Kenderik’s name tasted like poison in his mouth. Arvenus spat on the ground, his insides burning in anger once more. “He is a fool to return,” Arvenus said in hushed tones. From his periphery he watched Yarnus appear like a silent shadow.

“I hold no love for you,” Yarnus confessed. “Not after what has transpired here. But as Watchers of the Grey Order it’s up to you, me, and Sadus to stop him.”

“He will pay for all that he has done, rest assured,” Arvenus advised. He began to make his way to the mansion’s stables, then stopped. “One more thing,” he added. “I will be the one to kill Kenderik. And I won’t hesitate to kill you if you get in my way, brother.” Without another word he sprinted off.

The stable was full of muck and soiled hay. It smelled of dirt and excrement, a scent that lingered on his clothes and persisted despite the clean air that wafted through the rickety doors behind him. Arvenus opened one of the stall doors. The hinges groaned as he swung the door wide, grabbing the bridle of the mare inside. Arvenus was pleased to see she had already been tacked up with a saddle and stirrups. As he led her from the stables, he hastily gifted her a small handful of oats from the sack at the door. She chomped them greedily, her lips writhed against the palm of his hand as she searched for more. Arvenus gave her one more affectionate pat before mounting. “Time to go,” he murmured, and spurred her into a trot.

They bolted through the garden gate, Arvenus laying low across the mare’s neck, urging her into a gallop. She complied, eager to be out in the open, and she raced through the village at a break-neck speed. He could feel the earth shifting beneath her hooves as she darted down the dirt path, and he was able to predict every movement she made. He could feel her energy as if it was his own, her joy at the openness before her, and her exhilaration and wild abandon.

As they reached the edge of the village, Arvenus pulled on her reins, slowing her to a canter. Enclosing the edge of the path was Kenderik One-Arm and his infamous horde. They stood, watching and waiting, as they ambled their way closer.

He noticed that several of the men were armed with wicked looking knives, some with bows, but his eyes were drawn to Kenderik. The one-armed man sat atop his horse, dark eyes gleaming as he watched Arvenus approach. Kenderik’s lips pulled back in something akin to a smile, and it made Arvenus shiver.

He pulled his horse up short, stopping several yards away. A squat man that stood closest to Kenderik lifted his bow and notched an arrow, pointing it directly at his chest.

“That’s far enough,” the squat man called, his voice like grating gravel.

Arvenus eyed the men before him. He could feel them. He could feel the spirits that dwelled within them. He could feel the anger and hunger that guided them. However, beneath that ran a current of fear. They fought for Kenderik because they had to. They fought for him because they were afraid of what he would do to them if they didn’t. They were inconsequential. All of them. The only one that truly mattered was their leader. Kenderik was the one in control. Without him, the puppet strings would be cut, and one by one they would fall.

“Have you come to talk then?” he mocked, sitting back in his saddle, and folding his hands over the reins. “Given your history, I must say that idea is surprising.”

“Anyway, I hear you’ve been looking for me…” Kenderik interjected. His grin exposed the rotten, crooked teeth in his mouth.

“We have,” his brother’s voice called somewhere behind him. Arvenus turned to find Yarnus and Sadus strolling casually up the road, Yarnus seemingly unbothered by their earlier squabble.

“Well…” Kenderik remarked, his words trailing off. “I can only think of one reason a man might do such a thing.”

“To flay your hide,” Arvenus stated with a studied nonchalance, while Yarnus and Sadus came to a halt beside him. “Preferably while you’re still alive, but I’ll take what I can get.”

To his surprise, Kenderik let out a booming bark of laughter.

“You boys have balls,” he said between guffaws. “But not a brain between you.”

Arvenus smiled. “You doubt our odds,” he said without question.

Kenderik acknowledged the truth of those words with a slight tilt of his head. “Better men than you have tried,” he replied, the ghost of a laugh still buried in his words.

Anger had settled somewhere just beneath the surface of his being, but as the words rolled so easily off Kenderik’s tongue, Arvenus felt that rage spilling over into his consciousness. He let it consume him, let it steal through his body and rip away any shred of worry or doubt. He let all of the hatred and rage and pain he had felt over the last many weeks flow in his veins, to protect him from anything the bandit might say or do.

Kenderik’s sneer was visible. It was a taunt. He wanted Arvenus to attack, to make a fool of himself by throwing caution to the wind and riding upon the gathered men, but Arvenus was no fool.

He turned his attention back to the squat man, whose arrow was still pointed, unwaveringly, the tip of it aimed directly at Arvenus' heart. Arvenus reached forward with his mind, past each and every man before him until he reached the squat man at Kenderik’s side. Slowly, imperceptibly, Arvenus wormed his way beneath the man’s skin. He could feel the heart beating within the man’s chest, the blood moving through his veins, and his muscles contracting. Arvenus took hold of the man’s spirit, and began draining the lifeforce from his body. The man began to scream, dropping to the ground in a panic. Arvenus could feel his pain, could feel the agony that writhed through him. Then he was dead.

Kenderik stared at the lifeless body on the ground next to him. It happened so quickly the raiders could do nothing but watch on in a spellbound horror. Arvenus smiled wickedly at the gleam of fear in Kenderik’s eyes.

“See, that’s where you’re mistaken,” Arvenus said with a chuckle. “There are no men like me…”

“Kill them!” Kenderik all of a sudden ordered his men. And while his raiders began their attack, Arvenus watched the one-armed man whirl his mount and force it to a gallop, heading for the empty field beyond the edges of the village. The raiders remained unaware of their leader's cowardly action, and for a moment, panic gripped Arvenus. He saw his one chance for justice slipping through his fingers. Digging his heels into his horse’s flank, he urged her on, and she darted forward in a frantic spurt.

As Arvenus descended upon the raiders, the mare slipping through their ranks in pursuit of their leader, one of the raiders managed to attack the mare’s front legs. Arvenus was sent careening off the horse, his body tumbling to the ground. His head whirling, Arvenus lay there. For a brief moment, he stared up at the sky, an unending azure ocean above, and tried to catch his breath. Around him, Yarnus and Sadus fought off Kendricks’ men, who soon realized they stood little chance against them.

Then, Arvenus quickly grabbed the bow and arrow of the squat man he had killed. He rose up, aimed, and fired. He watched the arrow as it pierced through the air beyond the edge of the village, angled downwards, and finally struck Kenderik One-Arm in his upper back. Arvenus watched how Kenderik lost control of his horse and fell out of the saddle. A moment later, his horse came to a halt as well. Arvenus could see Kenderik One-Arm struggling to get to his feet, attempting to reach his horse.

At that moment he heard Yarnus scream his name. Arvenus turned around just in time to see a club arcing overhead toward him. He ducked low and rolled, springing to his feet. In a flush of heat and emotion, he rushed the raider that had attacked him, grabbing him around the midriff and forcing him down. His hands found the sides of the raiders head and snapped his neck.

“Deal with this mess,” Arvenus shouted to Yarnus and Sadus while he picked up the raiders club and started running.

As Arvenus reached the village edge, he saw that the wounded Kenderik had managed to mount his horse again, the arrow still sticking out of his back. Dropping to his knees, Arvenus placed his hands on the ground. The cool grasses lapped lazily at his legs, their caress soft and gentle. It soothed the anger that had swallowed him, it grounded his consciousness. He closed his eyes and searched for the life that lived beneath his feet. He felt the whisper of its current buried deep within, and he reached for it, digging his fingers through the soil. His mind probed through the layers of earth, going deep down into the bedrock. Then, like a spear tip thrust inside the cracks on a stone, Arvenus thrust his power down into the bedrock and split it apart. The ground shook with the force of it, a vibrating sensation that became stronger the harder he pushed his power inside.

He traced his fingers in a rough circular motion, imagining a line forming behind Kenderik. The earth was eager to follow his command, and, as if he had dug the trench himself, the ground began to cave in and split into an arc trapping the bandit. Kenderik was forced back toward the village.

With a grin, Arvenus stepped forward. Kenderik One-Arm, badly wounded as Arvenus could now see, stopped at the sight of him. His horse whinnied, a high, desperate sound, tossing its head back.

“I never pegged you for a coward,” Arvenus shouted. “I didn’t expect you to run at the first sign of trouble, yet here we are.”

Kenderik smiled, his black teeth bared. “Never lose the upper hand. It’s the best rule I have for staying alive.”

“Then I suppose it’s a shame you’ve lost the upper hand now,” Arvenus replied, returning the grin.

Kenderik slid from the saddle, landing hard on his feet. “You’ve come to kill me, eh?” He pulled out his knife.

“Aye,” Arvenus nodded. “And I don’t plan to make it quick.”

Arvenus shot forward, using all of the power he had to bear. He crossed the ground in seconds, taking Kenderik by surprise. Swinging his club, he aimed for Kenderik’s jaw. The raider threw his hand up, the knife he carried glinting in the sunlight. With a scream the club crushed his wrist, and the knife fell from his fingers.

Still, Kenderik was not defenseless. He brought his arm around in a wide arc, catching Arvenus in the ribs with his elbow. As he was thrown sideways, the club rolled out of his grasp. While Kenderik came closer to take another swing, Arvenus probed through the dirt until a large, jagged, multifaceted rock lay in his palm. He pulled it up through the dirt and freed it from its earthen cage. Just before Kenderik could hit him, Arvenus used all his strength and smashed the rock against the raider’s temple. Kenderik dropped to his knees, a spurt of blood streaming from his hair. As he struggled to regain his footing, Arvenus renewed his attack. He brought the rock down across the man’s face, his shoulders, his neck.

With devastating precision, Arvenus struck the final blow. As the shard of stone split Kenderik’s skull his body stiffened, rivers of red pouring down his cheeks, dripping from his chin. His lifeless body hung motionless for a single moment. Then, he fell over backwards, snapping the arrow when he hit the ground.

Panting, covered in grime, sweat, and blood, Arvenus struggled to his feet. The sound of footsteps caught his attention, and he glanced back to find his brother traipsing through the grass.

“It’s done,” Arvenus said, wiping Kenderik’s blood from his face.

Yarnus stumbled forward on unsteady feet. “So it is,” he replied. He studied Kenderik’s body, his face contemplative. “The rest of the village deserves to know.”

“Aye,” Arvenus agreed. He walked over to Kenderik’s stallion, still standing in the field. He patted the horse’s neck, speckles of blood transferring from his hand to the horse’s coat.

Reaching up to the stallion’s bridle he unlaced his reins. The leather was thick, strong, and durable enough for what he had in mind. He took the reins and tied one end to the stallion’s saddle.

“What are you doing?” Yarnus asked.

“Well, making sure the village knows…” Arvenus said. “Bring him here,” he said, nodding to Kenderik’s body.

Yarnus regarded him silently, shuffling toward the dead man on weary bones. He grabbed the one-armed man by the legs and pulled his body alongside the horse.

Arvenus secured the other end of the leather rein, tying it about Kenderik’s ankle. Placing his foot in the stirrup, he hoisted himself onto the stallion.

“They will all see that Kenderik One-Arm’s reign of terror is now over. They will know that at long last they have nothing to fear.” Kicking his heels, he spurred the stallion to a walk. With Yarnus alongside him, they made their way back to the village.

On their way, carnage greeted them. The mangled bodies of raiders lay across their path, the ground around them stained red with their blood. Next to them, Sadus sat on the ground, still catching his breath from the fight. Yarnus pulled him up, while the stallion picked its way along the trail, careful to avoid the sprawling limbs that blocked the road. “They put up a good fight,” Sadus murmured, kicking the leg of a dead raider out of the way.

When they entered the village, it was eerily quiet. Homes stood as silent sentinels, their curtains drawn and somber. Arvenus could sense the fear, the worry that lingered over the village. It had been many an age since the estate bell had last been rung, and it had certainly never sounded in his lifetime. They feared that the end was upon them, and that the horde had come to finish them off at last. Nevertheless, beneath the fear and uncertainty was curiosity, and as Arvenus and Yarnus dragged Kenderik’s body through the streets, they could see the sunken faces of their neighbors peering through the windows.

“Kenderik One-Arm is dead,” Arvenus announced. “May the blessings bestowed by Psikar allay your fears. Our village is free once more.”

Slowly, fighting the current of distrust that kept them immobile, the villagers stepped out from behind their doors. They gathered closer to the road, the shadow of doubt lingering on their faces. Kenderik’s body was mangled, his face split and broken, but there could be no mistaking his one-armed likeness. News of his death seemed to spread among those gathered at the edges of the path, so that by the time Arvenus and Yarnus reached Daron’s mansion the news preceded them.

The brothers found their landlord waiting for them just outside the garden gate.

“Is it true?” he asked, all pretense of ceremony cast aside.

Arvenus dismounted, his feet hitting the ground with a hard thud. He untied the rein end attached to his saddle and pulled hard, dragging Kenderik’s body into view.

“He is dead,” he said, a grin of triumph on his face. “As are his men.”

Daron breathed a sigh, unable to tear his eyes from the corpse that lay mere feet away. “And you?” he asked of the brothers and Sadus. “Are you well?”

“Well enough,” Yarnus agreed. “Now that Kenderik One-Arm is dead perhaps there can be some semblance of peace here.” He spared a glance for Arvenus, who looked pointedly toward the mansion.

“I must apologize for the wreckage we caused,” Arvenus murmured. “It was improper.”

Daron glanced back up at the mansion, a sour expression on his face. “I will not pretend to understand this feud you share,” he began, turning back to them. “But whatever has transpired… Analin thinks the world of you both, and she is heartsick about what has happened between you. If she is the reason for your dissent, then it is time to end it.”

Arvenus spared a glance for Yarnus. He stood, staring at the house, morose and bitter.

“You are right, of course,” Arvenus agreed. “It is time to end it. I should have ended things long ago. I’m sorry you and Lanika were caught up in this, Daron, but I will end it now.” He rubbed his eyes with a sigh and made his way toward the mansion.

There could be no arguing that he and Yarnus had made a devastating mess of things. He would tell Analin such. He would release her from the oath she made to him and would give her the grace to step away from their marriage. Beneath the anger and bitterness, he felt strangely relieved. For far too long he had suffered, fighting to win her love. He had known from the moment they met that she cared deeply for his brother, and yet he could not help falling for her. Perhaps she really had fallen for him as well, but the love she held for Yarnus was inescapable. So, he would give her what she wanted most of all. Freedom. And perhaps then, he could move on from both of them.

Back in the halls of Daron’s mansion, he knocked on the door of their room, for it still remained standing despite the wreckage he knew waited on the other side. He waited for a heartbeat, but all was silent. He knocked once more, gripping the handle with his free hand. Another heartbeat of emptiness and he twisted the knob, unwilling to wait any longer.

The moment he entered the room, Arvenus fell to his knees. Great pools of blood lay on the floor before him, fed by a steady drip from the linens that hung off the edges of the bed. They, too, were soaked through. Once white, they were now a grisly red. And there, atop the furs, lay Analin motionless.

Heartsick, Arvenus staggered to his feet and raced to her side. Blood gushed from identical thin slits at her wrists, the contrast stark against her ivory skin. Despite the devastation around her, Analin looked serene. No longer did she seem anguished or distraught. Her face was a blank mask, as if she were nothing more than sleeping, but there, on her cheeks, were the tears that had not yet had time to dry.

“Analin,” he croaked, reaching out to touch her. Already the warmth had faded from her skin, and his fingers brushed her hardened lips, surprised by just how cold they were. Arvenus grabbed the still trickling cuts on her wrists and clamped his hands down on them, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Daron!” he screamed, swallowing against the ache inside him. “Daron!”

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and within moments Daron and Yarnus appeared in the doorway.

“Analin?” Daron breathed, unable to believe his eyes. “Gods, no. What have you done to yourself?”

The landlord lurched into the room, eyes wide. His face paled at the sight of Arvenus holding onto his daughter, his hands covered in her blood.

“She’s gone,” Arvenus croaked, tears falling freely from his eyes. “She’s already cold, Daron. She’s gone.”

Daron stumbled forward on trembling legs, shaking his head. “No, no, no, no,” he moaned, reaching out for her. “No, Analin. My sweet, sweet Analin. No…”

Falling to his knees, he took her hand in his. Already her body was stiffening, and he held her hand to his lips, gasping for breath.

“My dear Analin, how could you do this?” he cried, holding her hand tight against him. “Why?”

Arvenus stepped away from the body of his wife. Hands still dripping in her blood, he turned away, breathing heavily.

“What happened?” Yarnus whispered, taking a small step into the room. Arvenus turned his bleary eyes to his brother. Yarnus looked stricken. The utter shock of finding his only love dead was a blow he had never expected. He stared at her, unable to think, unable to comprehend what it was he was seeing.

“She slit her wrists,” Arvenus croaked out, his throat hoarse.

“Because of you,” Daron hissed. “Because of both of you. You drove her to this.” He stood and lunged forward to stand at the end of her bed. “You poisoned her. You bickered and fought and dragged her into the middle of your ceaseless squabbles. You made her believe she was the reason you hate each other, but she wasn’t the problem. It was always you two. There is a sickness inside you,” he spat. “There is an evil that drives those around you to madness. It happened to my little girl. I won’t let it happen to anyone else.”

“Daron…” Arvenus began, but the landlord cut him off with a sharp wave of his arm.

“No,” he shook his head, the corners of his mouth dragging into a frown. His eyes rimmed with red, still glassy from the unshed tears they carried.

“I will not let you taint anyone or anything else,” Daron whispered. “I banish you from my estate. I do not care where you go, or whether you live or die. So long as I never see either of you again, I will be happy enough. Get out of my sight, and never come back.”

Arvenus choked for air. His lungs felt as if they were empty, as if they had decompressed inside his chest. He was hollow. He closed his eyes, tears wetting his cheeks once more. Words failed him as he slipped past Yarnus. He moved like a ghost through the halls, hardly aware when Lanika ran past him screaming. He didn’t notice the wailing that came from the mansion as he stepped outside into the sunshine and made his way back down the path to the gate.

He patted the stallion absentmindedly on the neck as he reached him, mildly surprised when he nuzzled him in return. Grabbing Kenderik’s foot, he ripped the leather reins from around the dead man’s leg and fitted them back through the horse’s bridle. Arvenus hoisted himself into the saddle, his feet cemented to the stirrups.

Yarnus was behind him, halfway down the path to the gate. The brothers locked eyes. Arvenus could see his own pain mirrored there, on Yarnus' face. He could see his own confusion and desperation, but there was nothing left to say between them. Without a word, Arvenus pulled the stallion’s reins and wheeled her around.

With a deliberate single-mindedness, he dug his heels into the stallion’s sides and urged him to a gallop. Houses faded away around him in a rush, a blur of colors and shapes. As he neared the edge of the village, with nothing more than a sea of green fields ahead of him, Arvenus took a deep breath. He was leaving the only place he had ever called home. Yet nothing remained for him there.