Fenris awoke with a gasp, fist clenching at the blankets, walls of brass and ice evaporating into canvas and burlap. He was back in his tent again, coated in sweat and near sick with a headache. It was the dream again. The endless falling. The two faces. He shook his head and sat up.

Cloth rustled as his tent flap parted.

Fenris lunged for his knife, pulling the blade free, its edge gleaming in the half-light. Time oozed to an uncomfortable stillness as the muscles in his body tensed.

"It's only me," Loken said, his voice like a lullaby in the darkness.

Fenris let go of the knife. "What are you doing here?" It took everything he had not to shout.

"I needed to see you." Loken slipped inside with barely a sound, gliding past discarded gear and equipment to the pile of furs Fenris slept on. "Also, it's cold outside. Can you tell?"

Before Fenris could process the question, Loken slipped his hands beneath the furs, pressing them against his bare chest. Two needles of icy pain tore through his body. He bit his lower lip, snatching Loken's grip with one hand and grabbing the collar of his robe with the other.

"That is not funny," Fenris growled through gritted teeth, pulling Loken in closer. The little man was forced to kneel now, a wry smile coiling up one side of his lips.

"Then you'll hate this even more." With surprising dexterity, Loken twisted himself free from Fenris and dashed under the furs, burying himself within.

"Hold on a second," Fenris hissed. He blindly grabbed at Loken, but the man's thin fingers easily batted him away. "I did not agree to this. This was not part of our agreement."

Loken's head popped out from the covers, so close his chin pressed against Fenris' chest. "All contracts are negotiable in the end. It all truly depends on the desires of both parties involved."

"Do you always spout such wisdom when buried beneath a man's sheets?"

"I feel the most philosophical when under such peaceful arrangements," Loken said as he nestled closer. "Blame a wandering mind with no sleep to keep it occupied."

Fenris had to hold back a gasp as he felt the man's chest press against his. It was like laying naked against a snow bank, and yet he could feel a surprising warmth just beyond it, at Loken's core.

"You don't sleep?" He asked, hoping to change the subject. Now was not the time to think about a man's chest, no matter how soft and cool it felt against his.

Loken shook his head. "I was never born with the ability. A gift from my mother, some would say."

"Must be nice."

"Not when it's just you most nights." Loken pursed his lips as he stared glassy eyed at the wall. "When you're alone with too much time on your hands, your mind tends to wander, and I have found myself down some very dark corridors. If we travel down them too long though, we tend to forget about the light we left behind."

Fenris lay there, not quite knowing what to say of Loken's words, but somehow understanding them in some way. He reluctantly put his arm around Loken as an answer, ignoring the frantic thumping in his chest.

"Have you always been afraid of touch, Fenris?" Loken's question lashed at him like a hidden blade.

"Enough with your damn questions," Fenris said, tearing his arm free as he turned to his side. "If the only reason your here is to taunt me then you can hop out of my furs and go sleep in the forest."

Loken sighed, a deep, heavy sound as he sank into the bed. "I had a vision." His voice had taken on a hollow tone now, quiet, distant. Like an echo from far, far away. "And I need to make sure you stay on the right path. That is my truth and my fate."

A cold wind lashed against the tent as Loken lunged for Fenris, pinning him down with a surprisingly firm grip. His breath came out in a throaty rasp as he murmured the remaining words.

"The Jarl is trying to trick you. Even now he hides men in a small valley south east of the city. He wants to encircle you, trapping you between the city and the tower." Loken paused to turn away, wiping tears from his eyes. "You will die if this ambush is not stopped in time."

Any warmth Fenris felt was immediately dashed away as a cold stab of fear sank into his chest. He lay there speechless, not quite wanting to believe Loken, but knowing deep down he was speaking the truth.

"Fark me," Fenris sighed. "It's not every day you get your own death revealed to you in such a chilling manner. Your bedside manner could really do with some work."

"I'm still getting used to this myself." Loken moved to lay beside Fenris, throwing an arm around him and pressing a wet cheek to his back. "You must tell the Right Hand immediately about this. Only he can change the course of your fate. I have seen it."

"Now? As in right now?"

"Immediately!"

"It's the middle of the night!"

"I said now!" And with another surprising show of strength Loken booted Fenris from the bed, rolling him into his black glass breastplate. He gasped as sharp corners and cold edges poked him in the backside, and he pulled himself up to standing, rubbing at the sore spots as he muttered a curse or two.

"I'd die for my warm bed again, honestly," Fenris muttered as he pulled his shirt and boots on, fastening his sword belt in a loose knot.

"I'll keep it warm for you." Loken waved a hand at him. "Now go, before it's too late."

The chill night air slapped Fenris hard across the face as he left his tent. Heavy winds scythed across the land, icy tendrils biting deep.

Took an age to find one of the night patrolmen. Took an even bigger age to finally find the Right Hand, a venture that sadly involved Corvere as he was torn away from his nightly rituals. Ever since the man's ascension to Chosen his need for sleep had dwindled, setting him prowling about the camp most hours of the night, looking for something to do.

"You'd better have a good reason for this, Fenris," Corvere spat, the hair on his head pushed up to one side. "The King himself granted me this night to finally enjoy sleep again and now you've squandered it!"

"I can assure you it is," Fenris repeated for the fifth time to Corvere as they were both led to the Right Hand's accommodations. It was easily spotted, standing in stark contrast to the other Forsworn tent. Where the others were pitch black, this one had been dyed a bloody red, like an open wound in dead flesh.

One of the night patrolmen peeled back the tent flap, ushering the two of them to enter. The air was uncomfortably warm inside, rich with heat and unknown spices that nipped at the nose. A fire burned in a brazier at the center, cold blue light throwing ugly, dancing shadows against the wall. Beside it stood the Right Hand of the Chosen, staring deeply into the flames.

The man was deceptively tall, light and shadow hiding his true scale, and yet his presence was a dominating aura Fenris could not ignore. It pressed against him like a stone, his breath laboring against the strain, as if he were sinking into a dark, deep pool.

He glanced down at the weapon sheathed at his side in a desperate need to tear his gaze away, and his eyes went even wider as he realized what it was.

"You've a keen eye for a Forsworn." The Right Hand's voice boomed in the black glass helmet he wore at all times, his face completely hidden in the strangely carved patterns. He patted at the hilt, its pommel a stone of the deepest black. With a single motion he drew the sword, the blade a sheet of midnight stolen from the night sky itself. Not a single speck of illumination touched it, its honed edge more a termination of where the light ended and where the darkness began. "A gift from the High King himself."

Where Fenris showed awe, Corvere showed only concern. "My apologies for disturbing you at this hour, oh great Hand, but I was told the news was quite urgent."

"Do not fret, my Chosen," The Right Hand said, slipping the dark sword back into its sheath. "Speak your words."

"My Forsworn tells me of an ambush planned by the Jarl."

"Let him tell me then."

Fenris swallowed as he took a weary step towards the fire, light and heat wrapping around him like a vice. The Right Hand studied him for a moment, as if assessing the truth before it had even been uttered.

"What say you, Forsworn? What ambush do we face at this hour?"

Fenris sucked in a tight breath. "My Lord, what my Chosen here has told you is true. The Jarl has hidden men in the valleys to the south east. He plans to encircle us when we surround the tower, trying to trap us instead."

The Right Hand said nothing as he stared into the fire, dark light bouncing off the chips and grooves in his helmet. "The south eastern valleys you say?" He asked after a long while.

"Yes, my Lord."

"And how did you come about this information?"

The question cut Fenris like a knife. He'd been given all the answers and didn't think to hide the source first. Telling the Right Hand about Loken was simply out of the question. Whatever path the man wanted him walking down, it had kept him alive thus far. There was no need to over complicate things for now.

"Corvere told me to scout ahead since I'd been riding drag the last couple of days. Turns out his act of good faith practically saved us all."

"I—," Corvere gawked, eyes bulging out of his head before his gaze flicked over to the Right Hand and his posture relaxed. "I thought it would be best given what we know about the Jarl. The man's madder than a tanner, but madness has a way of creating a certain type of cleverness in people we shouldn't ignore."

Again the Right Hand was silent, studying them like a pair of beetles and deciding who to crush first.. "A wise choice given the circumstances," he said after a long while. "Your quick thinking has revealed yet another twist in the Jarl's scheme. Well done, my Chosen."

"I...I thank you, my Lord," Corvere said.

"So, the Jarl wishes to trap us, does he?" The Right Hand turned away, pacing within the confines of the tent. "For so long we have permitted his existence as the High King's vassal, protecting his filthy hovels on the southern fringes. It was impudence at first, but his actions were easily ignored, even tolerated, but this has gone on for far too long now. To side with the rebels, the very thorns in my King's side, is an act of treason."

"I would wholeheartedly agree, my lord," Corvere said, paying his lip service back with dividends.

"We must act accordingly. We must prepare." The Right Hand drifted over to a table where a scattering of maps were splayed out, pulling one to the surface. A rough etching of Middlefort's defenses. A few crumbling walls were notated, but it was the tower in the center where the focus lay, circled with red ink.

"If we do not stop them they will move to take the southern half of the city." The Right Hand dragged a hissing finger over the canvas. "We will need to move quickly towards the west then and try to hold as much of the north part of the city as possible, sending a few Chosen and their Forsworn in to take the Tower as quickly as possible. If Jarl Kriggith is killed, the rest of the rebellion will crumble soon after."

"I would humbly request the honor of besieging the tower, your Lordship." Corvere bowed even lower than last time, enough to make Fenris grimace at the sight. The man had everything but shame, it seemed.

"No," The Right Hand said flatly. "That honor belongs to me. Besides, I have always known Kriggith for his deception. He plans not one trap, but two, knowing full well what will happen if the first one fails.

Fenris felt the familiar stab of cold in his chest. "Two?"

Corvere shot a furious look at him as he spoke up. "Forgive him, my lord. He speaks out of turn, but he does raise a good question. What is this second trap?"

"The High King's witch has always known of the Lightbringers and their trickery. Their plan to break the endless night is not without merit, but a foolish venture regardless. Their goddess has no place left in Danic to call home. And besides," The Right Hand patted at the sword at his side.

Dawnruiner. The blade that started it all.

"The High King himself provided us with his own assurance that their plans shall never succeed."

***