The Song of Roland Ch. 21

Kelsea ignored the tears that still flowed in twin lines down her face. They were petty nuisances to the story she had relived a thousand times before. "What's your name? Where are you from? My name's Rosalie." Kelsea sighed, "She was relentless. She'd come back from a Demon's ravishment, blood trailing from her nose and ask: 'So, are you ready to talk to me, today?' I... don't know what she wanted from me."

Kelsea looked at Bogdan, as if hoping somehow that he could answer for her. He could not, and thus she was forced to continue. "Finally, one day, in the middle of the night, I whispered to her." The Succubus leaned forward, her lips brushing against Bogdan's ear. "My name's Kelsea. I'm from Arjal." Kelsea closed her eyes. "And after that, we talked. In the night when the Imps weren't about, we'd tell each other everything. Share our secrets, reveal our fears."

"I... I loved her." Kelsea said. "Not- not in that way, though the Demons made us do things, sometimes. They were always so quick to read little cues from us, when we exchanged looks while in line. They thought the budding 'romance' humorous. They used it to further humiliate us."

Now came the hardest part. "...One day, she didn't come back to the pile. Rumor amongst the Demons was that Grevich had arbitrarily chosen a new pet. When he did, he'd disappear for days at a time, training them in the finer intricacies of being his slave. Breaking their will, crushing their spirit."

Kelsea's face flattened. "Rosalie came back to the pile, long after she should have. Days? Weeks?" She shook her head, "I don't know. I was just ecstatic that she was back. But she wasn't the same. All she'd tell me was 'He hurt me, Kelsea.'" The Succubus let out a long, trembling sob. "H-he hurt me."

"After that, everything changed. Sometime afterward, she woke me up, when all the others were asleep. Somehow, she'd swiped the key from his chambers." Kelsea trembled at the memory. "It was death to disobey him. She knew it. I kept telling her we weren't supposed to be outside the cages but she- she didn't listen." Kelsea's mind delved back to that place, to the eternal loop within her mind that had shackled her more completely than any physical restraint ever could have.

She unlocked our chains and half-dragged me through the caves. I tried to stop, to go back to my assigned place a half dozen times. But she wouldn't hear of it. Naked, we emerged out at the mouth of the cave. We were free: the Demons hadn't discovered us yet. If we were lucky, we could get to civilization in a day or two."

Bogdan was a silent ghost, his eyes unwavering as they appraised her.

"She... she took me by the wrist." The crowning experience had finally arrived. Everything that happened after to Kelsea was just another indignity to add to the pile. "She told me I had to go, but I just shook my head and refused."

"'Kelsea,' She said to me. Her eyes were hollow, her face was pale and sunken. The fire had left her eyes by that point. 'I can't go. I need him.' She'd looked at me with this weird sort of hope. 'But you,' She said to me. 'You're stronger than this.'" The Demon's head drooped as she stared at her hands. "I watched her turn away, and walk back into the cave. She handed me the key, so that I could free the others once I'd escaped and brought back help."

Kelsea's face flattened. "I didn't- I stayed where I was. I kept thinking that she'd come back, that this was some new, awful test that the Imps, or possibly Grevich had put her up to. That if I stepped beyond the entryway, I'd be set upon and afterward they'd all have a good cackle about it."

"But... more than that. I needed it too, by then. She'd sacrificed everything to save a fellow spectre. Rosalie knew what it meant to be caught without chains wandering about." Kelsea tried to blink the water from her eyes, but everything was a blur. "I stood in that same spot, until the sun came up. Till the shouting roars of angry Demons and terrified yelps of unlucky Imps echoed through the cave. Even though she'd freed me, I was too bound to the place. I needed it too. I needed those creatures. I needed their abuse."

"She saved you, yet you stayed." Bogdan said.

"Grevich found me." Kelsea said, her voice flat and dead. "He stalked up to me from the depths of the cave and ripped the key from my hand. He grabbed me by the face, anger and fury in his eyes as he snarled at me."

Kelsea's eyes lifted. "But... he didn't kill me. He looked at me, appraising me. 'You have a strange sort of boldness, slave. I will grant you that.' He looked me up and down once again. 'No one has ever had the strength to get this far before. You are... intriguing.'" Kelsea shuddered. It disturbed her how similar she could make her voice sound to his. "He looked me in the eyes. Those red eyes. And he said: 'I choose you.'"

"And then he raped me. There, in front of the cave, with the sun in my face and the wind rustling through the leaves. He took me back to his chambers, and from that point on I was his favorite pet. I lived in his room, and serviced him in every, appalling way. I never saw Rosalie again. In a cruel moment of sadism, Grevich led me to the imp pit, and pointed out a pile of bones. H-he said-" She had to stop talking.

"He chose me." Kelsea said at last. There was a strange feeling in her chest. Worse than mere sorrow, or pain or regret. "He chose me, and then he hurt me, like he'd hurt her. Grevich turned me into his favorite, and left Rosalie to the Imps. He chose me, like I chose Roland. Like I'm..." She felt her body begin to shake, a deep tremor from within, of the hex that was once again beginning to grow inside her.

Bogdan's face was grim, solemn and unmoved. "She is in Horax's heavy embrace now, Child of Amphara. The mortal coil is a difficult thing to shed, but peace lies at the end of it."

"...My name is Kelsea." She said, staring at the cemetery ground, thinking of bones.

"Indeed." He said, standing to his feet and brushing stray bits of snow from his coat. "And you carry Kelsea's memories within you: her wants, her fears and her regrets." His gaze was softer now as he looked at her. "Just have a care to remember the differences between you and her."

The discomforting Priest whispered a half-heard prayer upon his lips. Kelsea heard Rosalie's name, as well as her own as a part of it. He nodded at her, turning sharply and striding off into the dark as the sun sank down behind the white walls of the Cloister. "Do not dwell here with your ghosts for too long, Kelsea." He said from far away. "You might awaken this restful place."

After he took he took his leave, Kelsea herself rose to her feet. Her body burned with unnatural heat, her inhuman contours merely hidden in her false illusion. She could feel it: that same dark power flowing through her veins. She could hear him: Grevich's voice whispering to her all the darkest impulses that threatened to rise up and subsume her. She'd resisted for so long, she'd fought so hard.

"You are stronger than this." She whispered to herself. She turned away from the mouldering graves and went to find Roland.

* * *

The next day was a brilliant, sunny canvas. The sky was deep blue, without clouds and empty of cold winds. It was an auspicious morning, one destined to change the trajectory of the Cloister's fate. A young lookout, lazing in the upper reaches of the southern gate, looked out from his wooden gatehouse and espied something that made his eyes widen and his heart leap from his chest.

"They're here!" He shouted, a sudden, furious laughter arising from his lips. Spider's gaze, they've finally come!"

He saw the horses, the tall banners waving in the wind. A horn blasted, and he lifted his own in return. The two sounds echoed and rebounded across the mountain plateau, arising all those fitful sleepers who had remained in their beds into late morning.

Roland was out near the central bonfire, sharing a quiet meal with Kelsea when the sound interrupted them. They looked up as one, and then shared an extended look.

"...What is that?" Kelsea asked him.

"A horn." Roland said, turning back to his jerky. "Two of em, I'd say."

The villagers began to crowd towards the gates. Kelsea let out a huff. "I know that! I was meaning what do you think it's about?"

"Someone arriving." Roland said, shrugging as he took a second bite. "Or someone leaving, though I didn't hear the gates lift."

"You're hopeless in the morning!" She said, punching his shoulder. Roland gave her an evil eye.

"And you need to learn when to let a man eat." He retorted. Kelsea flashed him a witless grin, and he chuckled into his food.

"Why?" the sultry Succubus said. Her fingers closed tighter about his hand. "You'll just end up hungry again, later." Her unsubtle giggle told him just what she meant by the statement.

He snapped his hand out and took her own tight in his fist. She yelped in half-fear, half-glee as he resisted her efforts to extricate her appendage from the vice-like trap. "I've half a mind to bend you over my knee and teach you proper manners, ya unruly wench."

Kelsea's eyebrow quirked. "Oh, do you now, m'lord?" Roland inwardly winced at the title. The Demon's eyelids lowered. "And how - pray - do you intend to instruct this humble peasant?"

"Depends on the nature of her misdeed." He replied. "Ruining a man's meal means five whacks with an open palm."

"-To a bare bottom, I trust." Kelsea said, leaning forward and planting a brazen hand against his chin. Her thumb toyed with his bottom lip for a moment, her eyes focusing on some detail on his face. Before he knew it she had leaned forward, and was kissing him. It was Kelsea who finally pulled away from the embrace, leaning back and letting a slow smile build upon her face. "Hm... better make that ten whacks." She purred, "I keep postponing your meal."

"It's for the best, I suppose." He said, touching her cheek. "I never seem to get any peace when you're around, regardless." They traded long smiles.

"...I've missed this." She said, taking his hand and pulling into her lap. She toyed with his thick digits, her fingers rolling across the tips of his own. "Us. A quiet morning."

"There haven't been enough of them." Roland said, staring back at her. The slender locks of black trailed across her face as she looked at him, her blue eyes like the ocean threatening to pull him in. Her smile widened as she returned his gaze. The thought that had been running through his head for some time arose again to the forefront.

"We could leave, yeah?" Roland said, low enough that no one could hear. "Pack our things, head off the mountain. Find a place alone; far from others."

The woman who had become his very existence looked back at him for a long moment. "The villagers need us, Roland. They can't stop this on their own... and what about Carl, and the Harpy?"

To the Eighth Helspire with all of them. He thought, but he brushed aside the strangely selfish inclination.

"We don't know where they've gone, what has happened to 'em." He said, "We're livin' like moths atop a budding pyre. Sooner or later, they will find out what you are. And when they do..." His hand clenched against his dagger's hilt, lifting and lowering it in its sheath to try to settle his nerves. "It doesn't have to come to that."

"I owe them a debt, Roland." She said, "Just the same as I owe you; but theirs is one I am actually able to repay"

There was shouting atop the walls. The villagers had crowded the gate, so that when it began to open many had to push aside to get out of the way of those entering the village. Roland grunted, tossing aside the last of his food and stretching. Their argument would have to go unresolved - as always. "C'mon." He said, "May as well gander at the new bloods."

The portcullis lifted, and through the causeway marched a host of horses, as numerous as the Briar Dogs had been that fateful day upon the High Road. Roland's wounds twinged in pain as he walked, reminding him that he was still heavily bandaged beneath his armor. A terse sigh was all he allowed himself as he took a look at the banner.

Red, yellow and blue. The sigil of a naked man crossing a bed of black coals, surrounded by a host of snarling Imps. Roland was taken aback by the depiction. "Gods." He murmured in genuine admiration. "They hired the Hellstriders."

A motley sort they were: men of weathered complexion and foul temperament. Most were unkempt, with long beards and trailing locks of hair. They wore simple armor: boiled leather and light, padded cloth made for ease of movement, rather than protection. Upon many of their backs were bows, though a good number of them bore tall shields and thick handaxes with spiked tips at the back. They were old, battle-hardened veterans of a very special breed. They took no kingly contracts, and refused to fight the wars of mortals. Their contracts always involved the killing of only one sort of creature.

The villagers cheered, surging forward as the company of men called to a halt and the remaining priesthood - besides Bogdan - emerged from the crowd to greet them. Almyra was there, as was Maghas the Dwarf, and Varric the Minotaur. They bowed as the leader got down from his horse: a tall, bulk of a man nearly the size of Varric in height. His head was shaved to the pate, the black tresses pulled tight into a tiny, braided ponytail that ended at the nape of his neck. Upon his belt swung a flanged mace, and on the other side was sheathed a long, curved knife resembling a tiger's claw. His bright, brown eyes were piercing, and his face bore the scars of a hundred campaigns. His lips pulled back into an assumed smile as the three Priests offered their gratitude.

"Thank the Gods you have come." The Priestess of Gosvin said. "I am Almyra, this is the home of my people: the followers of the Wounded Spider."

The leader nodded respectfully in her direction. "A pleasure." He said, though the words rang hollow. Pleasure did not seem to be this man's forte. "I am Captain Fabian." He gestured casually behind him at the assorted soldiers, who had yet to dismount. "These are my Hellstriders. I can see you've been busy."

"You're late." Maghas grumbled in his rocky tone.

"Indeed." Fabian agreed, though he did not so much as offer an apology. "We've been waylaid for several days now on the mountain road. It seems the Demons have no taste for uninvited guests." He reached out and patted a wet looking sack strung to his horse. It squished when he touched it. "We sorted them out quick enough." He looked around at the expectant faces of the villagers, crushed together in the space of the Inner Cloister. "...Have you room and board for my men? We are weary from travel, and could use a rest before we get to the bloody business."

"Of course." Almyra immediately said. "Please: come with me to Gosvin's Hall. We may discuss the details. In the meantime: allow my people to feed and hobble your-"

"Don't touch the horses." Fabian said. "My men will take care of it themselves. Find us an empty space: an Inn preferably, if you've still got one. We've our own food and drink, and wont bother your services." His eyes hardened, "But until I know who is what, we won't accept anything from your people. Nor will we ask for it. Is that clear?"

Almyra held his gaze for a long moment. "...Of course."

He nodded. "Let us be off then. I can see your town is in some distress." Fabian glanced back and gave a nod, and as one his men began to clamber down off their horses. "More bad luck, it seems: we found a man bein' carried off by a Harpy, a few days ago. Gods only know how she ended up here. We drove her off, but he's been badly injured by balefire." He nodded towards a horse upon which was tied a familiar, haggard figure. "Best you take a look at him. He's in dire need of some help."

"Carl." Kelsea startled, moving away from Roland and rushing over to the half-conscious man. His face was heavily bandaged on one side, and Roland could see the listless way his other eye looked about.

Roland would have moved to follow her, but another figure caught his eye. She was so bulky he was almost convinced she was just another man, at first. But it was not her womanly features that caught his gaze, but rather the maddeningly familiar spiderweb injury that trickled up from her chin and marred her right cheek nearly to the nose, like a red river flowing northwards.

He stopped, the bottom dropping out of his stomach as she glanced over at him. Their eyes met from across the crowd, and her own eyes went wide. She took a few steps forward, her mouth opening in surprise as she stalked forward, heedless of the people between them.

Why here? Why now?

"Roland?" She called out, her familiar, barking tone causing Roland to groan to himself.

"Triss." He said back, his tongue was in the back of his throat. "Been... been awhile, yeah?"