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"Are you allowed to talk to me?" Anya kicked the sabaton of the knight sitting across from her. They were the sole occupants of the narrow stagecoach, and their knees almost knocked with every bump in the cobblestone road.

"If you need something, I will see that it is done. Otherwise, I fear I would make a poor conversation partner." The knight kept his gaze respectfully downwards. He was a beaver, probably born in the great western marshes on the other side of the Empire, and his orange-stained incisors showed every time he spoke. His accent was odd, too - Anya knew the Ascalonese language well enough to tell he was provincial. His sword and shield, each bearing the dragon crest of the House of Ascalon, were stowed besides him.

"I've never met someone from Tyre before. You're part of the prince's personal guard, right?" Anya had seen illustrations of the vast imperial capital, but the war had cut off travel when she was still a whelp.

"That is correct. You will meet Prince Yvon soon."

Anya leaned down, trying to catch the knight's narrow blue eyes. He stiffened, and she caught the glint of a metal chain under the dense fur of his neck. Sharp thorns protruded from every link, and many appeared to dig into his skin.

"Your necklace is a conduit, isn't it?"

The knight finally met her gaze. "Prince Yvon informed me you are also a magus, although our Grand Magi consider your arts heretical. You will need to surrender your conduit before you may meet the Prince. It is the knife hidden in your sleeve, correct?

So he was more perceptive than he looked. She pulled the thin surgical knife out and ran her finger along the gnarled runes carved into the blade. In the dark place just beyond the edge of her perception, something stirred.

"I carry the healing arts of the royal line of Vasili. Nothing sinister about that, is there?"

The knight shifted in his seat. "With all due respect, princess, I was present at many of the battles in the Peninsular War. I know full well what Vasili blood arts are capable of."

The carriage slowed, and the road seemed to have become more even. Anya had crossed the border five days ago, and would arrive at a fort just outside the imperial capital soon. Yesterday, she had met the knight, and he had given her the red ribbon that she was to now to wear around her neck at all times. At the fort, there would be a prisoner exchange, a few hollow words extolling the peace, and she would be left to her fate.

"Tell me about the prince."

"He possesses an honest and dignified character, but he is...not like you or I. He shoulders a responsibility far greater than we could comprehend."

"But he's not a magus, right?"

"The arts of his bloodline lie dormant in him, and yet even the Grand Magi must recognize his exceptional talents."

"I see." Anya leaned over and lifted the curtain. A waning moon gleamed above a dark conifer forest, and they passed a few wooden stockades.

A few minutes later, they came to a stop on the parade ground of the fort, and Anya reluctantly handed the knight her knife before stepping into the cool night air. The fort - star-shaped stoneworks set around an older wooden keep - was far larger than anything in Vasili, and perhaps two hundred soldiers stood at attention. Their helmets gleamed like strange insects in the torchlight.

"You are to observe the prisoner exchange from the keep balcony. Please come with me." The knight took her hand and led her past the soldiers, now moving to intercept a line of dingy wagons pulling into the fort. Anya noticed some commotion near the door of the keep.

"Alain!" A voice boomed across the parade ground, and Anya felt the knight freeze.

"The prince...was not supposed to be here. Try to make a good first impression," the knight whispered.

Shit. I'm not...I can't... Anya felt her breathing accelerate and her ears flush with warm blood. She was suddenly conscious of her plain traveling dress and perfunctorily combed fur, and the various pheromones leaking through the mask she had applied in the morning. Her hand twitched towards her knife, but of course it wasn't there.

The knight gripped her arm, harder this time, and led her over to the door of the keep.

"My lord." He knelt on the wet grass.

A circle of knights parted, and a single person stepped towards them. He was a wolf, and perhaps twice Anya's height, with a narrow face and amber eyes that seemed to glow in the moonlight. The fur of his head and neck was tied into a series of intricate braids, and he wore an ornate cloak over a polished breastplate.

He draws everyone's gaze, and they're all waiting to see what he does next. Almost like he's a spider, and they're all caught in his web.

"Crown Prince Yvon of Ascalon, I...offer myself to you." Anya lowered her gaze and executed a clumsy curtsy.

After a moment of terrible silence, she felt long claws slide across her chin and neck, pressing the ribbon's soft fabric against her skin. They tightened, nearly puncturing her skin, and the prince forced her head upwards until she met his gaze. He evidently made no attempt to alter his scent, as he reeked of maleness.

"A princess, a magus, and a heretic." His eyes rolled slowly up and down her slender figure, and his breath was hot on her face. "Well met, Anna Dimitrova."

Anya shivered. "Please, just Anna."

The prince turned to Alain. "Let me see her conduit."

Alain rose, offering the knife. The prince turned it over before handing it back.

"Don't let the magi take it. I want to see what the white rabbit can do."

He pulled her closer. "Anna, at the moment, I find you interesting, and so I will allow this little charade. Pray I don't change my mind." He let go, allowing her to fall onto her knees. "Alain, bring her to the keep after she's had a moment to wash up."

He disappeared into the keep, and Anya remembered to breathe. She felt Alain's cold gauntlet wrap around her fingers.

"All things considered, that went pretty well. Come on, they'll have a fire inside," he said, gently pulling her to her feet.

The keep had a single long hall on the ground floor, and an immense fireplace burned brightly at the far end. Dozens of knights and retainers scuttled about, seemingly on edge - the prince's retinue? Someone offered her water and a washcloth, and she did her best to clean the sweat from her fur.

Alain then led her upstairs, and on to a wooden balcony. The prince stood at the far end, and mercifully it seemed she would not have to speak with him again. Just below them, the prisoners were lined up, their hands tied with coarse rope. At the end of the line, an older wolf with wild fur was wrapped in heavy silver chains, and his snout was restrained by a silver band. Anya vaguely recalled he was someone important.

"General Ferenne, magus of tooth and claw. Captured at the Battle of Five Oaks," Alain said, following her gaze. "I am somewhat surprised the king allowed his return."

"Why?"

"He is a traditionalist, and strongly opposed peace negotiations with Vasili. He might still have some pull in the court."

The prince stepped to the edge of the balcony.

"Soldiers of Ascalon, I am glad to see your safe return," he began, his deep voice carrying across the night. "Through your heroism, we have pushed the forces of Vasili within an inch of their lives, expanded our borders, and secured an advantageous treaty."

That's one way to put it. Vasili had lost some territory on its periphery, but Ascalon's armies had only managed a brief incursion into the kingdom's heartland.

"Our Empire has always advanced through the twin forces of war and trade. Now we are at peace, and turn to reaping the rewards of peace. That is all."

Soldiers moved down the line, severing each prisoner's bonds, and they rose to salute the prince. Eventually, they came to Ferenne, and removed his restraints. He smiled, and something in his mouth glinted in the torchlight.

A false tooth? Wasn't that...no!

"Alain, look..."

Ferenne lunged at the nearest soldier, tearing through his throat in an instant. Anya immediately felt a pressure in the air, and her nose wrinkled at the familiar acid stench of a draugr forcing itself into the corporeal world.

"Save me your platitudes, traitor." Ferenne spat the words as his flesh began to boil. His skull split open with a sickening crunch, and his entire head opened to reveal a mouth filled with concentric rows of teeth. His body expanded to nearly triple his former size, and his claws impaled a fleeing soldier as they struck the ground. Dozens of warts appeared on his back, and each popped open to reveal a serpentine red eye.

"Get the prince back! Prepare the silver speartips!" someone shouted. The draugr pounced, far quicker than a creature of its size should have been able to move, and raked its claws through the wooden supports of the balcony. Anya grasped at Alain's arms as they fell, and then heard a sickening crunch as pain shot through her legs.

The draugr loomed over them now, its saliva dripping onto the shattered wood. Anya gasped for air, but its rotten stench was nearly overwhelming.

It paused for a moment, its nostrils flaring, and reared to strike. Near the prince, a few knights tried to struggle to their feet.

Anya suddenly felt a second presence, and thorny vines erupted from the ground, wrapping around the draugr's legs and forming a protective wall in front of the prince. Alain grunted as he tugged his necklace, letting its spikes soak his fur with trickles of blood.

"Not...enough..." he gasped. The draugr raised its foot, ripping the vines from the soil. Its viscous blood splattered on the ground.

Blood...if it had blood, it was fully corporeal.

And if could can bleed, it could die.

She snatched her knife from Alain's belt and reopened the scar on her left arm with a single practiced motion. Her own blood appeared almost black in the darkness.

[My, my. I take my eyes off you for a moment and you're about to be offed by one of Tiamat's spawn.]

The guttural voice she knew so well reverberated through her mind, and she felt something made of flesh and sinew rest on her shoulder, just at the edge of her perception. No one else would be able to see it.

"Enkidu, wither its left leg." She felt a surge of burning pain run through her arm as her blood began to evaporate, and the being behind exhaled, releasing a cloud of miasma. The draugr lost its balance, falling forward as the skin of its leg putrefied into organic muck, before righting itself.

[Hmmm...I'm hardly reaching those juicy organic bits. Want to try again with a bit more oomph?]

Anya's pulse raced, and her mind was filled with static. The usual sensation of sudden blood loss. Somewhere to her left, the prince seemed to have been caught under something. The draugr roared, a sound like glass on stone.

"Enter its bloodstream and burst its heart. Just don't kill me." She plunged the knife into her chest, severing an artery, and Enkidu's twisting, rootlike form came into focus above her as her blood sublimated away. Her throat felt unbearably tight, and could feel the adrenaline in her system struggling to keep her afloat just a little longer. The draugr froze and turned to her, and Anya thought she could see panic cross its eyes. Then its veins bulged and its midsection exploded, coating her white fur in a thick layer of foul-smelling crimson blood. She let out a screeching laugh, pointing her dagger down at its remains. The last thing she registered before her consciousness faded was the prince's eyes, wide with shock.

--

Pain. White, hot pain, spreading through her body like brambles. Her vision was blurry, but she was somewhere cramped and dark, and she could barely move her arms. She smelled of sweat and urine.

What happened...right. I almost killed myself. I hope my organs are still there. She tried to reach out to Enkidu, only to recoil in pain. Instead of his presence, there was a cold, dark box around her mind.

They've got me in silver bindings.

A light burned to life just beyond where she could focus, and a tall figure stepped out of the shadows. The prince? No, a woman.

"Can you hear me?" The voice was soft and sonorous, with an accent Anya couldn't place, but there was an edge to it. Like a knife wrapped in velvet.

Anya tried to speak, only to taste hot, salty blood in her mouth. She spat it out and managed a croak.

"Good. Listen carefully."

The woman raised something in her hand, and Anya felt something loom in the dark recesses just beyond her mind. Enkidu? No, Enkidu was warm, and this thing had no temperature at all.

It lunged, burrowing through her mind and wrapping around her thoughts like a worm within a carcass. Her vision wavered, and Anya barely suppressed a scream.

She's using some kind of draugr.

"Get out of my head."

The woman's hoof collided with her skull, and Anya felt something shatter as she lurched to the limit of her chains. Blood welled up in her throat, and she dug her claws into her legs to keep herself lucid.

"Do not waste my time. Did you know Ferenne intended to kill Prince Yvon? If you cannot speak, shake or nod." Even in anger, her voice was distant.

"Nhg...no." The thing in her mind coiled and pulsated, each movement resulting in a wave of intense nausea.

"Do you know how Ferenne obtained the false tooth he used as a conduit?"

"No."

"Were you privy to any other plan to harm Prince Yvon or the House of Ascalon?"

"No."

"Do you intend to harm Prince Yvon or the House of Ascalon?"

"No. Why would I."

The woman lowered her voice. "Why did the High Lord of Vasili give up his firstborn daughter as an imperial consort?"

Anya's breath caught in her throat, but the thing pushed deeper, forcing the words out.

"I would be useful to him."

--

Cannon boomed in the distance, and a thousand bonfires cast a reddish glow on the grey winter sky. Anya trudged through the camp, her hood pulled tight against her ears. The frozen mud beneath her feet had made it nearly impossible to set up tents, and the grim soldiers around her huddled around bonfires or under tarps tied between trees. They had seen two days of combat, and their faces were empty masks of shock and exhaustion. Some of them would have marched directly from the devastating retreat at Silver Falls, only to be thrown back into the maelstrom of battle. A few looked up as she passed, but they quickly glanced away when they saw the knife at her hip.

It was the fifth month of the Peninsular War, and the grand army of Ascalon was at their border. Her father had permitted her a single excursion, far back from the line of combat, under the condition that a senior magus evaluate her performance.

The field hospital was a cluster of long tents, pounded into a frozen lake. While it stank of fear pheromones, the smell of decay was mercifully absent - in this weather, bodies would freeze long before the rot could set in.

She pushed the doorflap aside. There were four rows of soldiers lying on rough wooden pallets, and doctors and junior magi swarmed like flies between them. Someone had set up a few fires under holes cut in the tent ceiling, and the air was thick with smoke. Some of the soldiers screamed without thought or reason, as if only the most basal part of their brains remained functional. Others lay silently with blank, glassy eyes, waiting for the magi to take them.

"Princess Anna." A magus with disheveled black fur rose to meet her. His red hood and gold-tasseled apron indicated his status as a court magus. His conduit, an old bloodletting needle, hung from a chain around his neck.

"Good afternoon, Father Petrov." He had tutored her in medicine before he had been called to the front lines last year. His judgment would be harsh.

"If you have come here to embarrass yourself, make it quick. I do not have all day to watch you play at arts." She tried to respond, but he grabbed her shoulder, leading her further into the tent.

They came to a round-faced soldier. His armor had been removed, and his undergarments had been cut and peeled away, revealing fur plastered with dried blood. There was heavy bandaging around his torso. He clutched a necklace bearing the holy leaf of St. Cyril, and his eyes lazily tracked their movements.

"You...you're going to take me, aren't you."

Anya froze. The soldier had spoken, formed words into a sentence, and yet...the words carried not a hint of fear or relief. She looked to the soldier's eyes, but there was no presence behind them. It was like staring into the blank, snow-covered wasteland beyond the tent.

"Anna. Diagnosis."

"Yes, Father."

She reached down, placing her hand on the soldier's arm. Her clean white fur stood out against his dirtiness.

"I'm going to see what's wrong with you, alright? Then we can start treatment."

"Your ears. What's someone like you doing talking to me."

"That's not important." He must have noticed her lop ears under her hood - the mutation was rare outside the high aristocracy.

"Enkidu. Time to work." She slipped the knife from her belt, making a small cut on her finger.

[So much death. Mmm...but I can smell even more a few miles north of here. Take me there, and I can offer you a feast of power.]

"Shut up. Overlay with the patient's body."

[As you wish. Are you being tested? Then I suppose I must apply myself.]

She felt Enkidu's power flow through the soldier's body. The root-like flow of his vitality came into focus in her mind, along with the dozens of places where it had been twisted and broken. Phantom pain burned up and down her nerves as she focused on the damage.

"Fractured ribcage and heavy internal bleeding on the right side of the abdomen. Another magus sealed most of the bleeding, but it was done quickly and he's still losing blood. It looks like a glancing impact by a large blunt object."

"That would be called a cannonball, Anna."

"May I continue, Father?" Silence in response.

"Large portions of the small intestine and liver, along with the entire right kidney, were completely pulverized. Tissue in that area is starting to die off due to circulatory disruption. No major damage to the spine, heart, lungs, or brain. With arts, it's repairable."

"I didn't ask if it was repairable. Perform an exaltation."

"I beg your pardon?"

"His mind is gone, but he may fight again. Do it."

"But...yes, Father." Anna's palms had become clammy.

The soldier met her eyes. "You're not going to fix me, are you. Liar."

She lifted the hand that held the necklace, placing it over his heart.

"There will be no pain. I promise. Think about your..."

"Don't bring up his family," Petrov hissed in her ear. "No need to hurt him more."

Her heart began to lose its rhythm as she raised the knife. No. She was already in a precarious position. One false step would be all it took.

"Enkidu, you know what to do. Start with the brain."

She touched the knife against his plexus and fixed her mind on guiding Enkidu to the soldier's forebrain. Her hands trembled as his presence stretched over her and poured into the soldier's body, spreading like roots.

"Now."

Enkidu's miasma burst into the soldier's mind, liquidating the parts Anya indicated. He hardly needed her guidance - this ritual was old, and her ancestors had performed it with him many times. Brain first, then down to the stomach, intestine, liver, the remaining kidney, at at last the genitals, each organ withering to nothing. The soldier's face went slack the moment it began.

"Return the life you have harvested. Follow my lead."

She began to trace her knife over the soldier's now-hollowed body, sculpting its essence. She bade the cells in the heart, lungs, and diaphragm to proliferate, stretching out the ribcage as the organs engorged. Next, she carefully burned away the nerves responsible for sensing pain, before moving to the arms and legs - as they grew, she hardened the bones and weaved the muscles into new, more efficient forms. The soldier's bandages tore, but the skin beneath was now whole. At last, she shattered his hands, slipping the necklace into her own sweaty palms, and grew his ulna into long blades piercing through the skin. It was easy, even enjoyable, as long as she could think of the body as nothing more than clay to be shaped by her craft. As long as she kept her eyes from the soldier's unliving face, now far too small for his twisted body.

"It is done, Father."

Petrov stepped up to the soldier, pricking his own finger on his conduit before placing a hand on the soldier's chest.

"Quick work, and no tumors. Muscles and bones are acceptable." He turned to the caretakers. "We'll need to get this one to the front lines. It will activate in a few hours."

[It's as good as the work of any court magus, and he knows it. Enkidu placed a weightless claw on her shoulder.]

"Quiet," Anya whispered. Her hands were still shaking.

[What? You're thinking the same thing.]

The soldier - or whatever he had become - would soon awaken with a ravenous hunger, only to find that itself incapable of taking food. It would be herded with others of its kind to the edge of the battle lines and driven into the enemy, where it would blindly kill until its meager energy reserves were burned up. A biological automaton that knew neither fear nor pain.

"How do you feel?" Petrov asked.

"What does it mean to you?" Her voice came out as a broken warble.

"When a mother's body cannot nourish the kits it carries, it breaks them down so that the mother may live. War is likewise an act of survival. If you wish to return to the royal city and forget what you saw today, very well. But do not think to show your face here."

"C...continue the evaluation." She gripped the necklace, the edges of its metal symbol stabbing into her palm.

He led her to a new patient, and then another. Some, she healed. Others were too far gone even for exaltation. The faster she worked, the more focus she applied to perfecting her arts, it easier it became to push down the rotten feeling in her chest.

It was dark when she left the tent, and amorphous shadows hugged the featureless white plain beyond the camp. She stared out on the edge of the nothingness, and something in her head told her to run, run until her white fur was lost in the snow and the biting wind sapped the warmth from her body.

She brushed frozen tears from her face, and began making her way through the camp. Tomorrow would be another long day.