Verena lagged behind Thael as they made their way to the highest point of the keep. Though the winds’ chill pierced through her cloak, she did not feel its cold embrace for she was already numb. The only warmth she felt was from the blood still leaking between her legs. She shambled forward, head throbbing, her vision bright despite the dark.

They had taken her by surprise. First a blow to the back of her head. Vision darkening, she felt hands grab hold of her limbs before she could summon her craft.

“Her arms, get her feckin’ arms,” one of the men growled. One of the two brothers. It was hard to judge when her ears were still ringing.

Verena fought with the desperation and strength of a bucking horse. Still it was not enough. She kicked out and hit something, someone. A grunt of pain.

“She’s got spirit,” a man rumbled. Garrod.

“Feckin’ mageborn bitch’ll pay for that,” a nasal voice snarled. Jophen. “Mage cunts think they can lord over us? I’ll lord over her cunt just as well.”

A cloth was forced into her mouth, gagging her tongue, choking her cries. Hands wrapped around her limbs, fingers cold and prying.

Jophen continued, “I saw your disgust for all us lowly folk, it’s in your eyes. Too high up your noble birth to see us from down below? We’ll make you see for yourself soon enough.”

Her clothing was ripped and torn apart. Her thighs pushed open, then… numbness. She felt nothing despite her thrashing body. Her mind felt muted, trapped yet set free of any feeling.

“Hag’s tit, she’s dry as sand,” Jophen echoed. She heard him spit and felt fingers thrust inside her. “Eh…” he leered, his smile wider than the room. “She’s a feckin’ virgin.”

“Verena.” A low voice, cold and unyielding, something she wished she could be like. Thael. Still she remained paralyzed, helpless. Prey. She was nothing but pathetic prey.

“Verena,” Thael repeated. “We’re here.”

They stood before a stone bridge leading to the mountainside itself. A dark void, wide enough for two people, just taller than the tallest man, whistling and whispering on the other side. The tunnel had been constructed by the dwarves, running all the way through the mountain, before the Order of Wraiths was even founded.

Thael knelt before one of the lanterns outside the tunnel’s entrance and lit a fragile flame. He led them into the abyss. She had never passed through the tunnel, for she had not completed her first mission. Still, Verena knew where they were heading – the Grey Council. Greyed men and women who had chosen to still be in service to the Order of Wraiths. They lived at the far side of the Azure Range, where only flyers and mission bound Wraiths could reach. There were no official laws in this Order; no codex to read, only the Grey will. So it was said.

The tunnel was smooth and squared, a testament to the skill dwarven stonework.

Verena gasped as they emerged on the other side. The night was pierced with stars that glared bright over Thael’s lowered lantern. There was no castle, only open circular tiered steps that expanded all the way down to what could only be the Rookery. Vast shadows lay over nests the size of houses. The wrynn. Monstrous birds taken as eggs from the Elder Forest. They were what made the Order one of legend. They were considered to be letter more than myths, yet here they were, in slumber and unguarded.

“Follow closely,” Thael spoke. “Do not go near the smaller nests.”

They passed through the Rookery, one wrynn opening its golden eyes, brilliant in the dark. A castle, comparable in size to the keep, stood within fifteen foot high walls. A gully ripped through the ground between the castle and the Murkwoods beyond, the Elder Forest further north.

Sudden shadow surrounded them. Thael raised a fist, halting them.

“Take off your hood,” he said as he took off his own.

Verena stood back to back with him. The shadows separated into individual forms. Black steel masks crafted into the eerie likeness of solemn faces stared back, living eyes behind their slitted openings. These were the Wraiths that served and guarded the Grey.

“What is your purpose here?” a voice rang clear, deep within his mask.

“We seek an audience with the Grey Council,” Thael answered.

“At this hour? Return in the morning.”

“This matter requires the Grey Council,” Thael pressed on. “I am a Wraith of the order, sworn to serve, following the Grey will, part of the Circle, made whole by the Empire.”

“So it is said,” the others chanted. “So it is remembered.”

“Then let them enact their judgement,” Thael said.

The Wraiths withdrew, melding into the night.

They continued towards the squat castle.

Browning lichen webbed the stone. There were no towers, just squared buildings that peaked over the surrounding walls. They halted before the wooden gate. It creaked open revealing a lone Wraith standing in the courtyard, holding a lantern. His black mask, glinting orange, smiled back at them.

“You have requested an audience with the Council?” his voice was softly spoken.

“We have,” Thael responded

The Wraith’s grinning mask tilted within his hood. “Thael Tanaka. You could have been one with the Venatorii. Yet here you stand now, calling for the ones you refused. What is the cause for your request?”

Thael shrugged. “I will speak of my reasons to the Council. They will decide whether it’s worthy of their attentions, not you, Keeper.”

The Keeper’s eyes narrowed. “Very well. Follow me.”

He led them into a hall with an open fire pit at its center. An opening in the roof allowed a glimpse of the starry night. The firelight showed several tall chairs behind a long table. Their guide disappeared into the shadows without a word.

Thael walked past the fire and stood before the long table, Verena standing alongside. Neither one spoke.

They entered in a single file from their right. Grey hooded cloaked figures of varying heights sat down onto their various chairs. They drew back their hoods. Three women sat in the middle three chairs flanked by a man at each side. The women looked akin to another, except that the one on the left had a smooth youthful face, a middle-aged woman sat at their center, and a face lined and worn by time sat to her right.

The middle-aged woman smiled, her beauty not yet scoured away by age. Straight auburn hair streaked silver fell down to her shoulders.

“Welcome, Thael. Ah, yes, and one of those recently initiated. What is your name?”

“Verena Hargraves.”

“Of the Hargraves line?” The woman’s brows rose in amusement. “You must have been your family’s favorite. Tell me why you have summoned us.”

“I was attacked by my own cadre in our quarters. Verena helped defend me.”

“I see. And what of your other cadre members?”

“They are dead,” Thael answered.

The elder woman’s face twisted into a scowl. “Have them executed, Marganion. I have little patience for liars, and less so for liars that interrupt my slumber.”

The youngest woman, still rosy cheeked with youth, tittered. “Let us at least hear their cause.”

“I agree with Bethan, Tabil,” the middle-aged woman, Marganion, said coolly. “Your thoughts, Riord, Jacob?”

“Let them explain,” the man on the left said.

“I would rather hear the mage’s cause,” the man to their right added.

“Then it is agreed,” Marganion said. “Explain why your cadre members attacked you.”

“I do not know,” Thael replied.

Verena’s mouth felt dry as ash. “I was in the room with them. They attacked Thael without warning, I aided Thael the only way I could, with my craft.”

“I can smell the fresh blood between your legs, girl, hear your pounding heart, and see the years ingrained into your very being,” the crone, Tabil, spat out. “Tell us why you bleed.”

Verena bowed her head. “I was taken against my will by three of my cadre. Thael stopped them.”

“You were raped,” Tabil sniffed. “A mage overpowered by three craftless. The only reason I do not wonder why you were able to join this Order is because of your line.”

“So she speaks the truth,” the younger woman, Bethan, interrupted. “It was in her own defense, and Thael in hers as well.”

“They killed three of their own,” Tabil said. “There must be consequences.”

“And what must that be, fellow sister?” Marganion asked softly. “They have proven their will, and rightly so. What would you have them atone for?”

“Five lashes for each,” Tabil declared. “By noon, for the whole order to witness.”

“This must be kept quiet,” one of the men murmured. “All would wonder why they would still live for murder within the order. Come now, Tabil. Once this is known they would not last the next day.”

“Five lashes,” the crone repeated.

Marganion spoke, “Five lashes whipped for each here, for us to witness.”

Thael knelt then. “I ask that I receive all lashes. Verena merely acted in my defense. I was the one who attacked first.”

Verena looked down upon Thael. Still remained silent.

“All those in favor,” Marganion said, raising a hand. The younger woman raised her own. One man voted in agreement, followed by the other.

The crone scowled and said, “Selflessness is your punishment, Wraith. Let us be done with this.”

A half-circle of Wraiths emerged from the shadows behind them. The Keeper stood amongst them, his teeth glinting beneath his mask’s open mouth.

“Follow me to the courtyard.”

The Grey Council stood and followed them, the circle of Wraiths surrounding Thael and Verena. From within the folds of his cloak the Keeper produced a coiled leather whip.

“Disrobe,” the Wraith commanded.

Thael’s black cloak fell to the cold hard earth, followed by his dark tunic. His back was contoured with muscle. Tattoos illustrated his skin. He stood in the courtyard’s center. Verena watched from one corner. The Grey Council stood to one side, the other Wraiths standing within the shadows.

Marganion flicked out a hand, “Begin.”

The whip cracked out in immediate reply, a scarlet line branded into Thael’s backside. He did not even grunt.

A pause.

The second lash overlaid the first, cutting a ‘X ‘into Thael’s flesh. Thael gasped.

A third. This time Thael gave a low groan.

A fourth hiss of air, a spatter of blood to darken the earth. Thael bowed over.

A fifth. He bent to one knee.

“Stand,” the Keeper ordered.

Thael stood.

When the sixth lash struck Thael, he collapsed face-first. Two other Wraiths supported him, Thael's arms spread out between them. Still Verena watched in silence.

His back was beaded with blood, pale skin now rent apart.

Still they continued.

When the last lash was struck, the Wraiths promptly left him to wilt to the ground. Verena rushed towards him.

“The sentence is finished,” Marganion spoke. “Bring your commander to the medicus.”

The Council filed past. The Wraiths withdrew out of sight, the doors closing behind them.

“Thael,” Verena murmured. “You must wear your tunic and cloak. It will stave off the winds.”

After several moments, Verena helped Thael to his feet. Step by stumbling step they left the castle, the gates thumping shut behind them.

The path through the Rookery was now dotted with gleaming orange eyes in the hulking shadows. No doubt the wrynn had been awoken by the scent of blood.

The climb up the steps leading back to the tunnel was the most difficult part of their journey. She held more and more of Thael’s weight with each step. Sweat beaded Verena’s back while they rested precariously against the steps. She waited for as long as Thael needed before he stood once more. They halted several more times until they reached the tunnel.

“I need both arms to support you,” Verena murmured. “I can’t hold the lantern while doing so.”

“Let’s go, then,” Thael whispered hoarsely back.

They shuffled through the darkness together. All she could hear was Thael’s ragged breath and their scraping boots against the smooth stone. Her hands were clammy with his blood.

Starlight prickled out from the other side. Descending was perhaps even harder than ascending, to not fall tottering down the keep’s many slopes and steps. When they reached the Medicium, Verena blasted open the door with a burst of wind.

The medicus, a grey robed shaven headed man, stared incredulously at them.

“What in tainted blood befell upon you?”

“He needs a medicus,” Verena stated, helping the man place Thael onto a nearby cot.

“Yes, it looks like he does. Do you as well?”