Light and Shadows

Masters of Revendreth: Things Seen

It was over.

The weary band of warriors - mortal alongside Venthyr and Stoneborn - had finally dragged themselves out of Castle Nathria and back to the safety of Sinfall. There wasn't a single one not sporting some sort of injury, and many of the mortals were being propped up by other, less damaged compatriots. Renathal's own body cried out for anima, and rest. But he, like everyone else in the party, was smiling as he glided through Sinfall's courtyard to tumultuous applause.

It was over, and he, the Fallen Prince, had won.

Renathal could hardly move for the crowd swelling around him; mortals congratulating him, Venthyr thanking him. Everyone wanted to hear from the Prince's own lips that Denathrius was truly defeated, and Renathal never tired of the words no matter how often he repeated them.

For the first time since his rebellion had been re-instated, no part of his confidence was for show. He had not felt this powerful, this in control, in ... potentially his entire existence. The Master had always made certain Renathal knew his eternal place was second best. Yet, in spite of Denathrius' best efforts, it was Renathal who had triumphed in the end.

Not that the Dark Prince thought for a moment he had done it himself.

Renathal's eyes scanned the surrounding faces, searching for the Maw Walker. The only thing remaining to secure his total victory was to have her at his side. He wanted to sweep his secret lover into his arms in plain view of everyone, kiss her while all of Sinfall and her mortal allies watched. There was nothing to hide from anymore. Denathrius could not take her from him.

Except the Maw Walker was nowhere to be found.

Most of the triumphant raiding party were gathered around Stefan's hastily prepared refreshments, but the Nightborne was not among them. She was not with Theotar in his shaded tea corner, nor mingling with the merry-making Venthyr on the ramparts. No matter which way Renathal looked, he could not locate her distinctive purple sheen.

Instinct, or rather the urgings of an existence-old fear, led Renathal's thoughts to Denathrius and his feet swiftly around the Spire to the open, empty cliff behind. Sure enough, there was the Maw Walker, standing at the cliff's crumbling edge.

Except for her battle-worn robes and mussed hair whipping in the bitter breeze, the Nightborne was entirely still. She was one of the least injured of the raiding party, yet by far the most subdued. She spared the merest glance for Renathal's noisy approach before returning her gaze to the top of the nearby tower.

Renathal's boots slowed only when he reached the Maw Walker's side, kicking up a miniature storm of stony debris as he stopped short. Her oddly frozen reserve upset his plan to scoop her up and carry her triumphantly to the distant celebration. He crossed his arms behind his back for something else to do with them.

"Shall I ask the guests to join us here so we all may admire your victory?" asked Renathal wryly.

The Maw Walker flicked her bland smile on and off.

"I'm just examining the defenses." She nodded in the direction of Dawnkeep. "I suppose there will be guards stationed here? And patrols around the tower?"

Renathal frowned.

"That would be an exceptional waste of resources given Denathrius' soul is imprisoned in Remornia. He cannot simply walk away."

"Oh, yes," said the Maw Walker, with a mirthless snort. "Because swords in this realm never go off and do their own bidding."

Renathal's mood was too good to be goaded. Their standing argument on enchanted objects could wait for another time. He tucked loose strands of dark, windswept hair behind the Maw Walker's long ear, the better to see her silhouette. It was oddly pinched, as if holding her impassive mask in place was a struggle.