Lynn d'Vadalis II: Citadel of the Ghost Guardians

SHE DID NOT KNOW WHEN SHE HAD FALLEN ASLEEP, but she awoke to find herself bound to the back of a massive orc currently climbing a sheer cliff face. Her legs were tied on the orc’s belly, her arms firmly anchored under his armpits. Her first instinct was to escape her bindings, and her struggle alerted the orc.

He held on firmly to the rock, trying not to lose his grip under her flaying. “Stop that,” he told her in a reasonable voice, “or we fall. You not prisoner. You sleep, so we attach you to bring you over mountains. You hang on. I climb.”

That was all very well for him to say, but did nothing to ease her fear. The bonds chafed, and she had always been adverse to restrictions, struggling already against the cradle board as a babe. She did not realise someone had crudely fixed her clothes, but she did stop struggling out of simple fear to fall down the cliff face with a massive orc landing on top of her. That much common sense she did have.

Eventually, natural curiosity took over, and she carefully looked around herself, as much as she dared to move at all without hindering the climbing orc. A group of others, possibly half those they had met at their first night in the labyrinth, were escorting them, the spellcaster amongst them.

She ran her tongue over her lips, realising she felt thirsty, and tried to ignore the numbness in her limbs from the lack of blood and forced position. When she caught one of the other orcs smiling at her, and smiled back and winked, barely preventing herself from pulling a face. Already, the ride had begun to be fun rather than frightening. Except that she had never been able to sit still for more than a minute unless focused on crafting something, and her limbs were protesting fiercely.

When they had reached the top of a plateau, the orc who was carrying her knelt down, and another came up to unfasten the ropes that anchored her to him.

“Move”, she was told with caring tones of a fatherly kind, though she still had trouble making out their accent. “Rub legs and arms, get blood moving. Try to stretch and jump. You shall feel better then. We shall rest, soon carry on.” She nodded and tried to get the blood flowing again, going through the gymnastics she did at home. Wandering and hopping around the mesa turning her arms and shoulders, she took in the landscape.

She stood on the brink of a flat plateau, hundreds of feet above a narrow gorge. Before her, a barren scene stretched out. Dark stone that sometimes shifted into obsidian black spread towards the far horizon in a disorder of cracks, as earth that bursts open when the rains stay out too long. Here and there, reddish light of a lava river illuminated the desolate scene, putting razor-sharp outcrops and large mesas into contrast. As if to underline that image, the only plants she could see anywhere were brown, stubborn shrubs that would have been declared dead elsewhere. 

The air that hung over the canyons seemed blackish-grey, and thick like smoke. The smell of sulphur was pervasive, and somewhere, far away, a flock of birdlike creatures circled, too large to be any avian she knew. Rocs, she realised, giant birds from old tales. She wondered if her House could tame one of them, but was soon recalled to reality. From below, howls echoed up through the ravine as the wind blew through them, moaning, groaning. Lynn stood fascinated, her hand feeling along her body for the bag and the drawing papers she carried. She had wanted to draw some animals in the forest, but this scene was worth a picture even more. She found to her dismay that the bag was gone, lost in the scrambles in the forest.

“Drink?” an orc had come up to her, holding his waterskin out for her. She accepted gladly, putting the opening to her mouth, and took a long draft. Then she nearly coughed out the bitter liquid that was most certainly not water. She forced herself to drink slowly and take only as much as she really needed, before closing it again and handing it back.

“Thrumaal,” the Orc with the waterskin told her, pounding his chest.

“Lynn”, she smiled back, with a small, theatrical curtsey. Judging from the puzzled way Thrumaal looked at her, he did not know what that movement meant. Not that the impression worked well without a skirt, which she generally hated to wear anyway.

“This is Labyrinth”, Thrumaal told her. She realised he was still young, perhaps eighteen or nineteen as humans would tell an age. The man was obviously trying to put her at ease, which usually meant stating the obvious. She grinned at him, naturally adapting to his slow attitude. Stretching out her arms as if to embrace the landscape, she breathed out: “It is impressive.”

“Forests nicer”, Thrumaal grinned back at her.

Lynn looked again at the extended maze of canyons and mesas. “They’re different”, she told him, more excited by the new sight. “But this is nice too.”

“Not nice”, he shook his head sadly. “Land is evil. Tainted. Demonwastes lie beyond.”

She nodded again, trying to understand how a land could be evil. “Is the Labyrinth evil too?” she asked.

“Labyrinth evil too,” he nodded emphatically, then smiled proudly. “But we keep evil in. Sometimes evil passes. But not often.”

No, not often. Just this time, Lynn thought, somewhat mischievously. But that was not Thrumaal’s fault, and she would never have spoken such a thought out aloud for fear of wounding him. She began to ask something, when the order came to move out again.

“You, girl, we attach you again. Safer. Not long now.”

She sighed, and began to open her mouth to protest that she could climb alone. Or at least hold on to someone on her own. But she was cut short. The decision was obviously not something she would have a say in, so she let them grudgingly tie her up again for a steep descent. She rolled her eyes in mock resignation, then quickly closed them, trying to forget that she was on someone’s back three hundred feet off the ground.


She thought about Fiontán. Just before she had collapsed from exhaustion, the unicorn had decided to raise the alarm in Merylward, from where birds could be sent to warn the villages and towns, and the druids of the Eldeen, of the threat that had entered their forest. It was a good idea, and besides, the unicorn could not possibly have navigated the cliff-faces, and spirits knew how long it would take to travel through the lower canyons. If there even was a connection, and nothing else like the panther-thing lived there.
If Fiontán could speak to her family, they could surely help her, too. Get her back to someplace she knew, send some troops against the evil men in the forest. But above all, they could come and talk to her, and reassure her. She was already comforted merely thinking about them, happy in the knowledge that Aideen and Artan would soon be there.


They untied her again some hours later, when they were firmly down on the ground again. She slipped as her legs protested against being in use again, but Thrumaal caught her.

“Maruk Dar”, he told her, pointing ahead with his free hand.     

She followed the invisible line extending from his fingers. There, built like giant swallow’s nests against the cliff sides and sheltered by rocky outcrop, cave-like dwellings spread on both sides of the canyon, fronted by uneven cornices hidden behind merlons shaped to resemble stylised flames.

Here and there, a bridge that seemed almost naturally grown connected the two sides, their tops defended by the same merlons that sheltered the cornices. Roaring flames and torches flickered near every entrance, bathing the entire area into a ghostly light. Eerie shadows performed dances on the rocks.

Dividing one side of the settlement in half, a massive waterfall thundered down to the canyon below, its steam rising up to nearly the first row of the dwellings, its water vanishing in a rapid brook. In stark contrast to the grey stone and subdued tones, an iridescent rainbow leapt forth from the cascade.



“You’re good to walk?”

She blinked at the voice, turning around to see one of the other orcs give her a concerned look. She nodded at the warrior before fully thinking about his question, but she had stood too fascinated by the spectacle in front of her. Maruk Dar was not as large as Merylsward, and certainly not as green and filled with plant-life, but its location was far more impressive.

She tore herself away from the spectacle to try and catch up with the troop, most of which had already advanced further along the pass. She bit back a curse as she nearly fell again, her legs still not responding after being restrained for so long. Petulantly, she bent down to massage some blood back into them.

When she could be reasonably sure that she would not walk like a new-born babe and make a fool of herself, she saw that the orcs had already stopped again and were waiting for her.

Blushing, she tried to walk, and finally broke into an easy canter to catch up with them. Before she got to them, she put in a few dance steps, just for the sake of it. Her new hosts did not seem to be all that appreciative of her prancing, and kept looking around worriedly. Not that she cared particularly, or even noticed much.

They entered a small bay in the rock that had been hidden by the cliff before. Still not too sure about her legs, she let out a long-suffering sigh and rolled her eyes at the new spectacle that offered itself. She bent down again to massage her legs some more, partly at least to delay what was coming. Brilliant, she thought with some peevishness, hopefully nobody will get the idea to be helpful again and tie me up on their back like some babe again.

Before her, a narrow stair was carved into the rock, the individual steps so narrow they only barely qualified for that definition. The stair itself was in parts so steep that it seemed undecided whether it did not rather want to be a ladder. The fact that there was no handrail either only served to make it look all the more dreadful. While she could see how it would prevent all but the most determined and foolish attackers, she didn’t think that there were many visitors coming to this city either.

The orcs seemed to have little trouble with it, climbing up the stair with the disinterest of those used to it. Behind them, Lynn tried to summon all her courage, and began the ascent. You can do this, she told herself, repeating it like a mantra over and over again. You can do this. Maybe if she said it often enough, she really could, a self-teasing thought flashed through her mind.

By the second half of the stair, she was walking on all four and hoping that neither her trembling nor her sweating would make her slip. The Flame might have chosen her for reasons of its own, but she did not think that softning lethal falls would count as one of the benefits that it conferred. You can do this, she repeated again to herself, now whispering the words rather than thinking.

She did not usually have a problem with climbing things, nor did she suffer from vertigo. She tended to climb every tree or rock within reach, much to the grief of her reatives. But after how she had travelled the past day, she had to bring up considerable effort to persuade her muscles to keep on the stair. And alive…

Finally, one of her hands grasping for the next of the interminable steps found a muscular arm, which immediately latched on to her. Thrumaal smiled encouragement as he pulled her up to the first of the cornices that made up the streets of Maruk Dar. Grinning her heartfelt thanks at him, she steadied herself against the wall, trembling, and stared down the stairs again. She’d have to go down there again, eventually, she told herself sarcastically. But by then she’d be rested and would have found her natural balance again. It’d be all right.

Now, she drew another breath, and followed the group up some more stairs carved into the rock. At least, these were not designed as death-traps, she thought as she managed to climb them without more problems than legs still trembling from the previous ascent.


“Then so it is decided.” The elderly orc woman spoke up with a tone that cut short any further discussion of the topic. Clad in a surprisingly fine coat of chainmail reaching to her knees, arms and legs tattooed with licking flames, she seemed to command considerable respect from the others. A pendant carved with an image of a three-tongued flame hung on a chain around her neck, a blood-red stone that Lynn tentatively decided as some kind of jasper, and a fine cloak bordered with silvered fur swept on her back. Sar’malaan, the other had called her, and even the younger man, whom they called kizshmit, seemed to defer to her although by both his attitude and his costume he was obviously the chieftain. Torgaan Seshaarat, she had been told.

What had been decided in the large assembly – which had taken place atop the rocky outcrop that towered over the settlement, where the view was reaching almost to the forest – was that a considerable troop would be sent to annihilate the Tainted Ones that had established themselves in the Reaches. Surprisingly enough, Lynn had been allowed to present her own arguments in the meeting, and had had to relate her own adventures. She had always been good at telling stories, and she had her audience spell-bound within instants.

One of the first things that had been decided with general agreement was that she was to be given the Brand of the Binding Flame and join the Ghost Guardians, provided she agreed. So far, she had no idea what it involved. They seemed to consider it an honour, but she was somewhat apprehensive at what branding involved and whether she would look as tattooed as the sar’malaan. They might have found that aesthetic, but she was not so sure about that.

Opinions had differed more about whether to do anything about Cirmogul’s troops remaining in the Reaches. Thrumaal had translated for her, haltingly. From what she could grasp there was a deep concern about some Taint that they too carried, and were forbidden to bring out of the Labyrinth and into the lands to the east. Thrumaal was a bit hard put to explain properly, lacking the words in Eldeen.

Then someone pointed out that the Tainted were already in the Reaches, and that whatever taint they themselves brought there, they would destroy a far greater amount and thus leave the region cleansed.

That had sparked a considerable debate in such fast Orcish that Thrumaal had given up translating all but the most important points. The counter-argument, as much as she could piece together, was that if they actively brought some taint there themselves, they could not justify themselves to the Binding Flame, so they should merely ignore it and passively let things take their course.

From there, it had developed into a general discussion on acts and omissions and assorted other philosophies that Lynn would have found fascinating had she not remembered that there was a much less metaphysical problem currently encamped somewhere in her homeland. She had grown tired at some point, and simply told them so. That had not helped very much, apart from getting one orc to agree with her and another to take issue with him, thus reigniting the entire debate. She had simply thrown up her arms and sat down on the floor.

Yet now it seemed as if they had agreed that it was their duty to keep the evil of the Wastes at bay, even if it had already slipped past them. Lynn breathed a sigh of relief that sanity had finally won. 

The assembly was dissolving, and Lynn was still standing around a bit lost. Where would she go now? Was there an inn somewhere, where she could stay? Not that she did have any money or anything to bargain with. So unless Fiontán somehow managed to bring her family to her, she would be stuck unless someone took pity on her.

“How old are you?”

Lynn looked up at the words, realising she was alone with sar’malaan. “Uhm. Thirteen,” she told the woman, looking down at her own feet. Though the question had not been asked unkindly or depreciatingly, she could not feel but intimidated by the aura of authority the woman radiated, and being reminded about her own age did not help that feeling.

“You are the youngest demonslayer I have encountered, then. And I have lived through my share of years”, the woman smiled at her. “You are welcome in Maruk Dar, my girl. Thrumaal has offered to shelter you in his dwelling, and to share his food with you. He is a good man. You can trust him. But there is someone else who wants to see you, I believe...”

The woman waved her hand in a wide arc, and Lynn blinked, unsure about whether she had really seen almost imperceptible sparks of silver fire in that movement. It probably had merely been an illusion, due to her tiredness. Nevertheless, she glanced around curiously.

She suddenly felt observed, but could not see anyone on the plateau but herself and the elderly woman. She narrowed her eyes, looking around her. There was nothing, not even a hiding place large enough for a creature of any size. But the nagging feeling of being watched was so strong that she was absolutely certain there was someone looking at her.

“Young Lynn is safe with us”, sar’malaan stated, and Lynn had opened her mouth to apologise for not quite understanding her when she realised the woman had not been talking to her. Even more puzzling, she had been speaking to the thin air.

“You must be concerned”, she continued, “but rest assured that we will defend her like one of our own, and treat her with all due kindness. I would invite you to come to Saartak Dar, where we may meet without taint. Come with the blessing of Kalok Sash, that we may discuss what the Flame has in store for her, and that she may see you again. I am sar’malaan Nakaah Sahar, and my name will grant you passage.”

Lynn still stared at the woman, wondering whether she had gone as mad as the reavers in the Reaches.

“Don’t you want to greet your father?” the woman asked her, grinning. Lynn opened her mouth and closed it again several times in succession until she told herself to stop lest she was looking like a fish.

“He has been trying to scry for quite some time now,” she was told. Nakaah Sahar was obviously amused by her disorientation.

“Uhm. Hello, papa”, Lynn brought out, embarrassed by not finding anything more intelligent to say. She did not mind talking to someone invisible. Ilisi often was. But facing her father and, well, not actually facing him was throwing her off-balance. Especially as she was bearing the annoyingly guilty knowledge that none of this would have happened had she obeyed him.

“I’m fine, really. I… er, listen, there are some invaders in the Reaches. Has Fiontán told you? Is ‘Deen with you?" She could feel her sister's worry at the back of her mind, through the mystic bond they shared, and it was beginning to drive her mad with guilt. "Tell her I love her, will you? Can you bring her along with you if you come, please, I really want to see her. Please?”

Get a grip on yourself, she tried to tell herself after that incoherent and generally blurted statement. She often forgot pausing to catch breath when she was excited. It would also not necessarily show her as an adult. She did not really want to be one, but she wanted to prove to her father she could be mature. Not that he would believe her after this.

“I’m sorry for this, really. I know I should not have wandered away on my own,” she continued, aware that she was most likely looking like a guilty dog who knew exactly why his master was calling, but did not dare to stay in hiding.

“He says he will come”, Nakaah assured her just as the feeling of being observed subsided as swiftly as it had come. “He does love you very much”, she told Lynn who immediately blushed, nodding with fervent agreement. She loved him too. “And he was very scared about you.”

Lynn blushed even more, deeply guilty now, and they walked in silence for a while. “Uhm”, Lynn began again. She felt as if she was saying that word rather often by now. “Will I go with the troops? I mean, into the Reaches. To…”

“No”, the sar’malaan’s refusal was kind but brooked no argument. Lynn looked down somewhat chastened and disappointed. “You have done enough for this time, and caused your family too much fear already without risking your life in a fight against tainted reavers. I promised to keep you safe, and that is what I will do.”

“Now,  before you go to your new quarters, I will tell you about Kalok Sash and the Brand of the Flame. You will be the youngest person I know to receive the brand. We do not give it lightly, and it should not be accepted lightly. You have to know what it involves and what it is. That is what I will tell you now, and then you can decide by tomorrow whether you accept it or not."

"First, to join the Ghost Guardians, you have to die…”


“This hurt a bit”, the malaan gave a comforting, friendly smile, as he spread some cool salve on her hands and forehead. His speech, in the Eldeen tongue, put a stress on every word which made it seem somewhat unreal against the ever-present thunder of the falling water. “But not much. You are brave girl. You will not cry.”

She certainly would not. Not with all those people looking on, she told herself.  Besides, she was more curious and excited than afraid, and quite looking forward to the gift. Not to the pain, of course, but it would be something to show Aideen, and to be proud of herself.

The orc painted the pattern, two tongues of flames around a central one, onto her skin, where he had put the cooling paste. She tried to ignore the tickling, almost stinging sensation that the paint caused, almost as if it was made from some kind of nettles.

The malaan – not, as she had assumed before a name, but a title similar to that of druid or priest – began to chant syllables she could not understand, even though she could feel the power in his song. His greyish hands began to take on a silvery glow, strange to behold. In the shadows of the towering cliffs that surrounded them, it became a ghostly flicker that made half-seen images dance on the walls.

She was sitting on a rocky slab in front of the house of the malaan, a different one from the priest who had been with the group that had brought her here. As much as she could find out, that one was already on his way to battle the barbarians she had been forbidden to fight. She chased away a pout at that thought. This was neither the time nor the place for sulking.
The house doubled as the front of a shrine too, the ceremonies of the Ghaash’kala taking place outside in the open air, as far as she could find out. For all that one could speak of open air, here. Like all the other buildings in Maruk Dar, the priest’s house was built into the rocky cliff and fronted by a terrace that ended in vaguely flame-shaped crenellations, everything hewn from the greyish rock itself.

She assumed that the rock she had been told to sit on must be some kind of alter-stone, carved as it was with stylised images of flaming tongues that also decorated the priest’s house. Centrally above the simple door that led into his dwelling, still looking more like a cave than a proper house, was the same three-flame symbol that had also been painted on her hands and brow. It was, Nakaah had told her, the holy symbol of the Binding Flame, which guarded the world from evil. And she was to be one of its chosen.

All around her, warriors had assembled in what looked their best armour. Weapons drawn, they stood there, watching her, most not even moving a muscle. She recognised Thrumaal amongst them, and tried to smile at him. The Orc winked at her, although nobody else seemed to show any reaction.

Most of the warriors were orcs or half-breeds, but she could also see members of other races. Humans, mostly, and more to the back a single half-elf, and a couple of shifters.

All in all, two, perhaps three dozen people had turned out to witness this ceremony that she had gladly accepted when the sar’malaan had offered it to her. She was now much more apprehensive with all those eyes turned at her, the interest of the crowd focused on her. She felt very small and very young all of a sudden.

She swallowed down a lump of embarrassment, as she tried her best not to blush and to look as solemn as everybody else seemed to think the occasion warranted. But whatever came, she would not cry when everyone could see her, no matter how much this hurt.

Clad in a sleeveless, knee-length tunic of the brownish hide of an animal she didn’t know, she began to wonder what she was doing here and wished she had her own tunic, even if it was so torn as to be probably unsalvageable without asking a heir of Cannith, and what Vadalis would lower himself to that point? At least it would be something she was used to. Excitement was all very good, but having to sit without moving while the Orc painted his pattern, and while all eyes were on her made her a bit nervous after all.

Given the circumstances, the garment she had been given was not bad. Some attempt at decoration had even gone into stitching another flame-pattern of leather on the rims of the tunic, and it did not feel uncomfortable on her body. But it was not hers, and had a strange smell she had never experienced before. She wondered whether she could decorate it with some embroidery.

“The light of Kalok Sash guides those lost in the darkness,” the malaan began to intonate in the archaic tongue of his clan. As one, the spectators raised their weapons to the symbol above the doorway, and repeated the statement.

“The flames of Kalok Sash consume the power of the enemy,” the priest spoke again, his words repeated by two dozen warriors, their weapons rising again in salute to the three-flame symbol.

“The fire of Kalok Sash keeps the beasts of evil at bay,” the Orc announced, and again the others spoke the same words after him in the same ritual as before.

Lynn had managed to prevent herself from flinching when the unmoving spectators had thundered their chorus. But only just. Standing like statues as they had been, she had not expected them to suddenly act, nor with such force behind them.

“The fire of Kalok Sash was kindled by the sacrifice of the holy serpents. They gave their life to keep the world safe from the evil spawned by the dragon below. Their purity is the Flame’s light. Their strength is the Flame’s power. Their life is the Flame’s might. As the holy serpents have done, are you ready to lay down your life for the protection of the world above, and the safety of the innocent?”

Everyone stared at her again, as the priest finished his ritual question. She nodded meekly. It was not that she was frightened by what the answer implied. She had been told already what would be required of her, and Nakaah had told her what the words meant. She knew what it meant to accept the brand. Yet she could still not help but feel intimidated by the ceremony and the onlookers. At the same time, she was awfully proud.

Merely nodding would not appear to be enough, though. The priest smiled his encouragement at her, understanding. All the others were waiting, their eyes resting on her, but she realised none of them was pressing her. Even in a warrior culture like this, she was exceptionally young to go through this ceremony, and people were rather tolerant.

She nodded stronger. “I am ready”, she answered in the orcs’ own tongue, words she had rehearsed frequently during the night. She put her entire conviction into her voice despite her embarrassment: she had already sworn to the flame itself, of course, so it was not sincerity that she lacked.

“Do you accept the brand of the Binding Flame, and all it implies?” the malaan asked the next question, his hands hovering close to the drawing he had made on her arm.

“I do”, Lynn replied, this time strongly enough at the first attempt to be heard by the entire crowd.

Fast as a snake, he grasped her hands, his grip closing around the painting with considerable force. She gasped briefly, first at the violent touch, then as the itching of the paint changed into a painful burn. Biting her lip, she managed to stay quiet however, and proudly noticed she was not crying. Then he touched her brow, and she felt the same burning sensation.

After a few instants, he took his hand off, slowly, and placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. Weapons were raised around her in salute, and Lynn felt even more embarrassed, and blushed. Yet somehow – she could not tell whether it was her imagination, though she suspected it was more than that – she also felt stronger, safer. The feeling of mystical strength that she had felt when she had accepted the Flame back in the forest intensified within her. Power, both physical and mental swept through her like a wave, and she felt like dancing.

She restrained herself with difficulty, and looked curiously at her hands. The drawing had burnt itself deeply into her skin, showing clear, but without the slightest mark of any other wound. There was no indication of the burning she had felt, just a few marks left by the firm grasp of the priest, and the pain was already ebbing away.

“As you protect the innocent”, the priest began to intone, “so Kalok Sash will protect you. The spirits of the fiends cannot harm you, and their commands shall be of no avail against you. But now, to fully embrace Kalok Sash, your tainted body will be killed.”

And so she bent her head to Thrumaal’s longsword. “Lynn d’Vadalis”, Nakaah intoned the solemn words of the ritual. “Today you die. As a ghost, you will fight the demons of the Wastes and their human servants, the foul beasts and mighty warlords. You will fight until at last you have proved yourself worthy of joining Kalok Shash. Are you ready?”

“I am”, Lynn replied with some trepidation. Thrumaal swung his sword in a great arch, stopping it just before it hit the girl’s neck. She could feel the metal on her skin, so close had the orc brought his weapon. Around them, the members of the Maruk tribe cheered, and Nakaah gave her an encouraging smile. “Now you are a member of the Ghaash’kala. You have gained the blessing of the Flame and fight in its name, whether you remain with us to guard the Labyrinth, or whether Kalok Sash desires to lead you without the unity of the clan. We will ask Kalok Sash when our warriors return victorious. Until then, we will teach you the first gifts of Kalok Sash, that you may use them for whatever destiny the Flame has reserved for you.”

With that, the ceremony was over, and she jumped up to kiss the surprised malaan on his cheek. Thrumaal, already used to her antics, laughed, and soon everyone followed suit.


The congratulations that followed after the ceremony a few days ago were over, Lynn noted as she applied herself to follow the commands of her new teacher. She absentmindedly tried to touch the brand on her forehead, the triple flame she had squinted at in the strange, volcanic glass that passed for a mirror in Thrumaal’s lodgings. She still wondered what Aideen would say to this, for now the twins would be instantly recognisable from each other. Unless, of course, they could arrange for Aideen to obtain a similar marking. Lynn withdrew her hand midway. Her new teacher was rather exacting, even more so than Corentin.

She was treated like all the other budding paladins in the group that clustered around the rocky terrace overshadowed by the massive cliff and overhang above Maruk Dar, rather than find herself on exhibit as she had been during and after that ceremony.

Though she was by several years the youngest of the group, and the only one without orc blood, nobody treated her differently now. Part of her might glower at the strict regimen and the harsh words of her tutor, but she was far too excited to use her new powers to pay that part much attention.

That nobody treated her differently also meant that she had to try and understand the orcish dialect that her tutor’s instructions came in. She always had a talent for languages, and slowly began to pick up the speech, but still failed to understand much of it. He repeated once, slowly, and then scolded her harshly if she did not understand what he thought she ought to. A few times, she nearly barked back, but she was far more interested by what she could learn than in pandering to her pride.

She had harassed poor Thrumaal and made him teach her his language during virtually all of her free time. It paid off now. The current lesson was surprisingly pleasurable, at any rate, and she had understood most of the instructions.

Before her lay one of the strange creatures of the labyrinth, something that looked like an oversized rat crossed with a beaver somewhere along the line. The creature was injured, claw marks running along its body. If she had understood correctly, it had been taken along by a scouting party after they had chased off some fiendish beast that wanted to make it its prey. Now it was here, along with other animals that had been given to the other students, to teach them how to work healing.

She felt proud already at a curt but approving remark of her tutor about how she had managed to calm the frightened animal. She had lived with animals all her life, and been taught to care for them since her earliest age. As a scion of Vadalis, that was her destiny, after all. Or so she would have thought until recently. So it was natural that she had been able to calm the creature. Nevertheless, hearing an approval from so stern a tutor did make her proud.

Now she was following his instructions. Calming herself down first, something that did not come easily to her, she concentrated her inner goodwill and the care of the Flame into her hands, focusing on feeling the warmth reach her fingers. Using all the gentleness she had learned from mundane healing, she applied her touch to the injured creature.

A soft warmth and glow appeared where her hand connected with the creature’s wounds, and after a brief attempt at trying to squirm away from the unexpected sensation, the creature gave her a thankful look that was perhaps more gratifying than the nod of her tutor. She looked around, noticing with wonder that she was the first to master this, and that everybody else still sat there concentrating.

She was equally grateful to her tutor that he chose not to hold her up as an example. Since not much else was required from her now; she simply sat there petting her new friend. She considered standing up and healing some of the other animals whose caretakers had some more trouble with the task, but despite wishing to heal the poor creatures, she doubted it would go down well.

She stifled a yawn, realising that she was pretty drawn out and felt strangely weak. That was probably only the excitement, she told herself, and dismissed the feeling. She return her attention to stroking the pelt of her beaver-rat, who now seemed quite at ease in her hug.

Eventually, most other students had healed their animals too, safe one or two who were told to try again later and had their creatures healed by the tutor himself. People released their animals, and Lynn too put her creature back down and waved him good bye as he scurried away.

The tutor nodded his general approval at the class before dismissing them. As Lynn made to leave, however, he told her to stay. She complied, looking at him anxiously. Somehow her tutor – she knew he was called Naruush although none of the students ever called him by anything else than his title – intimidated her still.

 “That was very good today,” he told her, which was probably the greatest compliment anyone had ever obtained from him. “How do you feel?”

“Good”, she tried to smile despite her nervosity. “A bit tired,” she admitted, in Orcish, trying to sound strong as she casually dismissed that feeling. “But if there’s more to do, I can do that.”

He nodded. “You are still young. I cannot remember that we ever trained a paladin as young as you while I lived. You still have growing up to do. Your body does not yet have all its strength.” His voice was calm and as far as Lynn could tell he was not reproaching her anything, although she wondered where this was leading. Hopefully not being told again that she was a child.

“By using the healing touch, you transfer your strength to the being you are helping. But we only have a limited amount of energy ourselves. You will find that you cannot heal more than a certain amount of wounds in each day. Not more than healing the viaruush I gave you; not yet. Your healing arts will grow as you grow, and become better as you practice, but you must not exhaust yourself too quickly.

“The tiredness you are feeling means that you have spent yourself today, as far as the healing touch is concerned. That is not weakness, but merely youth. Yet I can tell from your behaviour that you do not accept this. Which is what I wanted to tell you. Know your limits, Lynn of the Vadalis. Do not push on beyond what you can do.”

Lynn nearly pouted again at that. How often had she heard that particular piece of advice when she had persisted in running or playing at the headhunt, or simply hiking with the trappers, waving away offers of older people for them to rest, until she had nearly broken down and fainted from exhaustion.

“Remember that,” he finished, his eyes calmly resting on her, and she was almost certain he knew what she was thinking. “There is no class this afternoon. Go and enjoy the rest of the day, and rest.”

She nodded her thanks, and went off to the discarded hides Thrumaash had given her to paint on. She had already done an impression of Maruk Dar. This afternoon, she drew a viaruush. Then she put its name next to the painting, carefully drawing the Orcish letters onto the cured hide.


“This is good”, she smiled, pointing at the strange meat on the pottery plate before her. The Orcish tongue still came somewhat difficult to her, but the sentiment in her voice would have transcended any language barrier anyway. “What is it?”

Thrumaal was obviously pleased at her compliment. People here were so simple, she found. There was no attempt at false modesty when answering a compliment. The man virtually beamed at her, and his pleasure filled her with happiness, too.

“Sisarak,” he said, then raised both his hands to mimic something large. “Telsha sisarak. Makes strong and enduring.”

Still chewing on the meat, she tried to run what words she had learned of the Orcish tongue through her head. What could sisarak mean? she mused. Telsha,  that meant big of course; well, bigger than big. Giant. She did not think she had ever heard of the word sisarak, though, but she had never heard of a viaruush before she had cured one this morning, either.

“What is Sisarak?” she asked the, carefully articulating each syllable of the Orcish. He looked at her carefully, nodding he had understood the question. He had been a patient teacher, which was good. Not that his student was refusing to learn, but because she simply carried on asking questions beyond what should have been studied in a single day.

“Sisarak is a big beast”, he replied. “It lives in the Labyrinth. It has eight legs and two pincer”, he mimicked them, slashing his fingers together, “and a large tail with sting. It’s very dangerous. There’s strong poison in the tail. The Tainted use it for weapons.” He smiled suddenly, “I can show you sisarak if you stay with us. We can go and hunt.”
Lynn returned his smile. So, she was apparently eating a giant scorpion. She did not think she would have dared to eat it had anyone told her beforehand what it was, but she was honest enough to accept that it was not only edible, but actually strangely tasty.

She wondered how Aideen would have reacted, and immediately made a mental note to find out. If her sister was indeed coming to visit, she would have to ask her host to prepare some sisarak. Maybe she could even help him hunt it. Faerie mothers, she could both hunt and prepare it! She nearly laughed picturing Aideen’s face in her mind.

“Can we hunt sisarak for my sister?” she asked the orc mischievously, her eyes blinking with mirthful anticipation. The trials of the past few days were almost forgotten. She was ready for a new big adventure, and a dangerous giant scorpion seemed a pretty exciting one. The word danger had never seemed to remain long in her vocabulary.

The orc laughed. “We can”, he nodded with undisguised happiness. He too seemed to be anticipating it. “Your sister will like it?”

“Oh, she would never forgive me if she cannot have one”, Lynn joined in the laughter.


“This is good”, Aideen smiled, pointing at the strange meat, just as Lynn had done before. She looked at her sister. “What is it?”

“Sisarak”. Lynn told her, dead-pan. She was not about to give it away that easily and that soon, though it was difficult to keep a straight faith. “Telsha sisarak,” she specified.
Aideen stared at her twin with a mock-pout. “Out with it, sis. You know my Orcish is about as good as your people-reading. Now, tell me in plain language what I have just eaten, before you choke on your laughter”.
Lynn smiled at Aideen’s exaggerated offended-aristocrat mask, which was hardly able to hide her grin. “My dear Aideen”, she began, using her most melodramatic voice. “I have hunted this delicious meat especially for you, with great risk to myself. I have avoided the sisarak’s eight feet”, she ran tapping fingers over her sister’s body while Aideen was futilely trying to defend herself, impeded by her own giggles, “and dodged its terrible claws.” That statement was accompanied by pinching her sister a couple of times.

“And I have braved its fearful sting”, a pointed finger raised in its imitation stuck Aideen’s ticklish flank, as Lynn’s voice rose to a tone of highest drama. Then she sat back, giving her a playful pout. “You could show some more appreciation for all the danger I have gone through, merely so my ungrateful sister could taste this exquisite meal.”

“I thank my brave sister for this delicious scorpion”, Aideen bowed mockingly at Lynn as soon as she had recovered from her sister’s good-natured attacks. “That’s what it is, right? I promise you that I will hunt some deserving exchange for you, some day. But now, as I’ve already begun eating this, you might as well get me a second helping.”

“Glad you like my cooking”, Lynn still grinned, serving her some more of the scorpion and taking a second plate herself. “You know, you are lucky that Thumaal told me what to do. Apparently the first scorpion we killed was not fit for consumption. Had it been only me on that hunt, you’d be eating the fiendish version now, and we would be finding out whatever that does to you.”

It was good to have her sister back. In feelings, they had never been truly parted, but the soul-bond was imprecise and could not confer true understanding, safe when one concentrated on it. That was an exhausting proceedure, costly in time and effort, and neither soul could gather the energies for it often. Aideen had arrived that same morning, just over a month after she herself had got here. She came along with their father as honoured guests to meet with the Maruk in a small tent-village where the Labyrinth slowly passed into the Eldeen Reaches, and where the Ghaash’kala, forbidden to leave the Labyrinth, could trade with outsiders without risking tainting them in turn. Fiontán had come too, kindly letting Aideen ride him.

She had expected her father to scold her for her escapade, but instead Artan had merely congratulated her on her new life and behaved for all the world as though she would stay with the orcs and never return to Merylsward again. He seemed mightily indifferent about that, oblivious to Lynn’s attempts to get him to show her some affection.

She knew, or rather hoped, her father had only said it to finally make her aware that there were consequences to even her actions. Unfortunately, that knowledge was fringed with unreasoned doubt, and had not helped much against the panicking feeling in her stomach at seeing herself so casually handed over by her family to what were, in actual effect, strangers.

In truth, Artan d’Vadalis would have fought hard to return her to Merylsward. He had finally relented in his masquerade and hugged her back fiercely, when she was just about to begin crying at the thought of not seeing her family again. The first tears had already appeared in her reddened face when he had finally given up on his cruel punishment. Then he had ruffled her hair lovingly, and promised to take her back with him, or stay in the Labyrinth himself and built a Vadalis enclave there if he had to.

Aideen had looked as shocked as Lynn when Artan made to casually abandon her sister. She had even tried to argue with their father, only to have her points waved away cheerfully by the head of the family. Aideen too was close to tears by the end, holding on to Lynn as if she would refuse ever to let her sister go. All three had finally ended up in one big hug.

Yet even now that her father had obtained his victory, and they were reconciled, Lynn was still queasy. For all his pretence, the tierna of Merlysward had a point, and she knew that she really risked being retained in the Labyrinth, separated from friends, father, and above all her sister. She sent a short prayer to the Silver Flame not to do that to her. She recalled the look of her father and her sister as they saw the tattoos that the orcs of the Labyrinth had granted her. There had been astonishment in there, and some distaste where Artan was concerned, though he disguised it well. The warriors of the Eldeen occasionally wore tattoos, though most painted themselves with woad instead, and Lynn knew that the Ghost Guardians were often considered to be as much barbarians as the tribes that dwelt beyond the Labyrinth.

As for her sister, Aideen had been hesitant, obviously avoiding the topic she wanted to talk about but unable to prevent herself from gazing at Lynn’s markings. When she had finally broached the topic, she had almost wept for the fact that they were no longer perfect reflections of each other, though in the end, Lynn had been able to convince her that the brand of the Silver Flame was a mark of honour. After this, they had only to deal with the disappointment when sar’malaan flatly refused to mark Aideen in the same way.

“So, hunting scorpion is challenging, I take it?” The question was put on Aideen’s preferred tone, half teasing, half-indifferent, between two bites. Torn out of her musings, Lynn grinned. Sometimes she wondered why she always got herself signed up for this kind of thing. She often wondered that, although that never prevented her from going along the next time something dangerous offered itself.

When she had spoken with Thrumaal, it had sounded pretty exciting to hunt a giant scorpion. When she had actually faced one, she had almost died from fear as the giant stinger harried her again and again, just before she slipped on the rocky ground and landed half under the giant beast. She had cursed her own impetuousness at thinking she could hunt a giant scorpion, little young her, and all that with nothing but a hide shield and a spear, even if it was the spear that had struck Cirmogul down, recovered by the Ghaash’kala warriors.

Then she had gotten her weapon, brilliant with silver all of a sudden, into the creature’s underside, before rolling safe of its still slashing sting. At the end, she had been breathing heavily, bathed in sweat, but nevertheless happy about her victory. Then she had been matter-of-factly told by a disconcertingly calm Thrumaal that, unfortunately for the meal, they’d have to find another one, as this one was of fiendish blood and not fit for eating. Thrumaal had laughed at her expression as she realised they would have to repeat the experience.

She bent down to take up a simple, carved box and held it out to her sister. “Guess for yourself,” she told her sister and took some pleasure as Aideen blanched as she opened the box.

“Is this what I think it is?” her twin managed slowly, eyes wide and staring at a vaguely tear-shaped, chitin covered bulb with a large thorn at its end. The needle-like barb was a good three feet long.

“If you are thinking that this is the stinger, then yes”, Lynn told her. “Thrumaal removed the poison glands. We took that thing of the fiendish beastie I killed, although I can tell you here and now that if you ever want to eat sisarak again, you can do the hunting yourself. I’ll keep my distance to those stingers in the future. Although I get to keep that one. As a trophy, Thrumaal says.”

“You know”, Aideen grinned at her sister, gingerly closing the lid, “I think I can live with not eating any sisarak ever again if doing so means seeing that thing in action”, she pushed the casket away from herself. “Although, as long as there still is some left, I won’t say no. You’ve always known how to cook, sis. Even scorpion,” she finished, holding out her plate for more.



“She is not meant for the Maruk Ghaash’kala” the elderly orc announced to Artan d’Vadalis, whom she kept referring to as sar’malaan, a title she also held herself. The statement in Nakaah Sahar’s voice was categorical, uncompromising. She was used to command and be obeyed, even though she would not exploit that position.

Artan nodded politely, hiding his amusement at the situation. Lynn’s father looked surprisingly at ease in the coarse surroundings of the Ghaash’kala trading station. He was sitting on the ground, the druidic leather garments he favoured revealing the sprawling Siberys mark in a rare few places.

Sitting further away, a mere observer to the talk about her own fate, Lynn was still trying to decide whether she wanted to be cross with her father. She felt relieved that Naakah’s prophecy did not force her to do that, she realised.

Though relieved, Lynn felt also a pang of regret at being rejected by the Maruk Ghaash’kala, and apparently the Flame itself. It was the Flame Nakaah had asked, after all, in her own ritual.

Was this it, then? Lynn wondered. Was I only meant for this one deed and nothing more, having to return to a normal life when I could have one of adventure like the people in the legends that were told during the long evenings in Merylshall and the taverns of the town?

Before she could resign herself to such a boring fate, however, the sar’malaan continued. “There is a fortress in the lands to the South and the East, above a large city of men, where the Binding Flame springs from the ground.”

Flamekeep. She recognised that description at least from tales and books, and leaned forward not to miss a single word. Neither her father, nor Naakah paid any attention to her, it seemed, and for a moment she wanted to scream at them that they should stop talking about her as if she was not in the room.

“That is where she must go, and where she must be taught. She will forever be a true friend to the Ghaash’kala, but it is not to us that she has been called. We may not wander far from the Labyrinth, and the Flame may yet want her to do that without carrying the corruption of Fah’llrg into the world.”

She turned to smile at Lynn, who was startled by suddenly being involved after all. The young girl tried to smooth her face and hide the pout that had been building up at seeing herself excluded from the discussion so far. Excitement almost instantly took over any grudge she might have had, and she hung on the high priestess’ words.

“You will do your duty to Kalok Sash by working in the wider world, little one, the way I cannot,” Nakaah told her in a reassuring voice tinted with regret, and laid a hand on the young paladin’s knee. Lynn realised suddenly what a sacrifice the Ghaash’kala had to make, bound to the Demonwastes as much as the creatures they were defending against. They were as much prisoners as wardens.

“Thank you, sar’malaan”, Lynn remembered her politeness, giving her best smile at the orc woman and touching her hand to her heart in the Ghaash’kala gesture of respect. People kept telling her she was a child every time she wanted to have an adventure, she mused, but after having been left to wait whether she would ever see her family again, she really felt the child she still was.

She gave her father a tentative smile, finding it answered by a sly smirk. Nakaah herself managed to hide a grin. She too had been young once, after all, and remembered well the uncertainties of youth, as well as the carelessness. The Flame had still much in store for the young woman, she knew.

When communicating with Kalok Sash she had glimpsed some impressions of it. It would not all be pleasant, far from it, and she felt a tang of guilt at allowing the girl to be sent towards such sufferings even if there would be much good too. But Kalok Sash had decided, and she would not argue with the holy flame that protected them all.