They waited in the ancient catacombs for darkness to come and the city to sleep. Of course, this was not the first time Emalia had been down to the endless maze of hollows, tombs, and large crypts bearing entire families of note. Still, it was a somewhat frightful place. When enough time had passed, the hollows were emptied, and the bones combined with straw, clay, and mud to create the next layer of walls—as such, the catacombs bore skulls, femurs, ribs, small vertebrae, and other various bones in its very walls and ceilings. It was said the macabre design warded away the hungry Spirits that remained on the mortal plane, driving fear into Dead of all kind. Emalia doubted it. It was, after all, a far more efficient way of storing remains and enabled the great city of Nova, compact as it was, to fit all of its own bones underground.

Many confuse the Column with mysticism and esoteric obsessions of the most impractical variety, Emalia reflected, staring at the walls of grinning skulls as they waited in the near-total darkness, but in truth, the Column is a most pragmatic place. She'd never truly seen it until she left. For all the speech about investigating curiosities and delving into matters of old histories and gods alike, few cared about much more than their own power. Any institution that has existed for long enough will see its mission turn from its original purpose to self-propagation and sustainment. Such was a lesson she'd learned only recently. Is this wrong? Should I blame the Column for veering from that which I hold sacred if it is only natural and to be expected? Whatever the original course of a given institution, it was its members' responsibility to keep it true and guard against temptations. In this, Emalia was certain; thus, the Column was a significant failure in some ways. Few were dedicated scribes—perhaps none as fervent as she—and the growth of knowledge had been veritably abandoned. It made her feel sad. And, oddly, motivated. But to do what? She had no hand in the Column anymore, not really. She was an outsider now.

"Nifont says the evening is approaching," Sovina murmured, having approached from the side where the others lingered, half-crouched, all ready for imminent action and possible violence. "We should prepare to go soon."

Emalia took a deep breath and straightened her clothes. Over time, most elements of the Column faded from her appearance, as robes were replaced with more practical tunics for travel, as jewelry was packed away to mute the noise. Now, she wore much of it again. In her robes once more, Emalia only felt further from the woman she used to be. She'd gained some muscle and lost much weight in her travels, so it didn't quite fit as it used to, not to mention how accustomed she'd come to other garb, so now robes felt awkward and clumsy, and the purple and white headscarf tight around hair usually left to the wind. Most of all, however, she felt like a liar. She was not a priestess, not truly. Not anymore. And yet she wore the costume of one as if trying to hide behind a mask.

Evidently, she wore such concerns across her face, for Sovina took her arm and pulled them from the others till they were far from the light of the lone torch. Her face was a shadow, an outline. Still, Emalia could see the concern there in her noble features. "We are going to be fine," Sovina said. "How many times have we reviewed the approach? Accounted for possibilities? And if it comes to the worst, I will be by your side, as always."

"I know. But I fear not just for us. We don't know if anything is even there."

"And yet, we both agreed that the Spirits couldn't be trusted. Whatever they argued had to be self-serving, yes?"

Emalia went through the same motions they'd gone through many times when she grew anxious about this quest of theirs. "Yes, I know."

"If there is anything to prove a counter-argument, it will be here."

"I know."

"Then have faith. It is your certainty I look to for strength, after all." She smiled, pulling her close for a hug. "We do this together."

Emalia closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of Sovina's touch. The wholeness within her in their embrace. "It is your strength that gives me confidence."

"We are two pieces of a whole, you and I."

Emalia smiled. "My guardian. My protector."

"Always."

Emalia pulled back and looked her in the eyes. Her heart swelled, pounding away in her chest, begging for release. "Whatever comes, I love you. Know that."

"I do." Sovina's smile widened. "I love you."

Their foreheads touched, and they bathed in a wonderful momentary silence, a perfect peace settling over them. A perfect release.

"I've felt that for far longer," Emalia said, finally pulling away. "It was different than the kind I felt at first with our friendship… I don't know when it changed, but it did. Before we left, I think. It was… confusing at first. I didn't know what I felt or why. Maybe it was always there, and I was just afraid."

Her love smiled, brushing back a strand of her hair so it fit under the head scarf. "I've nearly said it many times myself. After today, we shall say it many more."

After a few more stolen moments, Emalia worked up the will to return to the others, shoulders back and possessing the confidence to lead the mercenaries ahead. They pressed deeper into the winding bone halls of the catacombs, barely managing to walk in a column of two wide, squeezing together as the walls leaned in. It wasn't hard to imagine skeletal hands reaching out to grasp at her from the dark when the sides pressed in, and their sole torch fought against the oppressive shadow.

After some time, Oskar broke the silence by muttering to her, "You know, this'll be the third time we've snuck into somewhere we shouldn't be by means of a secret passage. Sensing a bit of a pattern here."

"I try to be prepared, Oskar."

"Sure, but why all the secret entrances? And why do they keep notes of them all? Ruins the point."

"Well, to be more specific, Rotaalan's was not secret but simply forgotten. The keep in Drazivaska had one for the Sorcerers should they need to escape during their experimentation, which, of course, was never truly used. And here, well, the Column appreciates subtlety," she explained patiently. "And I don't think it needs explanation why the Column keeps records."

He chuckled. "They don't expect one of their own to have the balls to venture out and make use of them, is why."

"That is one way to put it." She smiled, realizing she was perhaps going to miss his odd sense of humor when it was all said and done. When it is done… What will come next?

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The mercenary adjusted his grip on his shield and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Another question: any reason for anyone to be down here in a part of the catacombs this old?"

She frowned at him. "What? Why?"

Oskar nodded ahead, muttering, "Company, I'm afraid."

Sovina was first to act, already aware, immediately stepping in front, sword out and high. The mercenaries soon followed suit, all quiet enough that she could barely tell that most wore mail and bore iron weapons. Though her pride protested, she retreated as Oskar and Sovina led the way forward. Priests have no reason to come down here anymore. We haven't used the catacombs for Sorcery in decades, and they don't patrol them… Did they figure out we escaped through them months ago, and now changed their routines? Possibly. Still, as they came closer to investigate, torch put out, creeping nearly silently, only more questions arose.

They were not priests ahead, but warriors. What were they doing in the catacombs so close to the Column's entrance?

…

The good news is that there were only a handful of them, if he trusted his eyes in this shit light. The bad news is that they wore mail and bore arms. Upon further inspection, he noticed they were trapped by a gate and busy with trying to pry open the lock.

Oskar exchanged glances with Sovina, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Not Column men," she whispered, saber held to the side so any light didn't reflect off the blade. "And they don't have keys. Scoundrels, then."

She hissed the word with vehemence, which he found ironic considering they were going to break through the same gate with similar less-than-legal intentions. "Quality men," he said, looking at their professional arms. "Maybe belonging to the Rodezia scheme? Gods, better not be."

The warrior woman's lip curled into something fierce. He felt his heart start racing faster. An angry Sovina always meant violence. "We should finish them quickly."

He glanced back and gestured for archers. "Aye." Quickly enough, four bowmen had arrows nocked and ready to fly, Nifont chief among them. Oskar squinted into the dark, murmurs and the scrape of steel teeth on metal echoing from the men. "Loose."

Four arrows whistled down the tunnel and connected. The men howled. Oskar held up his shield and started to rush forward before he could change his mind and let someone more foolhardy go in front. A strong example was important, after all. He reached the men in five seconds at a sprint, slamming into one who was just standing, trying to snap off an arrow lodged in his shoulder blade, right on through mail in a lucky shot. Oskar had his sword in the man's exposed arm before he could even draw his axe. Sovina was right beside him, slicing into a leg of another, crouched and scrambling for his sword. He howled and reared back, but she was faster and slashed through half the poor bastard's face before he could escape. The other two, one injured, didn't put up much more of a fight, trying to escape through the gate, though it was still locked and held against their desperation.

When it was said and done, four bodies lay on the hard-packed dirt, bleeding out, adding to the corpse-stuffed tomb.

Oskar leaned against the wall, ignoring the bones pressing against him, and caught his breath as the others picked through the corpses. Why was it that a fight, no matter how short, was always so exhausting? He felt like he'd spent a few hours trying to scale the Kosivan range.

"Just tools like this," Nifont said with a sigh, holding up a rough file they were using on the metal bars. "No lockpicks to be seen. These aren't thieves or rogues of any serious kind."

"Aye. Hired warriors." Oskar coughed and spat to the side. "Any notes? Convenient letters?"

"Nothing. Some coin. Not much."

Compared to ours now, I'd guess. Stowed away far from all this. He was glad he listened to Stanilo's suggestion and buried the chest and other nonessential gear in a stone coffin inside a tomb near one of the catacomb's entrances. Tucked right up next to a rather dry elderly fellow—likely an important one, with his bone being unmoved and such. Lugging a chest down these halls, much less fighting with it… Well, that would be a bad idea, to say the least.

"Can't say I like this," Oskar muttered, rolling one of the bodies out of the way with his foot. Already, the small hall smelled of gore and shit. "Making a move like this? What'd they have in mind? Taking the Column?"

"A fool's errand," Emalia replied. "It would not be the first time that would-be separatists tried to attack the Column. All have found their efforts overly ambitious."

"Aye, but that was back before your priests forgot Sorcery, now wasn't it?"

"We have not forgotten it; priorities shifted, and Sorcery is merely no longer a priority as it once was. But we still have priests who practice—more than enough for any rebel pests."

He shrugged. "Still. They know of the way in somehow, which means they've got spies inside. Whatever scheme that bloody prince has started is already underway. We best hurry."

They left the bodies where they were and pressed further in until Emalia stopped suddenly before a crypt of old and decayed stonework. A hideous face was carved into a massive stone plate which he presumed covered a series of coffin compartments. Oskar exchanged glances with Stanilo, and the big man shrugged. Then she grabbed hold of the caved face and pulled. With some creaks and groans, the whole thing tilted open. Sovina took over and wrought it open the rest of the way, muttering as she went about rusty hinges.

Stanilo ducked inside, blocking the black tunnel that, after a few paces, wormed its way upward into a tight spiral staircase. He looked back. "Looks clear enough. Don't hear a thing."

"I would expect as such," Emalia said, "for most priests don't even know of this passage, let alone use it. It's meant only for those with the purpose of leaving the Column quietly."

"How far up till we're inside?"

"Not far." She exchanged looks with Sovina. "This may be where we part for now."

"So soon?" Oskar asked, grimacing. "Can't help you from down here should the fuckers spot you and try to take you back."

"We can navigate far more subtly on our own," Sovina responded.

"Still. I'd choose safe over quiet."

"They are one in the same. You don't have the numbers to handle half, let alone all of the Column's guardians."

Emalia put a hand on Stanilo's arm, guiding him back. He complied reluctantly. "We may be returning under pursuit. In such an instance, your assistance will be more than helpful."

"Fine," Oskar conceded. "But we hear anything up there, and we're coming. Subtle or not. Understand?"

"I do. Thank you."

"Just the job, priestess."

She smiled. "Of course. Still."

He couldn't keep from grinning back. Never had he thought he'd put so much on the line for a priestess of the Column—riches, lives, reputation… With a nod to Sovina, he watched them pass, venturing up into the spiral staircase hidden away in an empty tomb up into the Column. Licking his lips, he turned away and wiped his hands on his legs below the mail. They've lived there their whole lives. Gotta give 'em some trust. If anyone's fit for the job, it's them. Still, he was nervous. Times like these, places like these is when everything usually went to shit. He was waiting for reinforcements that never came, facing down an enemy more numerous than he expected east of Nova when his life was fucking ruined. Probably before that, when he entertained the idea of supporting a competent uncle over an arrogant, untested young man. But it all had a feeling to it. Like destiny taking shape.

"Chief?" Stanilo asked, leaning in close. "Orders?"

"Yeah. Let's get a group at the gate by the bodies. It's not too far a shout can't reach from here. Take seven. I wouldn't be surprised if some guard noticed us and decided to follow, after all."

"Will do."

"Nifont," he called out after a moment, nodding down the tunnel. "Just in case we need eyes further out."

The hooded mercenary followed Stanilo with his bow out and ready.

Oskar regretted sending him away, for these days it seemed like the two of them were the only ones he could talk to without feeling strange about it. Something about shared history, he'd venture to guess. Whatever it was, Oskar stood there, shield in hand, sword loose in the scabbard, silent and still as the skeletons buried all around. And his looted ruby from all those weeks ago, buried at the bottom of the pouch on his belt, through leather, riveted mail rings, and thick linen, was cold. Like ice upon the flesh.

He didn't dare take it out and inspect it—and not just because of letting the others see his hidden gem. He'd taken it from Daecinus's sarcophagus in Rotaalan. Fuck me… could it be Sorcerous? No. No, of course not. Daecinus would have noticed. Feia too. Except I didn't show them. But that shouldn't matter if it stinks of magic, no?

Oskar shook his head and firmly set his mind to the task of ignoring the cold sensation. It was nerves. Nothing more. Just antsy before battle again; and oh boy, was there going to be battle. He felt that as sure as anything.

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