picket fence outside, to its swept and tidy interior, was nothing like the cluttered den of a sister practicing the dark arts, either.
The mouth-watering vanilla scent of warm pastry filled the air as Sylvaine opened the oven. Bridgit did her best not to salivate as a tray was deftly removed bearing an enormous fragrant round. She watched light glint off gleaming shell-pearlescent skin as Sylvaine picked up a butter knife and portioned off a dozen wedges of scone.
Sylvaine set down the knife and turned from the counter. White blonde hair spilled around her shoulders, framing a lean, exquisitely proportioned face. Though covered in that same nacreous skin, the regular features of beauty were unmistakable. The only potential slight to loveliness was the two slender horns curving up from the forehead, jutting skyward like a pair of goat's horns. Aside from that, Sylvaine was the very picture of a beautiful woman. The floral-print dress hugged the curves of a glorious figure, long of leg and wide-hipped but with a trim, feminine waist.
Bridgit had never seen a woman so fair. Lust drove a spike to the core of her.
"Perhaps we could clear up this misunderstanding over tea," Sylvaine suggested.
Bridgit blinked. Though she still held her sword gripped in a capable hand, she was utterly neutralized. It was not the unexpected jolt of desire, but the call to logic that she found most compelling. She found herself nodding, because the entire situation was so unlike either demon or foul witch that surely the villagers must have gotten it wrong. With her free hand, she reached for her crystal, lifting it up to find its color clear as before.
The gesture was rewarded from a quick smile across the room, Sylvaine's luminous features brightening as they shifted into amiable lines. "See? You dowse no malevolent spells."
"Agreed on that score," Bridgit said. Before she could prolong her foolishness for continuing to wield it in a situation that presented no clear peril, she sheathed her sword.
A shimmery hand gestured for the table sheathed in lace crochet-work beside a bay window. "Shall we be civilized, then?"
Bridgit shifted from one foot to the other. Her protocol hadn't covered this; Sylvaine resembled a spellwork statue, yet acted like the most genteel white witch that Bridgit had ever met. Bridgit's protective crystal was clear, and she was inclined to hear Sylvaine out on the grounds she hadn't been met with hostility. It was only the just and proper course of action.
"Yes, please," Bridgit murmured, taking a step back and according Sylvaine a stiff half bow.
Sylvaine gave her another quick, dazzling smile. "Please, fair knight, be seated," she said. "And may I inquire that you make yourself known to me?"
The sweetly-worded query made Bridgit blush. She hastened to the kitchen table, sitting ramrod straight and resisting the urge to tuck her hands under her armored thighs like a naughty student caught fidgeting. It was difficult; upon finding the cottage, to every outward appearance the opposite of a demon's lair, she should have done a thorough reconnaissance rather than intruding with the threat of force. It was behavior unworthy of a knight, and she deserved chastisement.
"I am Sir Bridgit Canliss, newly knighted to the Order of the Lissian Protectors," Bridgit declared herself.
Light glinted off the gem-hard surface of those uncanny sapphire eyes as Sylvaine approached the table with a plate of scones that sent their fragrant steam gently curling into the air. She placed them on the table, returning a moment later with two delicate china cups, floral patterned with gilded golden stems. "I hope you'll forgive my boldness in choosing a variety of tea."
"Of course," Bridgit said, reaching for one of the saucers and grasping it to relieve Sylvaine of her burden.
Sylvaine gave her a cordial nod and seated herself opposite Bridgit. "Now, then. This is much more congenial."
Bridgit bit her lip and nodded. She reached for her dowsing crystal with a furtive movement, and Sylvaine's head turned.
"It is all right," Sylvaine said, her tone gentle but clear. "I take no offense at your exercising all proper caution."
Bridgit huffed softly. She'd thought herself so discreet, but she was obvious as daylight to Sylvaine's discerning eye, or whatever senses she possessed in her statue-like state. She lifted the crystal and unfurled it, casting it over her tea, then the scone to be certain. Again, the crystal remained quiet, telling Bridgit that both were free of spells that could do her harm.
"My apologies," Bridgit said. "I must be sure. The villagers wrote of a demon witch, a monster..."
"I am not a monster," Sylvaine spoke up in her own defense.
"I can see that," Bridgit said, gesturing around the neatly kept interior of the cottage. "And you've been nothing less than courteous toward me, as any citizen witch of Aqueliss."
"The courtesy due your rank," Sylvaine said. "If not the intrusion of a drawn sword in my personal abode."
Bridgit flushed again, not expecting to be called out. "If I may ask, though... I mean, you said you could clear up the misunderstanding. The villagers sent their plea to us for a reason." She wavered for a moment between scone and tea. It had been a very long ride, and both were fragrant and appealing to her senses. Her thirst won out, and she lifted the cup to her lips, blew carefully, and drank several greedy mouthfuls.
"Of course," Sylvaine said. "That would be because of this." She lifted an opalescent-skinned hand, one finger extending to tap the space between eyebrows so fair, only the glint of the sun betrayed their presence.
A seam appeared between those brows, cracking open and fluttering to one side to reveal a third eye. It glared at her, black-pupiled with a livid red iris, and Bridgit gasped.
"A demon eye," Bridgit exclaimed, her teacup clinking into the saucer. She lifted a hand to sketch a warding sign, though her knightly training had taught her that had no power without magic behind it.
Sylvaine sighed heavily. "So you see the problem," she said, lowering her hand. The crimson eye blinked shut. "The eye does consume tears. However, I am not a monster."
Bridgit extended a trembling hand, touching Sylvaine's wrist. The flesh was cool but supple beneath her fingers; human, she would think, if she had no sight to inform her of the unworldly appearance of her skin.
"Why..." Bridgit began, and sagged in her chair as a wave of lassitude, sudden and overpowering, swept over her. She found herself struggling to keep her eyes open. "Why must you feed the eye with tears?" It had been a long ride, she thought, but not near to the point it should cause her such exhaustion.
Sylvaine's scintillating features acquired an alertness. She tilted her head, and turned her hand under Bridgit's, fingers nimbly twisting round to take her pulse.
"The eye must have them," Sylvaine murmured, watching Bridgit as she slumped to the table, vision hazing as she succumbed to the heaviness in her limbs.
"But the tea... No..." Bridgit protested, mouth scarcely able to form words as fatigue, irresistible as a net cast over her mind, descended upon her. There had been something in the tea, she realized, but no spell was involved. Her dowsing crystal could not sense the simple herbs a witch of the forest might have in her pantry.
Bridgit was on the foggy brink of sleep when lips pressed against her forehead.
"You are noble as you are beautiful," Sylvaine's dulcet voice informed her, "giving me chance to parley. Yet I cannot allow you to stop me, and so I must quit the happy scene of our meeting."
The fog closed in, and Bridgit slept.
When she woke, the table had been cleared of tea but not scones. Sylvaine was nowhere in sight. Bridgit started up from her chair, sword half out of her scabbard before she realized the cottage was empty and dark, and the demon witch she had come to battle was long since fled.
"Breath and blood," Bridgit cursed, but it was half-hearted and more directed at herself than any other.
She subsided into her seat, settling her sword back in its place, grappling with chagrin. Overconfidence had led her into failure, she realized, and she sat gathering her thoughts for a moment.
A note was tucked half under the plate, Bridgit's name penned on the face in elegant, swooping script. Bridgit reached for it with a scowl, unfolding it to read the words of the demon witch who had routed her utterly. Perhaps there would be some clue.
I apologize for my poor hospitality, as I owe you a great deal better, being a true servant to the crown. Yet I must survive my own nature ere I am free to provide for the needs of others, and so I have moved on, wishing neither Sheaf nor yourself any harm. The scones are untainted and I urge you to partake of them freely as a sop to my conscience.
Till we meet in peace, I sign myself
Yours, Sylvaine
Bridgit regarded the note for long, thoughtful moments before folding it and tucking it into the laced side of her left vambrace. She would peruse it later at her leisure, but for the moment, speed was of the essence.
She rose from the table, casting a longing eye over the scones. They had smelled so tasty, fresh from the oven, and it had been quite some time since her last meal. After a pause to debate whether she could trust the word of a witch who had duped her, she plucked a scone from the plate and nibbled the end of the wedge. There would be some value, she told herself, in discovering whether Sylvaine had lied a second time.
When the shadows lengthened and Bridgit remained upright on her feet, she devoured the rest of the scone and hunted the kitchen for a cloth. She used it to tie up the remaining scones and left the cottage, locating her faithful Obsidian and taking hold of the charger's bridle.
"Did you see where she went?" Bridgit demanded. She extracted an apple from the pack hanging from the saddlebow.
Obsidian pawed once, twice at the ground and his neck arched. He nodded with every evidence of enthusiasm.
Bridgit offered up the apple on the flat of her hand, smiling when Obsidian's whiskers prickled her palm. After Obsidian consumed the apple in a few greedy crunches, Bridgit swung up onto his back.
"After her, Obsidian! We've a demon witch to catch!"
Like a great black comet, Obsidian streaked across the road. His great limbs gathered and released, springing him forward. Bridgit bent low over his neck, determination etched on her face. They were on the hunt. Bridgit was a Lissian Knight. She would not lose her prey, and she would not be so easily hoodwinked again.
*~*~*
The seaport of Flume was a sprawling, thriving hub of activity that was a day's ride across its length and breadth. It was Aqueliss's connection to the Opal Sea and its bounty, and the island nations that were their nearest neighbors. Obsidian's keen senses took Bridgit to the outskirts of the port after days of hard riding, but no further. The trail was effectively cold. Obedient to the protocols of her order, Bridgit checked into the nearest chapterhouse and provided the Knight Commander with her report.
"Sat down for tea and found it drugged, you say?" Commander Vanesse wore her helmet even outside combat conditions, but ruddy tendrils of hair escaped to wisp around her freckled cheekbones. "My, you are green, aren't you."
Bridgit lowered her eyes, setting her jaw. "I submit myself to your discipline, Commander." The invitation for punishment was an unwilling rasp. She had never, not in the entire course of her apprenticeship, been subject to disciplinary action.
Vanesse regarded her unblinking for a moment, and surprised Bridgit with a harsh caw of laughter, setting fists to chain-mailed hips. After a moment, the outburst subsided and she shook her head. "You mistake levity for an upbraiding."
"Sir?" Bridgit prompted cautiously.
"I'm not relieving you of this case. You'll take care of the demon witch, it's your assignment," Vanesse said.
"I'm not sure I understand, sir," Bridgit admitted.
Vanesse barely smiled. "I have an entire sheaf of reports for you, accounts of the youth in certain quarters being plagued by nightmares over the past few days."
Bridgit straightened, a soldier coming to attention. After the exhausting ride of the past few days, it was a refreshing infusion of hope. "Yes, sir?"
"Get a good night's sleep, read the reports, and set out fresh to your task tomorrow," Vanesse ordered. "By the Lady's life-giving breath, you look haggard."
"Yes, sir," Bridgit said gratefully.
She took her leave of the commander, and was assigned one of the unused rooms of the chapterhouse made available for knights engaged on their quests. It was a relief to be assured that she would not be divested of her surcoat for failure to complete the first task she'd been given. Part of Bridgit had feared that prospect, yet she would never shy from a punishment justly delivered.
After leafing through the reports from local villagers regarding their children's state of unrest, Bridgit took to her cot and spent the night tossing in a fitful state of unrest. Nightmares had been visited upon the innocent, and Sylvaine of her own admission had said that she slaked the third eye's thirst with tears. What cause could exist for such a gentle person to inflict such terror?
When Bridgit rose from her cot and stripped off the sweaty undergarments that testified to her feverish night, she reminded herself that she did not know Sylvaine. First impressions were only that—fleeting impressions.
Nevertheless as she steeled her heart and donned her armor, checking all straps and layered mail and leather for soundness, she tucked the note in her vambrace yet again.
I sign myself
Yours, Sylvaine
There had to be a reason for that, as well. Bridgit would not let herself speculate beyond the creature's desire to sow the seeds of leniency should they meet once more.
Meet they would, because Bridgit was on the hunt, and she would not be diverted until she'd successfully put the nightmares to an end. Sylvaine was the source and only she could provide the answers. After breaking her fast with a spread more substantial than journeybread or the leftover scones that Bridgit had portioned out on her way to Flume, Bridgit set out from the chapterhouse on foot to find the Golden Seahorse quarter, one of many lanes in the spokes that fanned out from the heart of the city. It was from there that reports had come to the Flume chapterhouse.
Her quarry would be simple and obvious. One such as Sylvaine would not be able to move freely through the crowds and foot traffic that made their way to and from market and business, work and school. She would be cloaked, draped from nape to ankle, possibly even gloved to avoid exposing any part of her scintillating skin.
Bridgit paced the length and breadth of the quarter, searching for any trace of a tall figure thus garbed. As the afternoon waned, she had to admit defeat.
She was unwilling to return to the chapterhouse without so much as a lead on her prey. After pacing up an alley and observing the passersby from the shadows, she decided on a course of action. Though she had no foreknowledge of which house Sylvaine would strike next, it was certain it would be within the Golden Seahorse quarter—all reports had been from that area. It was against Bridgit's nature to remain still in one place for long, but her best hope of cornering Sylvaine would be to situate herself in some vantage where she could view the street in full, yet remain unseen.
Thus decided, Bridgit set about finding a hiding place.
It was the work of another hour to canvass the quarter and locate a taproom that met her needs: it had a third story, was located on an intersection, and offered a clear view of all the surrounding streets and buildings. Bridgit spoke to the taproom owner and barely had to flash the crest on her vambraces—having left her surcoat at the chapterhouse in order to move freely—for the owner to situate her in a room that had the corner view. The crest of the Lissian Knights empowered her to requisition many things in pursuit of a quest, and was recognized by all citizens of Aqueliss. The branches of a slender willow were crowned by a horned moon and the stylized point of a star that represented Queen Arcathia's guiding light. When one examined it closely, the detail of swords interwoven with the willow branches emerged. To thrive and protect, ran their motto. A mere room was well within her rights and would cause the taproom no significant loss.
Bridgit was tempted to nap until nightfall but couldn't risk wasting a moment of her view. She spent a moment draping the folds of the curtain to shield her from sight of anyone on the street, and leaned on one arm while she peered through to the people below.
The day passed in the march of shadow feet across the floorboards. Bridgit propped her cheek against a hand and watched the passersby. There was a thickening of traffic in the evening hours, followed by a drop-off as the rush dwindled and gave way to dinnertime. People were home with their families for an evening meal, or seeking out taprooms to fill the absence of friend or family. Bridgit remained riveted to the window and parceled out journeybread from her hip pouch. She couldn't risk stepping away for a meal only to find that she'd missed Sylvaine.
She could not risk returning to the chapterhouse only to find another report that a child had been assaulted through their dreams.
Evening threw its drop cloth of darkness over the scene, and Bridgit remained alert. The setting sun quickened her blood, rousing her to the possibility of an imminent appearance. Sylvaine could appear at any moment, and for that prospect Bridgit hung on each stir of shadow in the street below.
When the cloaked figure appeared, Bridgit stared at it for a long moment, scarcely able to believe the image taken in by her eyes. She had imagined seeing such a figure all day that she had to deliver a smack to her cheek to take in the import of the moment.
The tall person gliding across the street below had Sylvaine's height, and was covered in a billowing cloak from crown to ankle. Bridgit watched for several tense heartbeats, taking in every detail. It was when the head lifted, providing a view of two jutting dents at the front of the hood, that Bridgit shot to her feet and departed the borrowed room.
There were many covert types who might roam the evening veiled in a cloak to disguise their identity. Only the one Bridgit followed, however, would be concealing horns beneath her hood.
Bridgit hurried out of the taproom, giving the owner a nod to let him know her business was concluded. She was in luck—when she reached the street, Sylvaine's cloaked figure was still making her way down the quarter, pausing every so often to tilt her head at windows as she passed by. It made Bridgit's jaw clench. Sylvaine had assured her she wasn't a monster, yet here she was preying on the dreams of innocent children, perverting nighttime visions to something foul enough to cause them to wake in tears. For all Bridgit knew, the nightly visitations could have more far-reaching effects on health or conduct as the children grew to adulthood.
The night chase led Bridgit down many turns and alleys. She hung back, hand to her sword but hoping she had been wrong. When she had happened upon Sylvaine at the cottage, she had assumed her for an innocent witch mistaken for a creature far more malevolent. Even though she had been duped, even though Sylvaine had fled the scene and now Bridgit had read fresh accounts from Flume children of the nightmares that had plagued them, Bridgit held onto a spark of hope.
She had to catch Sylvaine in the act. It was the only way to be assured of her guilt. It was the only proof that would satisfy Bridgit that she pursued a monster that required slaying.
And so Bridgit concealed herself in the shadows cast by building overhang and alley, and trailed Sylvaine until she stopped outside a low window. The house was like any other, packed into a row of similar stone houses, narrow two-story dwellings constructed to the same pattern. A light post stood outside the window.
With one gesture from a gloved hand that emerged from the voluminous cloak, the light went dark.
Bridgit held her breath and withdrew into the shadows. Even then, she would not let herself believe it. When the tall cloaked figure stood outside the window, however, running both hands down the pane, Bridgit could no longer deny what her eyes witnessed. She was a Lissian Knight, highly trained and given to trusting her instincts, which were rarely wrong. On this occasion, she regretfully surrendered the notion that there was some hidden motive that would reveal Sylvaine blameless.
The window opened, drawn up from the outside, and Bridgit drew her sword.
She charged across the space between them.
"Halt, demon-witch!" Bridgit commanded, drawing near enough to set her sword within striking distance.
Slender shoulders flinched, and Sylvaine whirled. The hood fell from her features with the movement, revealing expressionless sapphire eyes in the face that Bridgit remembered so well. Even in the feeble moonlight, Sylvaine's features shimmered.
"Ah," Sylvaine said, an utterance that straddled the line of disappointed and, somehow, expectant.
Bridgit puzzled over that for a split second. Somehow Sylvaine had expected to see her, yet was disappointed it had come to this? It made no sense to her.
"By my standard, I cannot allow you to plague the children of Aqueliss any longer," Bridgit declared.
Sylvaine's face contorted in distress. "I am no plague," she protested, sounding uncommonly put out for someone with a knight's sword at their throat. "I do the children no lasting harm."
"But you harm them," Bridgit pounced on that. "You give them nightmares. You collect their tears."
Sylvaine remained silent. She could not deny it.
"I must put an end to this," Bridgit said, drawing her sword back to prepare for a strike. The point moved with the slowness of her reluctance.
"Wait," Sylvaine entreated, lifting both hands, spread open and empty in a defenseless gesture. "Truly, I mean no harm."
"Then explain yourself," Bridgit said between her teeth, but she stayed her sword. She would seize any excuse to delay what appeared inevitable. She had never killed anyone—anything—before, and certainly did not wish to begin her count with such a one as Sylvaine. "Because I don't understand."
"My apologies," Sylvaine murmured, catching Bridgit further off guard. "I am not in the habit of confiding my troubles in others, no matter how noble. I have always resolved problems on my own, and to have a Lissian Knight present herself to me... well, it's intimidating."
Bridgit bristled, unsure whether she was being made fun of, or if Sylvaine was being sincere. It was the second time that Sylvaine had called her noble. "Speak," she commanded, lowering her sword to her side. It would not encourage Sylvaine to confide in her if she held her at the threat of a blade.
Sylvaine spread her hands. "I am required to collect a certain number... a quota, if you will."
"Of tears?" Bridgit pressed, frowning.
Sylvaine nodded. "The tears are for my collection." She stepped near to Bridgit.
"But why? Is it the third eye ..." Bridgit began, giving ground as Sylvaine pressed forward. She wanted to bring her sword up, but Sylvaine had crowded into striking distance, and the angle was not ideal. She gasped as Sylvaine pressed against her, breast to breast. Even through her armor, Bridgit could sense the soft peaks of flesh, the two points where they touched her own chest, and it ignited something within her long-suppressed at the expense of other, more immediate pursuits.
"Would you like to help?" Sylvaine asked, her voice going low and sultry.
Bridgit's voice emerged in a weak rasp as her back hit the light post. "If only you'd tell me what you need."
Sylvaine's hands caressed over the stomach of Bridgit's breastplate, moving down to settle briefly on her hips before grasping her wrists. "What I need..." She moved swiftly, diverting Bridgit's arms behind her, fingers digging into the skin at the wrist below her vambraces like shackles. Sylvaine stepped back, her expression of yearning becoming closed-off and hard. "Sir Bridgit, what I need most is for you to understand, and stay out of this matter."
"I can't do that," Bridgit said. She attempted to bring her arm up, and found herself securely bound to the light post. She groaned, shaking her head, and cast an imploring look at Sylvaine. "You must let me help, or I've no alternative."
"You are very kind," Sylvaine replied, leaning in to brush her pearly cheek against Bridgit's. Lips grazed Bridgit's ear, leaving behind the burning impression of her touch. "My noble knight. Yet my course is set, I fear."
With a whirl of her cloak, Sylvaine departed the scene.
For a moment, Bridgit was relieved. She'd not been subjected to the sight of Sylvaine feasting on the nightmare of some hapless child. In the next instant, though, the situation made its full impression on her and she was left with the equally humiliating options of calling for help, or waiting for a night watchman to discover her bound to the light post.
Unable to afford a second's worth of delay, Bridgit lifted her voice to raise the alarm.
*~*~*
The village of Verdant was larger than the term 'village' implied, serving as gateway to the myriad products of Bauxite Forest that kept Aqueliss well supplied in rare and useful woods, herbs, and paper-making supplies. It was an important waypost for the Crown, and as such, garrisoned with a chapterhouse of Bridgit's order. She turned Obsidian for a different road, however, when she spotted the turnoff that would lead her there.
Obsidian gave her a surprised snort and a reproachful stare over one coal-black shoulder, and Bridgit patted his neck affectionately.
"Can't risk it, Obsidian," she told the gelding. "The commander might give us different marching orders."
Bridgit was invested in accomplishing the task to which the head of her order had entrusted her. Already, she had twice failed. She would not shirk punishment, but her paramount concern was to fulfill Commander Vanesse's charge to complete the assignment she had been given. If she failed again, another superior's orders could counter that charge. Bridgit returned to Flume's chapterhouse acutely conscious of her defeat after being liberated from the light post, and collected her things and rode Obsidian from the stable in the middle of the night. Before leaving Flume, she took the step of seeking out a local earth-witch who could provide her with a tracking spell, and that set Bridgit on the chase once more.
The long trail brought them to Verdant, where Bridgit was determined to pry Sylvaine's secret from her, upon pain of death. Despite her intuition that Sylvaine meant no harm, and Sylvaine's protestations to the same, the evidence was borne out otherwise.
Lissian Knights did not suffer a monster to live.
The earth witch's candle in her hand flickered, the tongue of its flame pointing steadily along the road that was the opposite direction from the turn-off for the chapterhouse. It made sense; Sylvaine would want to avoid the knights at all costs.
Obsidian's hooves hit the road beneath them with heavy clops, echoing the dull thud of Bridgit's heart within her breast. It was a difficult task ahead of her, one for which she had no enthusiasm, but the charge of her task was upon her. She was bound to see it through and would suffer no other to complete what she had been assigned.
Ahead, the bulk of the forest loomed, a towering green mass that obscured the horizon. It brought with it new scents on the breeze, musty and fragrant, the sharpness of pine and a sweet tang that Bridgit could not identify. Under other circumstances, the journey to new sights—the places she had visited before only in books and studies—would bring her excitement. That day, however, Bridgit kept her eyes fixed on the candle, dreading the moment it would bring her to a crossroads of another sort. If Sylvaine failed to account for herself, then Bridgit was required by honor to extinguish her.
The first rise of homes came up to either side of the road, and Bridgit reined Obsidian to a gentler pace. She trusted her charger to travel the road while she kept her eyes fixed on the candle. They had ridden hard over the past few days, as Bridgit had hoped to catch Sylvaine on the open road. Having not yet caught up, Bridgit could only surmise that a demon witch had more effective methods of travel, but believed she could not be more than a day's pursuit behind her.
Without a charterhouse to provide her reports, Bridgit relied on the candle to guide her through the winding streets of Verdant. It was laid out in a fashion more haphazard than the orderly streets of Flume, as though cobbled together at whim, a different method of laying lanes at each expansion. As Obsidian plodded through the scarce foot traffic and skirted slower-moving, sturdy work horses, Bridgit contemplated her next course of action.
Late afternoon was deepening into the golden-orange of dusk, and soon it would be the hour when the monsters emerged to prey on the weak. Nowhere near the witching hour, of course, but Sylvaine had already proved she did not need to wait so late to strike. Bridgit had determined to catch her witch in the act, as she had moved preemptively on Sylvaine before, and that would be the proof she required to satisfy her own self-doubts. First, however, she would need to locate the likely target, quarter Obsidian somewhere close to hand, and steel herself for the necessary task to come.
Transferring candle from one hand to the other, Bridgit withdrew the note from her vambrace and puzzled over it once more. She had kept it like a favor, unfolding, reading, and folding it over again until it was worn from only days' worth of use. She would have thought herself bespelled if not for the protections forged into her very armor. It was logic as much as sentiment that clouded her view of Sylvaine, she was sure of it. There were too many contradictions.
Sylvaine had insisted she was not a monster, yet her appearance and the reports of children plagued by nightmares that she had created were the actions of a demon witch. She had said she meant no harm, yet the reports gave evidence otherwise, and there was no saying what use she put the tears she had stolen. She had called Bridgit noble, implying she regarded her conduct highly, yet Sylvaine herself had acted dishonorably twice, duping Bridgit and fleeing to continue her nefarious business. Most of all, Bridgit fretted over the parting words from Flume, where Sylvaine had stated with the semblance of sad conviction that her course was set.
These were not the actions of a witch. At the same time, Bridgit sensed a conflict, a reluctance that would never be present in a demon free of moral compunction.
The candle's flame drew Bridgit's attention by flipping in one direction, another, and spinning wildly around before extinguishing in a curl of woodsy smoke.
Bridgit sighed and squared her shoulders, gazing around the five-cornered intersection, each spoke of road radiating like a star. "This must be it, then," she said aloud. The witch from whom she had purchased the candle had informed her it would behave thus once she'd reached her destination. Sylvaine was near, and no longer moving. Her own innate magic would cancel out the candle's spell from further pinpointing her location.
There were plenty of tethering posts available in every direction that Bridgit could see, but Obsidian was highly distinctive and she wanted to find a place for him that was ready to hand, but out of sight. She dismounted and led him around, getting a sense for the area and exchanging friendly conversation with the villagers nearby. All were familiar with the crest blazoned on Bridgit's breastplate.
After several promising leads turned into unhelpful looks and shrugs, Bridgit was ready to swear by the blood and the Ravening Sword of the other goddess. None of the villagers had noticed anything unusual. No one knew of a place nearby where she could put up Obsidian. Bridgit couldn't be more direct with her questions, because she didn't want to sow panic. The villagers would know she was on a quest, being that she was an unfamiliar Lissian Knight traveling through. They would not be aware that what she hunted was moving among them, and perhaps it was for the best.
An hour was extinguished in the fruitless quest for a convenient place to secure Obsidian. The alleyways were too narrow for a charger, and the area to which the candle had led her was full of homes, mid-village dwellings with no stables and no need for one. The only tethering posts were on the street in plain view. Bridgit took stock of the situation and ranged farther afield. She was exceptionally put out when she had to leave Obsidian three streets over. It was a longer sprint than she could manage if she would need him.
Bridgit stripped off her distinctive red and black surcoat and stuffed it into Obsidian's saddlebag, shaking out the folds of a long grey cloak to wear over her head and shoulders in its place. She ran a hand over Obsidian's nose, petting the velvety soft skin between his nostrils and smiling when he whuffed softly into her hand.
"Guard, Obsidian," she told him in a firm tone.
Obsidian nickered and stood to rigid attention as she removed her hand. He was a well-trained warhorse, and anyone attempting to make off with him or the goods stashed in Bridgit's saddlebag would meet a nasty surprise and flat-out failure.
Bridgit donned the cloak and turned up the hood. One thing she had discovered as she rode through the streets of Verdant and spoke to its citizens was that such garb was not uncommon: the weather was cooler in the north, and the chill bite of winter lingered on through spring and even summer months, both morning and evening suffering drops in temperature with the loss of the sun. The weather was brisk enough that many wore cloaks, even going so far to turn up fur-lined hoods to retain warmth.
It would be harder to find Sylvaine, but Bridgit had already decided to wait until she happened upon the act that would cause her to draw her sword.
She withdrew into alleys, walking along the streets at angles as she searched for a place that would give her a view of as many residential homes as possible. Her patience was at an end for getting drawn into conversation, and even with her hood up, she didn't want to risk being recognized by Sylvaine.
It was supposed to have been an easy task. Bridgit brooded over her two failures. Twice, Sylvaine had disarmed her and escaped, leaving behind more questions than answers. There would not be a third time. Bridgit had hardened her resolve.
Night descended in the slow unfurling of shadow along the narrow streets like ink spread from the upended bowl of the sky. Bridgit stepped out of her hiding place, secure in the anonymity that the cloak provided, well aware that others astir at that hour could rely on the same.
When one particular tall, cloaked figure appeared, Bridgit recognized her by the gliding step, that smooth gait as though her feet scarcely touched the ground and hips added swivel of their own volition. It was a slinky, fascinating walk; a moment's pause could be forgiven if Bridgit remained rapt at the sight.
She shook it free, however, as the cloaked figure passed her, striding in the opposite direction. Bridgit gave it several heartbeats before she pivoted and hurried after.
The area was crowded with homes. Bridgit might have expected Sylvaine to select one at random, but she moved with purposeful strides, taking one turn, then another, until they walked along a quiet, deserted street bordered on both sides with houses that stood right on the street. They were bordered by narrow walks, lacking the gutters to which Bridgit was accustomed in larger cities. The walks gave way to the dusty strip of street that ran down the middle.
Bridgit took care to walk with silent steps, and hung back in the shadows as Sylvaine took her confident steps toward one house in particular. One light burned through a front window beside a green door. Bridgit held her breath and crouched behind a rain barrel as she watched Sylvaine stride up the front walkway as fearlessly as though she lived there. Instead of approaching the front door, however, Sylvaine prowled along the side.
"By the sword," Bridgit muttered, rising from her crouch. She was risking exposure, moving out in the open, but she had to see what transpired next.
Bridgit's steps must have been soundless, or Sylvaine was fixated on her prey; perhaps both. No matter the case, Bridgit was able to make her way in stealth to the side of the house.
As before, Sylvaine was drawing her gloved hands up the window, setting her palms there for a moment before dragging fingers down the glass. Bridgit held her breath. She had seen this much last time. Slowly, Sylvaine lifted the sash up, glancing both ways and making Bridgit retract hastily into the cover of the darkness cast by an overhang of slate roof.
The Lady was on her side that evening; the moon was veiled in clouds.
When Bridgit peered around the corner once more, she contained a gasp. Sylvaine was gone, leaving only the open window as evidence of her presence. Bridgit put her hand to her sword, stalking forward, certain of her prey now. She had to bear final witness, and carry through with the necessary task.
The sight she beheld within the room at the side of the house branded itself onto her consciousness. Hood thrown back, Sylvaine was hunched over a figure on the bed to one side of the room. Her sapphire eyes caught the faint glow of candle light from a corner of the room. She stooped over a man who lay fast asleep in bed. One clawed hand dipped to scoop up the shimmer of a tear tracking down the sleeping man's cheek.
Before Bridgit's horrified eyes, Sylvaine raised her hand up to her forehead, to that place between her brows. The glaring third eye slitted open. It might have been Bridgit's imagination, but a sizzle hissed through the air as the tear reached its destination.
Sylvaine made a low, frustrated noise as the red eye opened wider. She reached down to touch the sleeping man's face once more.
"Stop!" Bridgit exclaimed.
Sylvaine's head snapped up from contemplation of her dread task. She leaped up from the bed, clutching at her cloak. "No!" she returned, though it sounded less a negative and more horrified denial. "Sir Bridgit ... you cannot be here!"
"I'm here to stop you, Sylvaine!" Bridgit moved to the window, one hand on the sill, the other on her sword. "You cannot continue this... this monstrous—"
"I am not a monster!" Sylvaine's voice cracked with the force of her outcry. Beside her on the bed, the man stirred, and Sylvaine dashed toward the window.
Shocked, Bridgit stumbled back a few steps, until her back hit the wall of the house opposite. She lifted her sword, steeling herself to the inevitable. She had seen the crime in progress. "You were stealing his tears! You are a demon witch, and I have no choice." She braced herself to strike.
"I harm no one," Sylvaine insisted, wringing her hands. "Yes, the eye consumes tears. The nightmares are the only way I can cause them without harm. I'm not killing anyone! Bridgit, you must believe me. You said I was harming the children. I have sought out a fully grown man this time, see?"
Bridgit frowned, craning her neck to gaze beyond Sylvaine's slim form. The man who had stirred in his sleep had subsided; he was indeed an adult, impossible to mistake for any child. "You did that... because of me?"
Sylvaine clasped her hands together. They glinted in the light as it broke through tattered wisps of cloud overhead. "You must believe me."
"I must follow my duty," Bridgit retorted, yet she was conflicted once more. "If you'd only confide in me, Sylvaine. If I could understand... if I could help..." Then I would not have to kill you, she could not bring herself to say.
"And I must see this through," Sylvaine told her. She took a step forward, halting when Bridgit raised the point of her sword. She grimaced, a rueful look though her sapphire eyes remained expressionless as cold gems.
"Why?" Bridgit asked. The question encompassed more than the statement Sylvaine had just made. She wanted to know the entirety; why Sylvaine hunted the tears, why she had duped Bridgit rather than let her help, and what had brought them to this point. She was coming up empty-handed for reasons and could only conclude that Sylvaine was the most beguiling monster she should never have met. She made an impatient gesture and the point of her sword wavered. "Why do you do this?"
Sylvaine made a flippant gesture. "My noble knight." Her voice was tender in contrast to the tight smile that crossed her face. "You must understand, it's the least destructive hobby that I could choose."
Bridgit gritted her teeth. "You mock me," she accused, stepping closer to Sylvaine, sword held at her side as she let pique override common sense.
"I jest," Sylvaine corrected, lifting a hand and outstretching it, but letting it fall when Bridgit flinched back. "We laugh, lest we provoke tears."
"You dare invoke talk of the balance to justify this?" Bridgit exclaimed, enraged. Darkness and light, laughter and tears, good and evil, reason and chaos; it was the balance by which the dual goddesses maintained the order of the world. "This is no work of the Lady."
Sylvaine was quiet a moment. "No, it wouldn't seem so."
Bridgit searched every curve of Sylvaine's face, leached to pale incandescence by the moonlight. There was resignation mixed with bitterness in those dulcet tones. Again, Bridgit's instinct urged her to override her reason. She sheathed her sword and stepped forth, grasping Sylvaine's wrist. "Then let me help you," she urged. "Let me unmake whatever work has caused you to fall so low."
"Noble Bridgit," Sylvaine murmured. "Kind as you are beautiful."
Fire scorched Bridgit's face and neck; she attempted to withdraw, but Sylvaine turned her hand and laced her fingers with Bridgit's. "I... I am not," she stammered.
Sylvaine flowed up against her, placing a hand to Bridgit's hot neck. "You are, and it shall be my undoing." She leaned in and her mouth hovered near Bridgit's lips.
Cool breath touched Bridgit's skin and she closed her eyes. She knew she ought to put her hand to the hilt of her sword. She had seen the act in progress. She should fulfill her duty as knight and commit herself to the nearest chapterhouse.
And yet... And yet...
She nudged forward by that smallest increment, bringing her lips into contact with Sylvaine's. They were cool as the breath that had shivered across her skin, hard and unyielding as the shell they resembled. Yet when they moved against her mouth, Bridgit's reason fled.
Bridgit surrendered to the kiss, parting her lips under Sylvaine's in exploration of that compelling quality between them. Had it only been physical attraction, Bridgit might not have been so susceptible. She had done her share of satisfying desire with other youths her age. There were dimensions beyond the touch of Sylvaine's lips, the way a hand ran lightly over her vambrace where the letter remained tucked away and settled on the chainmail that covered her upper arm. The details that lingered with Bridgit were the tidy kitchen, picture of domestic bliss; the melodious low voice that continually professed innocence; the way Sylvaine referred caressingly to Bridgit as her noble knight. There was a keen mind behind the witch who had tricked her twice, and begged even now for another chance.
Those thoughts and more chased through her head like coursing hounds after their tails. They whipped Bridgit into a frenzy yet led her in a continual circle. She wanted to believe in Sylvaine, but she had no reason beyond her desire for indulgence. Desire...
Desire was what spurred her as Sylvaine's lips fit against hers, shaping the slow build of heady sensation between them. Cool fingers branded Bridgit's neck, and she pressed her lips together in a final farewell.
"I must..." Bridgit began, but could not continue as her knees weakened. She crumpled to the ground, Sylvaine's arms serving as strong supports as she sank along with Bridgit, lowering her to be seated against the wall.
"I know," Sylvaine said tenderly. She caressed Bridgit's cheek, leaving behind the impression of coolness against heated skin. "And so must I—continue, that is, against any threat of peril."
Her smooth firm lips brushed over Bridgit's mouth once more. Bridgit's mind was already clouded as though she were wreathed in heavy fog. She had the impulse to jerk away, but it would not transmit to her limbs. Drugged, she realized, and wondered if the drug that swept through her now was the result of some quality of Sylvaine's skin, her very nature, and the touch of her lips. Otherwise, she must have been prepared for Bridgit's intervention once more.
"Goodbye," Sylvaine whispered, as Bridgit's eyes sagged shut. "I hope I may unburden myself to you when next we meet."
All Bridgit's rage against the darkness could not hold it at bay as the fog closed in, and she lost consciousness. Through her own weakness, her desire to believe the best of Sylvaine, she had been tricked once more.
*~*~*
In the footholds of the Ferrous Mountains at the eastern border of Aqueliss, Obsidian's thundering hooves brought Bridgit ever closer to the mining outpost of Scree. Following her dismal failure in the streets of Verdant, Bridgit had turned herself into the nearest chapterhouse, fully expecting to be stripped of her surcoat and driven out to seek her fortune as private citizen. What she had gotten had been a round scolding from Commander Elessen, a lecture that had lasted for hours and concluded in an injunction by the Sword and Lady's Light to complete the charge that had been laid upon her.
"This is your responsibility, and no one else's," Commander Elessen had scolded Bridgit, raising a mailed fist to emphasize her point. "See this through to the end, or you're unworthy to have been Knighted."
Burning from the shame of it, Bridgit had nodded and retreated. She and Obsidian had been provisioned accordingly, and after a scrying spell from the local monk, Bridgit had set out on her quest once more. Thrice was the limit. If she failed this time, Bridgit contemplated falling on her sword to avoid further dishonor.
The thought of honor brought with it Sylvaine's caressing words, my noble knight, and Bridgit hardened her jaw. There would be no quarter given at their next meeting. Sylvaine had used up all her goodwill.
Scree was less a village and more a sprawling outpost of intermittent human habitation. The road became rocky, no longer paved, simply a path worn smooth through continuous travel, and it wound its way through the juts of outcropping that thrust upward through the earth. The Ferrous Mountains towered above her, rendering her small and insignificant in scale.
A hard day's travel had brought her to the foothills of the mountain as dusk closed in with its inexorable violet drape. Obsidian trotted along the road into a clearing that stood apart from the rock formations that hemmed in the road and gave the environs a mazelike configuration. To Bridgit, the foothills were claustrophobic, and she wished herself on the open plain once more. There were scattered dwellings, little more than lean-tos and sheds dotting the clearing in a haphazard fashion. At the far end, abutting the mountain, there was a gaping cavernous mouth buttressed with split logs, marking the entrance to a mining shaft.
Bridgit reined Obsidian in, gazing around the dwellings, surprised at the lack of people abroad for such a late hour. She supposed the mining could continue in shifts, so long as the workers had to bring light in to begin with, but she would have expected to find someone left behind to watch the camp or make meals.
She dismounted, drawing her sword at once, comforted by the weight of steel in her hand. The monk's scrying had pointed to Scree for Sylvaine's next destination, but that wasn't to say there were no other monsters to contend with.
"Obsidian," Bridgit said, pointing to the ground between her charger's hooves. "Guard."
Obsidian's ears pricked and he went on alert, head swinging up.
Assured of one thing, at least, Bridgit set out to explore the seemingly deserted camp. There were several dwellings, and a larger, lodge-type structure at the far end. Perhaps she would find what she sought there.
She proceeded with caution, checking each slapped-together building for occupants as she picked her way across the miner's camp. By the time she reached the lodge, a sign above the door proclaiming it the mess and meeting hall, night had peeled away the next layer of the celestial balance and Bridgit walked in darkness.
There was only one lantern, and it hung on a pole outside the entrance to the mining shaft. In that moment, Bridgit took in the impact of being keenly alone. There wasn't another person in sight, despite the trappings of civilization around her, and there ought to have been at least one other. She was alone, and it intensified the impression that something horrible had happened.
She gripped her sword in her dominant hand and reached with the other for the door. Throwing it wide, she braced herself for attack or ambush. Bridgit gasped as she took in a tableau she hadn't expected—yet had been braced for, nonetheless.
Inside the mess hall, two rows of men were slumped, face down, to each side of a long trestle table. The mouth-watering scent of a savory stew hit Bridgit's nose, and seeing bowls beside the fallen men, she could intuit the cause of their abrupt slumber. Resonant snores split the air. Worst of all, Sylvaine stood beside one of the men, a clawed hand to his forehead. She had snared an entire outpost's worth of miners in her net of nightmares.
"Sylvaine," Bridgit breathed. She raised her sword. After being repeatedly duped, and reminded by Commander Elessen of her true purpose, she would not fail.
Sylvaine's head snapped up at the quiet utterance of her name. She lifted the hand she'd drawn across the miner's face, bringing it toward her third eye.
"Halt!" Bridgit commanded in a ringing tone. "Don't do it." Her voice was deadly quiet.
"Please," Sylvaine said. "I must."
"You won't," Bridgit returned. "If so much as one finger approaches that third eye, I'll sever it."
Sylvaine straightened and went rigid. "No, you wouldn't." Yet she sounded unsure.
"Don't test me," Bridgit warned. "My patience for this game of yours is beyond thin and frayed."
"It is no game!" Sylvaine cried. "I've only one more. Please, I'm so close..." She extended an imploring hand.
Bridgit drew in a sharp breath. This was how it began each time. She was lenient on Sylvaine, gave her opportunity to explain herself, and ended up duped and helpless to stop the monster from running amok once more. She shook her head. "It ends here."
"I was hoping it would," Sylvaine said. She raised her hand, pressing the index finger to the third eye.
With a banshee cry, Bridgit charged forward, sword angled in for a killing thrust. Sylvaine's iridescent hands flew up, palms facing outward, and in that instant Bridgit was certain the mettle of the protective spells infused into her armor would be tested. Instead, Sylvaine let her hands fall slack and her head bowed. It happened too quickly for Bridgit to even consider staying her sword. Yet, from the moment she had last been tricked, she had been loosed on her course like a killing arrow.
Bridgit lunged, and her sword ran Sylvaine through.
A strangled, tearing gasp escaped Sylvaine and she reeled back, clutching at the sword that had pierced her through. Bridgit's face contorted. She had not believed, at the last, that Sylvaine would forego the killing instincts of a monster. She had not fought back, or defended herself. She had let Bridgit run her through, and no mistaking it.
They sank to the rough stone floor and Bridgit yanked her blade out, moaning as she saw the grievous wound it left behind. Sylvaine quickly covered it with her own hand, and Bridgit pressed hers atop the shining hard skin as though she could stem the flow of blood.
"In this way, too, I can be free," Sylvaine said, her voice no greater than a whisper. The shining gems of her eyes grew dull, even while the third eye, the glaring red one, remained wide open and fixed on Bridgit like an accusation.
"What does that mean?" Bridgit cried, casting about for something to stem the blood, but all her healing implements were in Obsidian's saddlebag. If she took the moment to rise and run for them, Sylvaine would be... it would be too late.
"It means, dear knight, you have saved me, in the end." Sylvaine raised her other hand to caress Bridgit's cheek, but faltered. Her hand began to fall.
Bridgit snatched Sylvaine's hand and pressed it to her cheek. "Please, tell me," she entreated. "The tears, this strange form... was it a curse?"
Sylvaine lapsed against the floor with a slow, rattling sigh. The breath left her, and the remaining light fled from her eyes.
"No," Bridgit denied it, bending over Sylvaine's fallen form. She pulled Sylvaine's torso into her lap, cradling the shining head with its masses of pale hair closer to her body. "Forgive me ... I only meant to help, to serve good..." She fell silent, unable to turn the blame on Sylvaine for what had transpired.
Silent tears dripped down her face, collecting at her chin, the tip of her nose, and Bridgit impatiently brushed them away. She could not bear it. Sylvaine's still, cold form lay across her thighs and it was Bridgit, in the end, who was responsible. The tears fell from her fingers, from the point of her chin, and landed with wet splashes across the livid crimson of the third eye, which still glared up at her.
Distraught, Bridgit cried over Sylvaine's fallen body, tears dropping without respite. They pooled over Sylvaine's forehead, over the livid third eye, and Bridgit's shoulders shook with the force of her sobs. She gazed down in forlorn misery, replaying Sylvaine's last words in her mind.
Before her distraught gaze, the red eye cracked in half. A striation appeared across the center from one side to the other.
Bridgit gaped down at Sylvaine's motionless form. It was like a gem that had been broken: the red eye was split clear across, and no longer resembled living flesh. It was clouding, and when Bridgit stroked Sylvaine's brow, it split and crumbled into scintillating red particles, revealing smooth flesh below.
"How is this possible?" Bridgit wondered aloud. She took her hand away from Sylvaine's skin as something tugged beneath it.
The opalescent skin was radiating fault lines all over. The grievous wound that had spilled out Sylvaine's lifeblood was crystallizing, the blood hardened beyond clotting and more like tiny rubies. Bridgit brushed them away and gasped. Deep cracks appeared in the nacreous substance that sheathed Sylvaine from crown to toe like a statue. Bridgit prodded it with a finger, and the cracks widened, splitting further across the chest and curve of one breast.
Incredulous, Bridgit began to pull at the pearl-sheened material. It crumbled like a shell under her hands, revealing pink-tinted pale flesh.
Bridgit held her breath and set a hand against a newly-revealed patch of skin. It was warm, and yielding. Most amazing of all, there was a pulse that traveled through Bridgit's fingers.
Feverishly Bridgit began scrabbling at the cracking shell, removing it like pieces of armor and exposing the flesh beneath. When she reached Sylvaine's face, as she cleared off the opalescent material with both hands, smoothing her fingers over bare cheekbones and full lips, the curving upright horns, mark of the demon, detached and fell to the floor with a hollow clatter.
Bridgit plucked the sapphire eyes, glinting once more in a fashion most unexpected, to reveal blue eyes blinking up at her, sleepy and alive.
Sylvaine stretched up a newly-human hand to draw Bridgit down for a brief kiss.
"My noble knight," she murmured, her voice husky, a note of unmistakable triumph ringing clear. "My rescuer."
"I... I killed you," Bridgit whispered, cringing.
"You shed your tears over me," Sylvaine replied. Her smooth, warm hand caressed Bridgit's cheek. "The tears from those nightmares were obviously nothing to the potency of a Lissian Knight's tears of grief."
"I don't understand." Bridgit caught at Sylvaine's fingers, not to pull them away but to hold them there, to make a connection.
"You cried for me," Sylvaine said, smiling up at her and shifting across Bridgit's thighs.
"I only wanted to help you." Bridgit's voice was soft and uncertain.
"And you did, my knight," Sylvaine said, that triumphant tone returning. "You saved me."
"I killed—" Bridgit began, voice rising.
Sylvaine's head turned sharply as she looked at the table beside them. The nearest miners were stirring. "A discussion perhaps best saved for later, lest we have a number of difficult questions to answer."
"So, the nightmares?" Bridgit prompted, tightening her arms around Sylvaine as she prepared to rise.
The smile she received in reply was brilliant as the dawn. "The nightmares are over, at last."
*~*~*
They departed the shadow of the Ferrous Mountains as night deepened toward the witching hour. The moon cast a full light upon them, lighting their trail enough for Obsidian and Sylvaine's nimble grey mare to depart Scree and leave the mining outpost behind them. Bridgit thought they would be on the road all night, riding until morning before they found shelter, but at the closest stand of trees, Sylvaine demonstrated that she was still a witch.
She conjured the little cottage from Sheaf, complete with neat white picket fence. Bridgit stood open-mouthed as she watched the cottage bloom from the very ground before her eyes.
"I have never seen such," she explained her slack-jawed country yokel reaction as Sylvaine took her hand and drew her toward the front door.
"Ah, well, I am a very powerful white witch, after all."
Bridgit enjoined Obsidian to guard, and he arched his neck and pranced closer to the grey mare, managing to look very possessive for a gelding. She smiled and set her gaze forward, taking in Sylvaine and the homey interior of the familiar cottage as they entered.
A fire blazed merrily in the hearth, as though welcoming its owner home. The smell of baking scones lingered on the air, though it had been days since Bridgit had last seen the oven in use.
"I have so many questions," Bridgit began, tightening her fingers on Sylvaine's.
"And I shall answer them," Sylvaine replied, drawing Bridgit's hand to her lips and kissing it. "First, shall we satisfy the demands of our stomachs?"
Bridgit blinked. She had entirely forgotten she had one.
"I'll be best suited to explanations once I have a cup of tea in me," Sylvaine said, releasing Bridgit's hand and crossing the kitchen to the stove.
"All right," Bridgit said warily. She lifted a finger. "No sleeping herbs, this time."
Sylvaine flashed a brief, mischievous smile her way. "That would be contrary to my designs upon you, this time."
Bridgit's face heated and she gazed down at the floor. It was perfectly swept as the first day she had encountered Sylvaine. She puzzled over that for a moment rather than confront her feelings over why her face had colored. She was no green knight, now; she had blooded her sword and completed her first quest. Yet Sylvaine caused such a roil of emotion within her, it was like the first day on the training yard.
"Ginger peach, or black with bergamot?"
The question distracted Bridgit from her internal musings. She seated herself at the table beside the little alcove. "Oh, the black with bergamot." She wanted to be awake a while yet. The questions, and promised explanations, had only begun.
"A girl after my own heart." Sylvaine bestowed another warm smile upon her.
Bridgit marveled over those features, same as before but lacking the shimmering skin that had sheened them over. It was like seeing Sylvaine for the first time—her true face, at least. She was pretty as a painting, as any who might vie for the attentions of a dozen knights.
"What happened back there?" Bridgit asked, making a broad gesture as Sylvaine brought a pot to the table along with two delicate cups. The teapot was floral with gild trim, matching the cups that Bridgit remembered from the other day. She waited until a measure was poured in each cup and pulled one towards her, warming her fingers on the outside.
Sylvaine's clear blue eyes were knowing. She picked up her own cup, blowing on the liquid before sipping briefly as though to prove to Bridgit that it wasn't drugged. "I am... or was... still am, I suppose, the most powerful white witch of Lapis Valley," she said. "No matter how discreet my good works, that's bound to draw attention."
"It drew the wrong kind," Bridgit guessed.
"It did, indeed." Sylvaine brushed back a long lock of white-gold hair and gazed into the depths of her tea. "The Dark Witch of the Auriolite Pass came calling one day, disguised as a simple villager. And she took my refusal to sit to tea with her as excuse for grave insult."
"Ah," Bridgit said. She'd heard of the politics between witches; it was a tangled, complicated game more difficult than the Queen's task to preserve balance at court.
"And so she cursed me," Sylvaine said with a slight shrug. "She gave me the semblance of a demon, and I could not reveal the nature of the curse, of course."
"Of course," Bridgit echoed, feeling stupid as she sipped her tea. It was a standard clause to all curses.
"The only thing I could do to restore myself was to slake the third eye, the sealing device of the curse, with tears of sorrow," Sylvaine continued. "And so, I set about with nightmares, rather than terrible works or killing."
Bridgit was quiet a moment, casting her recollection over all that Sylvaine had said to her. "You never lied to me," she said with some surprise. "The tears... for your collection, and the least harmful hobby you could choose."
"I could parcel out bits of the truth." Sylvaine leaned forward, face solemn. "I never wanted to lie to you, Bridgit."
"And the letter..." Bridgit trailed off.
Sylvaine's lips curved in a shy smile. "I knew you'd been assigned to me, of course. The villagers of Sheaf thought I was a monster. I very much wanted for you to follow me."
"Because I'm 'as noble as I am beautiful?'" Bridgit quoted, face going red though she was able to keep her voice steady.
"It's true," Sylvaine said. She reached for Bridgit's hand.
Bridgit released her cup and extended it, lacing their fingers together. "I have wanted you since the moment I first saw you," she admitted.
Sylvaine's expression reflected surprise. "Even with the curse upon me?"
"Even then."
A brilliant smile, the loveliest sunbeam-warm expression yet, dazzled Bridgit in answer to her confession. "And I you," Sylvaine said, fingers caressing Bridgit's wrist. "Though I should think the cause for my desire far more obvious."
"You are breathtaking, in either form," Bridgit told her. She smiled, pleased enough to stroke a thumb along Sylvaine's skin in turn. "But now there's all this touchable, yielding skin."
"I'm far warmer, too," Sylvaine purred. She set her tea aside and rose from the table. "May I show you, my lady knight?"
"Only if you call me your Bridgit," Bridgit replied with a laugh.
"My Bridgit," came the proprietary reply.
Around the corner from the hearth, behind the kitchen there was a small, cozy room with a large bed the central feature. An embroidered quilt in pink and gold on a field of white was turned down at the head to reveal two plump white pillows. The room was otherwise decorated with a sparse yet tasteful hand, but Bridgit only had eyes for Sylvaine.
She set a hand to Sylvaine's cheek, remaining motionless for an instant to admire all that her eyes beheld. Sylvaine's blue eyes were solemn, yet mirth lurked at the corners of her mouth. It was the same beautiful face, but a study in milk-white and spun gold, the first bloom of pink-cheeked roses and living sapphire.
"You are lucky I have no talent for poetry," Bridgit said roughly, her voice a touch husky as Sylvaine lifted her hand to cover Bridgit's, calling back to the moment Bridgit had done the same at the miner's hall.
Sylvaine gave a small laugh in response. "Lest we stand here all night, unfulfilled."
Bridgit made to strip Sylvaine's ruined shift from her shoulders, but Sylvaine put Bridgit's hands firmly to her own breastplate.
"I have no patience with ironworks," Sylvaine said. "You'll have to do for yourself, as I am no squire." Bridgit took the hint and began unstrapping and unbuckling her armor, a lengthy task in and of itself. By the time Sylvaine stood in her underthings, Bridgit was still struggling with her greaves.
"It is all very fitted, isn't it?" Sylvaine observed. She wrinkled her nose. "And it smells like the Ferrous Mountains on a wet day."
"My apologies; the armor is imbued against damage, not odor."
Sylvaine merely laughed and helped set aside the pieces as Bridgit stripped to her quilted undergarments. She removed those, too, and Sylvaine took them with an expression that spoke volumes for how laundering would shortly be in order.
"I've been on the road," Bridgit said in protest to that look.
"Aye, I have kept you chasing me to the four corners of Aqueliss," Sylvaine agreed.
"The better to earn this moment with you." Bridgit caught Sylvaine in her arms and they stood breast to breast at last, nothing between them but the last barrier of chemise and bloomers. Where Bridgit's were plain, utilitarian, Sylvaine's were befrilled with lace, and the difference delighted her.
"Flattery," Sylvaine noted. "When I'm already all yours." She caught her breath and seemed to hold it, blue eyes studying Bridgit's face intently.
Bridgit only smiled and leaned in for a kiss. Their positions were reversed from that first kiss in the streets of Verdant; she brought her lips to the verge, hovering near as she recalled with a smile that Sylvaine had offered up the kiss but not forced it upon her. Sylvaine's lips were quick to meet the promise, covering the remaining distance and sealing their mouths together.
The lips beneath Bridgit's were firm but yielding, warm and pleasant. A pleasant shudder traveled between them as the kiss continued, and they opened their lips to one another. Sylvaine's tongue was bold, tracing the line between their mouths, and Bridgit sent hers to meet it and prove she was not easily conquered. The fierceness of the kiss, however, taught her that Sylvaine would not be easily tamed, in turn.
"Bed," Sylvaine murmured, low and inviting, tugging on the hand she'd tangled in Bridgit's black braid.
"May I, first...?" Bridgit said in answer, running her hands up from Sylvaine's waist to her shoulders, fingering the straps of her chemise, before tracing down to the swells of small, high breasts.
To Bridgit's surprise, Sylvaine blushed. "If you like."
Bridgit's lips broadened in a grin. "I would like, very much." She removed Sylvaine's chemise with nimble but gentle fingers, reaching up to stroke pale blond hair over a shoulder, touching her jaw and eliciting an answering smile. She admired with her gaze, first, before reaching to touch, silently asking permission with her eyes and receiving a nod in return. Sylvaine had large, rosy nipples and she explored them until they pebbled up beneath her fingers.
Before she could lean in to admire with lips and tongue, hesitant fingers came up to rest on Bridgit's ribs beneath her breasts. "May I?"
Bridgit found her voice after two tries. "Please."
The simple, utilitarian chemise was far easier to be rid of, and its removal left Bridgit's round full breasts in Sylvaine's hands. She caressed them, thumbs circling in tandem to stroke the nipples, and caught her lip between her teeth as a flush rose to her cheeks.
"Now the bed," Bridgit decided, wanting very much to explore the promise of that look and more.
Arms around one another, they each put a knee on the side, and ended up toppling together. Bridgit managed to come out on top, putting a thigh between Sylvaine's legs, but she was disarmed by the way one of Sylvaine's hands migrated from breast to the curve of her rear.
"You have the advantage," Bridgit accused, because though her position was superior, Sylvaine's hands were free to roam any part of her.
Sylvaine lifted her chin and responded with a smug look, and a rather unsubtle caress.
It made Bridgit's knees weak, and she wanted to sink to the bedspread and let Sylvaine explore as she willed. She had the illusion of the upper hand, though, and wanted to make use of it. She propped herself above, dipping her head to claim Sylvaine's lips. They shared a slow, sweet kiss, and Bridgit came to rest atop Sylvaine until they were pressed together breast to belly. Sylvaine's hips strove upward and they began a leisurely, rocking grind together as they kissed.
"I would rid you of these bloomers," Sylvaine whispered, hand skimming down the back of them.
Bridgit groaned. "Yes, please."
It required more movement, the two of them shifting, and Sylvaine took Bridgit's bloomers off, running them down her legs as she sat up. Bridgit kissed an arm, a shoulder in passing and received a playful laugh in response. It was Sylvaine's turn next, and she lay back bright-eyed and pink-cheeked as Bridgit skimmed the lace-trimmed undergarment from her long, slender legs.
"Beautiful," Bridgit pronounced her.
"Yours," Sylvaine said in response.
She opened her arms, and Bridgit gladly returned. They began to kiss again, and Bridgit settled back where they had enjoyed mutual pleasure before, pressed together from chest to pubis with their legs intertwined. As they rocked gently together once more, Bridgit was sure she could come from only that much.
"I want to taste you," Sylvaine murmured when their lips parted.
Bridgit caught her breath, certain she would ignite into flames. Her voice was hoarse when she managed to reply, "If you like."
They tangled together, arms and legs, as Bridgit shifted to lie on the bed and Sylvaine kissed her mouth, the dip between her collarbones, and traveled downward to her breasts in passing. Sylvaine knelt over her, golden hair a diffused shining veil around her face, and smiled down at her. Bridgit's heart gave an unsteady thud and she smoothed her hands over Sylvaine's back and sides, more given to action than unburdening the impulses of sentiment.
"I'll show you how much I like." Sylvaine kissed her way down Bridgit's front from navel to belly, and hovered for a moment between her thighs, soft exhalations stirring the hair covering Bridgit's mound in a way that made her shiver.
She paused long enough that Bridgit lifted her head, wondering if Sylvaine was uncertain or if perhaps it was her first, until lips and tongue touched her and delved into her folds with a slow thoroughness that made her melt, pliant, onto the bed. A surprised groan left her. Bridgit was sensitive from anticipation, and the burn of admiring Sylvaine's beauty. She had never thought to enjoy it in such a fashion, and they could fully indulge their passions. Sylvaine was freed of her curse, and Bridgit, the obligations of duty.
Bridgit closed her eyes and writhed as Sylvaine's tongue licked into the heated center of her and up, pressing pointed attention on her most responsive parts. Without a word, Sylvaine knew her. She clasped Bridgit's hips and held her down as she strove to buck upward. She thrilled her tongue in rapid movements across the hot bud of her desire and brought it blooming wildly. And she backed off when Bridgit's moans grew frantic, and returned to tasting her thoroughly when the tension eased in the thighs clamped on Sylvaine's sides.
Already roused to the fervent cusp of desire by the heady kisses and sweet caresses they had shared, Bridgit was not long on stamina. Sylvaine was too skilled, as well, fast overwhelming her with the delicate, targeted flicks of her tongue. All too soon, far sooner than Bridgit's pride could endure, she was gasping under Sylvaine's devoted onslaught, shuddering in her arms.
"Yes... yes!" Bridgit cried as her pleasure ebbed and surged and ebbed once more. She reached for Sylvaine, drawing her into an embrace, delighting in the way their bodies pressed together as her chest heaved in the after-tremors of her climax. There were more pleasures their two such bodies could draw from one another, and she wanted to explore them all. She wanted more time, more opportunity, and hoped that Sylvaine wished the same.
"You enjoyed it?" Sylvaine inquired, though tone and the way her hand continued to cup and knead at Bridgit's breast made it clear she knew the question to be unnecessary.
Bridgit caught her breath. "Yes, very much." She pressed in for a kiss, sharing the flavor of the pleasure that Sylvaine had given her. Sylvaine looked impish and wanton when she withdrew. "Now, my turn." Bridgit caressed down the supple skin of Sylvaine's stomach, fingers seeking the place where she was already wet. She licked her lips.
"You needn't, if you don't want." Sylvaine's protest was entirely unconvincing as she fastened her legs about Bridgit's thigh and thrust against her, driving Bridgit's fingers deeper. A tremor went through her. She rolled her hips and did it again.
"However you like," Bridgit assured her, angling a kiss for her temple and getting a mouthful of hair as Sylvaine buried her face in Bridgit's neck and panted. Bridgit knew that not all pleasures were created equal, for all.
"I would like..." Sylvaine shuddered and paused in her movements. "However my knight would most like to please me."
Bridgit smiled, flexing her fingers in the hot, narrow sheathe of Sylvaine's passage, angling her thumb to bring greater pleasure to bear. Sylvaine groaned, low and surprisingly hoarse, and rocked against Bridgit again.
"I would taste you," Bridgit whispered into Sylvaine's ear, excited by the way she trembled against her again, "yet you seem to derive so much passion from this, I only want to pursue your satisfaction."
Sylvaine clung to her without words for a moment, before giving a nod. She thrust against Bridgit once more, tightening around her fingers, and loosened her grip.
It sent another stab of desire right to the core of Bridgit, seeing how much Sylvaine was overcome. If she was in any part responsible, it was a potent thrall indeed. She disengaged her fingers as Sylvaine rolled onto her back, hands caressing at Bridgit's shoulders to urge her on.
Bridgit required no prompting. In a twinkling she was between Sylvaine's legs, skimming reverent hands down the alabaster flesh until she reached the delicate skin at the apex of her thighs, the flushed mound adorned with fine blond hair that she smoothed out of the way, the pink folds awaiting exploration. She desired her tongue to delve as thorough a course as the one Sylvaine had set her. At the touch of her lips, however, Sylvaine squirmed and gave a little squeal, kicking out.
"I'll secure you," Bridgit warned.
"Oh, yes, please," Sylvaine responded, breathless.
Bridgit filed that eager response away for later contemplation, and set her weight across Sylvaine's thighs, pinning feet beneath her own torso and pleased they were flexible enough to accommodate the configuration. Thus arrayed, Bridgit returned to her prize, kissing and nosing her way to the heart of Sylvaine's sex. She licked upward, closed her lips and suckled, and wished she had a hand free to apply in service to bringing her off as well.
It turned out to be unneeded. Sylvaine's rapturous cries answered the devotion of Bridgit's lips and tongue, and hips tested her grip, straining to entwine them closer together. The flow of release was testament to Bridgit's ministrations, though sooner than she'd expected or hoped. She lapped it up and would have continued, but Sylvaine's small distressed noises and a hand twining into her disarrayed hair let her know the limit had been reached.
Biting her lip, Bridgit crawled the length of the bed to return to Sylvaine's side, and regarded her anxiously. "Was it...?" She grinned when Sylvaine replied with a giddy laugh.
"More than adequate," Sylvaine said, her attempt at a lofty expression failing when the corners of her mouth twitched.
"Adequate," Bridgit protested, falling upon her and pinching her ribs.
Sylvaine gave an unladylike cackle of laughter and tugged at Bridgit's braid, other hand reaching to tickle.
Together, they rolled from one side of the bed to the other, play-fighting like a pair of tumbling puppies until they came to rest. Bridgit was bright-eyed, rejuvenated after days of travel and the stress of an increasingly distasteful quest, yet the heaviness of sleep loomed. Sylvaine gazed over at her, serene to the point of appearing smug.
"Was this by your design, my clever witch?" Bridgit asked. It was the curse that had kept Sylvaine from confiding in her, yet at each turn she had lured Bridgit on with hints of the true sweetness of her nature.
"Only in my most fanciful hopes." Sylvaine gave a delicate yawn and patted the quilt. "Come, we should sleep, and discuss the rest upon the morning."
Bridgit nodded. There were so many trails of thought that she wanted to pursue, each crossing forks with the next, yet all of them would wait until morning. For the nonce, with desire sated it was growing difficult to keep back the demands of sleep.
They settled beneath the silken drape of the bedclothes together, arms over one another's waists, and Sylvaine laid her head on Bridgit's shoulder. An exultant chuckle bubbled up from the depths of her; Bridgit could never have imagined the conclusion of her first quest with such a satisfying finish.
"What?" Sylvaine murmured, caressing Bridgit's hip.
"I never would have thought... Well, you aren't a monster, but you were my undoing," Bridgit said. She kissed the top of Sylvaine's head. "What next, my clever witch?"
"Hmm." Sylvaine's hand continued to stroke slowly over Bridgit's side and she nestled closer as she appeared to consider the question. "I am a white witch, you know. I have a debt of nightmares to discharge. I may be of some use to a Lissian Knight."
Bridgit's smile widened. By way of answer, she hugged Sylvaine to her, expressing her intention to keep her right where she was. She had slain the monster, and gained a prospective partner.
The balance was always restored in the end.