uniquely vulnerable to the dark forces of the world, might have to risk more than his life. Was it worth it?
He knew that the Forest was affecting his mind. Every thought in his head was suspect now. Every instinct in his soul would urge him to go eastward, even if certain destruction lay along that path.
Which is why he had made his decision before coming within range of its influence.
Drawing upon the earth-fae that swirled arount his feet-how powerful it was here! — he worked a Summoning to call the nearest available mount to him. When an unhorse came galloping down the road a few minutes later, he used sorcery to remove its rider from its back as casually as one would swat a fly. Normally animals could sense his predatory nature and were loathe to let him approach them. But a minor Soothing ameliorated the situation, allowing him to mount the animal and ride.
Layering such Workings upon the animal that its spirit would be steady to the gates of Hell themselves if need be, he kneed it into motion and let the siren song of the Forbidden Forest guide him eastward.
When Faith awakened, she didn’t know at first where she was, or how she had gotten there. She didn’t know very much at all, in fact, save that at some point she had set off with a dozen of her fellow knights to hunt down a particularly troublesome faeborn demon that had been plaguing communities along the border of the Forest, and… and…
Now she was here.
Which was…
Where?
Her head throbbed painfully as she sat up; reaching up, she discovered that dried blood was crusted in her hair. Not a good sign. She started to run her hands all over herself, feeling her flesh for wounds, her armor for damage. There were no open wounds that she could find, but every muscle was sore, and judging from the stabbing pain she felt every time she took a breath, one or more ribs might be broken. Her armor had taken quite a beating, several of the steel scales ripped loose from their moorings and the leather beneath badly scorched. A faint smell of sulfur clung to it, making her wonder just what sort of fire she had faced.
What had happened to her?
Overhead was a canopy of trees so dense that only a trickle of sunlight could seep through it, leaving the ground beneath in shadow. She cursed the poor visibility as she struggled to get to her feet. Her sword banged against her left leg, reassuring in its weight, but she had the uncomfortable feeling that other things weren’t where they should be. A quick inventory of her weapons confirmed that fear. Everything else that she might have used to hunt the faeborn-or defend her own life-was gone. Even the smaller weapons that she’d worn close to her body, where a mere fall couldn’t possibly have dislodged them, were missing now. But she still had her sword, though the blood of the demon had dried while it was in the scabbard, making it stick to its leather encasement. Whoever had taken all the other things had left her that.
Memories were starting to seep back into her brain now, slowly, like the gray-green sunlight that was oozing through the branches overhead. She remembered the faces of her fellow hunters, grim with determination. She could hear the prayers of the One God’s faithful as if they were offered in preparation for battle, girding the holy warriors with sacred energy. She remembered the sound of well-oiled steel being drawn from its sheath Niklaus lies on the ground, badly wounded. They can’t stop to tend to him now. Their quarry has finally begun to weaken, which means they must redouble their efforts, pressing home their advantage before the demonic creature they are fighting can draw enough power from the fae to heal its wounds and recover its full strength. Unlike most faeborn creatures this one seems to be intimately bound to its flesh, which means that simple blows can dispatch it, but that doesn’t mean it won’t have a thousand nasty tricks up its sleeve. The less time they give it to try one of them, the better.
Righteousness sings in Faith’s blood, and sparks of sacred fury dance along the edge of her sword as she takes up position directly in front of the unholy thing, blocking its access to her fallen comrade “Faith! Look behind you!”
She whirls about in response to the warning. Too late, too late! While she and her fellow knights were concentrating on the demon a human mob had snuck up behind them. Rank upon rank of maddened men with primitive weapons now fall upon the hunters like a pack of ravenous beasts. The same knight who had called out a warning to Faith cries out once more as he is crushed beneath their feet. She cannot reach him in time to save him. She cannot reach any of her companions in time. The knights are spread out in a circle around their demonic quarry, which means that they are scattered, divided. One by one they will be engulfed by this tide of angry flesh and steel, forced to choose between turning their backs on their faeborn enemy or this rabid mob of demon- worshippers.
The creature is laughing at them now.
Despair is a knot in Faith’s gut as she brings up her sword to protect herself from the thrust of a rusty pitchfork, barely in time; tines scrape against the scales of her armor as she pushes it aside. Who are all these people? Don’t they understand what this creature really is? Or what the cost of worshipping it will be? All creatures born of the fae feed upon mankind. This thing is no exception. Do these people really think that they will escape that fate just because they have agreed to worship it?
It’s not a real god! she wants to scream, as she struggles to keep the wave of attackers from overwhelming her. Her blade slices through the neck of one opponent before swinging into the next. It is not worthy of your worship! But even if these men could hear her words, they would not care. Once a faeborn creature becomes this powerful, it attracts weak-willed humans like rotting meat attracts flies. And why not? Such a creature can perform a thousand and one “miracles”, and weak-willed men are easily swayed by such tricks. Why should they choose to worship a more complicated god, who might actually ask them to read a book or obey restrictive laws, when this one will indulge their vilest pleasures and ask for nothing in return? Never mind that it is a construct of the fae, not a creature of living flesh, and therefore only has one real goal. By the time its followers come to understand what that means for them, it will be too late.
The mob seems endless. The demon must have worked its corruption in all the surrounding towns. Why had the Church’s scouts not reported that? On and on Faith fights against her attackers, knowing that the battle is all but hopeless, but she is too proud-or perhaps too stubborn-to die. Her fellow hunters are no longer visible to her. Whether they have gone down to their deaths, or are simply shielded from her eyes by the bulk of the mob, she does not know. They are not part of her universe any longer. There are only the men surrounding her and the pounding of hot blood in her veins But those are mere distractions, she realizes suddenly. Behind her is the faeborn creature they came here to destroy, and it is controlling these men like puppets. Even while she wastes time fighting this mob, the creature is gathering the power it needs to heal its wounds. How close the hungers had come to destroying it! One more blow might have dispatched it forever. But now, thanks to the sudden arrival of this mob, the greater battle will be lost. By the time Faith can force back the demon’s worshippers-if she can do that at all-the demonic thing will be at full strength again, and more than capable of taking on a single knight.
She cannot allow that to happen.
A strange sense of calm comes over her as she realizes what she must do. As a pitchfork comes thrusting toward her head she forces it aside, steps in towards its wielder, and slams her shield into his face. Stumbling backwards, he cries out as an axe that was meant for her slices into his shoulder. The moment’s triumph should please her, but it does not. The next assailant should worry her, but he does not. Her mind is elsewhere now.
This is her final moment of duty.
She takes one last wild swing at her attackers, trying to force them to back away far enough away that she can gain a moment’s time. The strategy manages to clear a small space around her, but she knows that will not last for long. Men with real lances are headed her way. Once they get within striking distance, she’s finished.
It’s now or never.
Whipping about, she launches herself without warning at the demon. There is no fire in her veins now, nor fury, just an eerie sense of peace, and it is strangely empowering. The creature is still weak from their earlier assault, and apparently her sudden attack has taken it by surprise. Knowing she will have only one blow and must make it count, she swings her sword toward that place in its neck where a thick black vein throbs, putting all her weight behind the effort. If God is with her, perhaps she can take the thing’s head off. If not, if his body is true enough to the human template, then severing a major vein might still bring it down. She prays that it will. Right now that is the only hope these people have, of ever being free of its influence.
But before her blade can connect with the cursed flesh something strikes her on the back of her head, hard
