Chapter 14: Blood on the Rocks
The cliffside path bit into Fox's boots like teeth.
He moved fast, one hand braced against the rock face, the other clutching the severance rune so hard his knuckles ached. The stone was cold—unnaturally cold, as if it had been pulled from the bottom of the sea—and the red light inside it pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
Below, the undead horde marched.
The sound of them was a physical thing. A rhythmic thud-thud-thud of bone on stone that vibrated through the cliff and into his teeth. The wind carried their stench—rotting meat and old copper and something sweet, like flowers left too long in stagnant water.
He couldn't see them clearly through the mist, but he didn't need to. He'd seen enough undead in his years on the road. They moved in formation, these ones. Organized. Controlled.
Leliana's doing.
The thought made his jaw tighten.
He'd trusted her once. Fought beside her. Shared a fire with her, a meal, a bedroll when the nights got cold. She'd saved his life in the Troll King's lair—pulled him back from a ledge when he'd slipped, her hand locked around his wrist, her eyes fierce and determined.
I've got you.
Those words had meant something to him.
Now they meant nothing.
The path narrowed. Fox pressed his back against the cliff, edging sideways along a ledge barely wide enough for his feet. Below him, the sea crashed against the rocks—black water churning white, spray leaping up to soak his clothes, his face, his hair.
He could taste salt on his lips.
Could taste something else too.
Fear.
Not of dying. He'd made peace with dying years ago, somewhere in the mountains east of nowhere, bleeding out from a goblin blade while the snow fell around him like ashes. He'd survived that. He'd survive this.
But failure—that was different.
Failure meant Arielle and Everly dead on the cliff above. Failure meant the Codex falling into the wrong hands. Failure meant Leliana winning, her army of the dead marching across the kingdom, leaving nothing but rot and ruin in their wake.
He couldn't fail.
He wouldn't.
The ledge widened. Fox moved faster, his boots finding purchase on the slick stone, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
Then he heard it.
A footstep.
Not his own.
He spun, dagger already in hand—the blade Arielle had given him, the one she'd pressed into his palm with shaking fingers and a whispered warning.
Don't trust anyone.
The man who stepped out of the shadows was tall. Broad-shouldered. His face was weathered, lined by sun and salt and years of hard living, and his eyes—grey as storm clouds—held no fear.
He carried a trident.
Three prongs, each one barbed, each one stained with something dark that Fox didn't want to identify.
"Xander," Fox said.
"Remember me."
"Of course,” Fox replied. Even though it seemed ages ago now. “You and I did slay a Harpy together. Practically makes us brothers.”
"Brothers who love the same woman.” Xander's voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. The voice of a man who'd stopped caring about consequences long ago. "But you betrayed Leliana. I stayed.”
"You stayed to do the bidding of the Codex." Fox raised his bow. “You don’t serve Leliana. You serve whatever thing is keeping her soul hostage.”
"Lies,” Xander remarked. “You’re just jealous that she’s fucking me now.”
"Hmmm," Fox said calmly. “You always did have a thing for sea creatures. Maybe that’s what’s controlling her.”
“Nothing controls her,” Xander replied. “She even controls the dead. Which will be you soon.”
“We don’t need to fight,” Fox said. “Lay down your weapon.”
"Never,” Xander twirled the trident—a casual gesture, but Fox noticed the way his fingers tightened on the shaft. "I don't hate you. Nothing personal here, archer. You're just in my way."
Fox didn't move.
Neither did Xander.
The wind screamed between them, carrying the distant thud of skeletal feet, the crash of waves, the hollow moan of something that might have been a corpse or might have been the cliff itself.
"You don't have to do this," Fox urged.
"Yes I do."
"She'll kill you when she's done with you."
"Probably." Xander shrugged. "Don't care."
"You should."
"Should I?" He took a step forward. The trident's prongs caught the moonlight, gleaming like teeth. "I lost three friends to a kraken six years back. Three men I'd known since childhood. We grew up together, fished together, drank together. Good men. Honest men."
His voice didn't change. Still flat. Still empty.
"I watched that thing pull them under. One by one. Couldn't do anything. Just stood there on the deck, screaming, while the water turned red." He took another step. "Leliana saved me. Meeting her has given my life purpose.”
"You call this purpose?” Fox replied. “Killing and raping innocent people, woman.”
"I’ve killed things that deserve killing." Xander's lips curved—not a smile, something darker. "Sea creatures. Monsters. Anything that crawls out of the deep and thinks it can take what's mine."
"Only those creature?" Fox said sarcastically. “Now that’s a lie.”
"Now?" He lunged.
Fox barely dodged.
The trident's prongs scraped against the cliff face, sending sparks into the darkness. Fox spun, slashing with his dagger, but Xander was faster than he looked—he twisted away, the blade missing his ribs by an inch, and swung the trident in a wide arc that forced Fox back toward the edge.
His boot heel found empty air.
He threw himself forward.
They collided.
The impact knocked the breath from Fox's lungs. They went down together, a tangle of limbs and weapons, rolling across the slick stone. Fox's dagger bit into something—flesh, fabric, he didn't know—and Xander grunted, his elbow slamming into Fox's temple.
Stars burst behind his eyes.
He kept moving.
His hand found the trident's shaft. He shoved it sideways, away, and drove his knee into Xander's gut. The fisherman gasped, his grip loosening, and Fox rolled free.
Got to his feet.
Swayed.
Xander was already rising, the trident back in his hands, a fresh gash bleeding through his shirt. He didn't look angry. Didn't look pained.
He looked resigned.
"You're good," he said.
"I've had practice."
"Killed a lot of men?"
"Enough."
"Does it get easier?" Xander asked.”
Fox didn't answer.
"That's what I thought." Xander lunged again. “I’ve always wanted to kill you. Killing you is the only way I can have Leliana ALL for myself.”
“You’ll never have her.” Fox parried a ferocious swing of the trident.
Xander swung his weapon again and again and again. Fox could barely avoid the fury of the fisherman’s blows. Xander eyes glowed with a lust for blood.
Xander readied his weapon again; this time, Fox was ready.
He sidestepped the trident's thrust, caught the shaft with his free hand, and yanked. Xander stumbled forward—off-balance, arms flailing—and Fox drove his dagger into his chest.
The blade sank deep.
Xander gasped.
His eyes went wide—not with fear, but with something that might have been relief. His mouth opened, closed. Blood bubbled at his lips.
"Tell me something," Fox said, his voice hoarse. "Why?"
Xander's lips curved.
That same dark smile.
"She's got my soul," he whispered. "I gave it to her; and I Iove her. I will love her even if it means the end of the world.”
Fox pulled the blade free.
Xander fell.
He hit the ledge hard, his body twitching, blood spreading across the stone in a dark pool. For a moment, he just lay there—breathing, dying, staring up at the sky.
Then he rolled.
Off the edge.
Fox watched him fall—a dark shape tumbling through the air, arms outstretched, trident still clutched in his hands. He vanished into the surf below, swallowed by black water and white foam.
Gone.
Fox stood there for a heartbeat. Two. His chest heaved, his hands shook, and the rune in his palm was colder than ever—pulsing red, urgent, demanding.
He turned.
The path continued downward, curving toward the docks. Toward Leliana's tent. Toward the end of everything.
He took a step.
Then another.
---
Above him, the cliff erupted.
Fox looked up just in time to see a body fly over the edge—humanoid, twisted, its limbs bent at unnatural angles. It landed on the rocks below with a wet crack, and then another followed, and another, each one falling like rain.
The undead.
Dead twice now.
He heard Everly's voice—sharp, commanding, her words lost to the wind—and then Arielle's, higher, desperate. A flash of blue light lit the sky, followed by the shriek of something that wasn't human.
Ice.
Everly was fighting.
Arielle was fighting.
They were buying him time.
Fox ran.
The path flattened as it neared the docks—a wide stretch of stone that had been carved into a makeshift harbor years ago, before the undead came, before the world started ending. Boats rotted in their moorings, their hulls cracked and barnacle-encrusted. Nets hung from wooden posts, stiff with salt, flapping in the wind like ghosts.
Leliana's tent stood at the end of the pier.
It was large—larger than any tent had a right to be—and made of black canvas that seemed to swallow the moonlight. Torches burned at its entrance, their flames green and sickly, casting strange shadows that moved against the wind.
Guards.
Two of them.
Undead, both—skeletal figures in rusted armor, their eye sockets glowing with the same green light as the torches. They stood motionless, spears crossed, blocking the entrance.
Fox reached for his bow.
It wasn't there.
Right. He'd left it in the cottage. Left it with Arielle, who was fighting for her life on the cliff above.
He had his dagger.
That would have to be enough.
He moved quietly, keeping to the shadows, his boots silent on the wet wood. The guards didn't react—didn't breathe, didn't blink, didn't do anything but stand there like statues.
He got close.
Close enough to see the runes carved into their skulls. Close enough to smell the rot that clung to their bones.
Then he struck.
The first guard's skull shattered under his dagger—a clean hit, straight through the eye socket. The green light died, and the skeleton collapsed, its armor clattering against the pier.
The second turned.
Too slow.
Fox drove his blade through its ribcage, twisted, and watched it crumble.
Two heartbeats.
Three.
The tent's flap was open.
Fox stepped inside.
---
The air was thick with incense—cloying, sweet, the kind of smell that stuck to the back of your throat and made you want to gag. Candles burned on every surface, their flames the same sickly green as the torches outside.
And there, in the center of it all, stood Leliana.
She was beautiful.
She'd always been beautiful—dark red hair, darker eyes, a smile that could cut glass. She wore leathers now, tight and black, and a cloak that shimmered with runes he didn't recognize. Her hands were bare, her fingers long and pale, and they held a book.
The Codex.
It pulsed in her grip—red, like the rune in Fox's palm, like the blood on his hands.
"Fox," she said.
Her voice was warm.
Familiar.
"I was wondering when you'd show up."
"You knew I would."
"I hoped." She smiled—that same smile that had once made his chest ache. "You always were predictable. Loyal. Stupid."
"Not stupid enough."
"No?" She tilted her head. "You came here alone. You left your friends to die on the cliff. For what? A chance to kill me?"
"I'm not here to kill you."
The smile faltered.
Just for a moment.
"Then why are you here?"
Fox stepped forward.
The rune burned in his palm.
"To end this."