《Tenebroum (Book 1 Stubbed)》


 Ch. 01 - Blood Money

    Tenebroum (Noun): A place cut off from the light.


    <hr>


    Riley ambushed his partner while they slogged through the mud, dragging their raft higher onto the shore. He shoved a foot and a half of dull steel into Cutter¡¯s side while the man''s hands were full of rope.


    The struggle that followed was brief, and by the time Riley had finished gutting Cutter like a fish, he barely had the energy to cry out in pain. All he could do was cough up blood and lay in the mud while he tried to hold his entrails in. He didn¡¯t even have the strength to stop Riley from rifling through his pockets for the map and whatever else he might have had on him.


    ¡°Two shares is good, but one share is better, don¡¯t you think, chum?¡± Riley asked, smiling that rotten smile as Cutter¡¯s blood poured into the swamp water, and his world faded to black.


    That should have been it for poor old Cutter. A bad end for a bad man. It wasn¡¯t, though.


    Even though he was dead, Cutter¡¯s spirit stood over his own corpse, watching while his partner mutilated his body for a few more coins. He couldn¡¯t do anything to stop it as Riley broke fingers to get his rings off and followed that up by bashing him in the face a couple times with the hilt of his blade to pry loose his two gold teeth.


    Riley wasn¡¯t any gentler when it came to getting rid of Cutter¡¯s body. He just shoved the hole in his guts full of stones before dragging him into three feet of water and letting him sink into the murk of the fen¡¯s deep mud where no one would ever see him again.


    Cutter might have done the same thing, of course; waste not, want not, and all that. He would have had the good sense to wait until they¡¯d gotten the gold out of the swamp and downriver, though. Killing anyone before you had eyes on the goods was about the dumbest thing a thief like Riley could do, but that didn¡¯t stop him from doing it anyway.


    Cutter¡¯s memories didn¡¯t stop even after his eyes were blinded forever and his lungs filled with water. Things just kept right on going after that. Cutter even smiled as he watched the look of horror bloom on that weasel¡¯s face when he opened the blood-soaked treasure map and found it hopelessly ruined. That memory would last forever, even after the names and details of everything else dissolved in the murky water. Even after the carp and the crawfish reduced him from a feast to a skeleton a little more every day, he would never forget that moment of elation.


    Riley still dug for the treasure that day, just as they¡¯d planned to do together. He got close too. Painfully close. He found the traces of something buried and dug up the empty chest Cutter had put down there as a decoy. The look of disappointment that bloomed on Riley¡¯s face when he opened it was grand but not half so satisfying as the rage that followed.


    Suddenly, the man exploded in violent fits that didn¡¯t stop until he¡¯d broken his shovel, beating the wooden chest while he shouted obscenities. If he¡¯d only dug two feet further, he¡¯d have found the bags of old imperial coins and grave goods they¡¯d stolen from those adventurers, but he didn¡¯t. The murdering bastard had stopped just short of the finish line.


    He left that day empty-handed, searching for a new shovel and a better plan.


    If he¡¯d left with the gold, Riley would have dragged it off to some city where he could live like a king for a few years, and the echo of the partner he¡¯d left decaying in the bog would have faded entirely. Cutter would have drifted away to whatever eternal reward awaited cutthroats and confidence men.


    That isn¡¯t what happened, though. Riley left the swamp with nothing but bloody hands and a couple gold teeth for his trouble. He¡¯d tried to steal everything but come away with almost nothing. That thought kept Cutter¡¯s wraith anchored where it was, basking in the misery of the murderer and anyone else who¡¯d come after his treasure.


    Things grew more jumbled after that. Days and nights blended together. Cutter blamed it on the mist as he stood there in his lonely vigil, clinging to the bitterness of his betrayal like a compass needle. If he wasn¡¯t going to get to spend that shiny on a lifetime of wine and women, then no one else would, either. After a few weeks, he wasn¡¯t really a person anymore or even a memory of a person. He was too diffuse for that. He was a handful of memories mixed with a need for vengeance that slowly spread among the bog¡¯s pools, drifting outward like poison.


    At first, he was stuck to the spot where he died, but as his blood drifted outward and the bugs that fed on his flesh wandered further afield, his reach widened. By the time he could reach the treasure he¡¯d so carefully buried deep in the muck, he could barely remember how they¡¯d swiped all that gold in the first place. He knew they¡¯d stolen it from adventurers that had pillaged it from an ancient crypt and that he¡¯d planted a deadhead log so Riley could ram it and sink their skiff on the way upriver.


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    Still, he couldn¡¯t remember quite how he¡¯d gotten those casks this deep into the fen. A few days later, he couldn¡¯t even remember that much. It didn¡¯t matter. He wasn¡¯t even a ghost anymore. He was a mist - a fog of greed that would never let anyone take the score he¡¯d died so unpleasantly for.


    The only thing that kept time for the spirit was Riley coming back over and over again. He spent months digging and searching on boggy island after flea-bitten sand bar without success. Day in and day out, he traipsed through the swamp, digging new holes where old holes had filled and faded away.


    It was enough money that he would have a hard time spending it in a lifetime, so it was worth finding, even if it took half a lifetime. Anyone might have done the same thing. Every day Riley looked for it, and every day Cutter¡¯s spirit fed the darkness growing there, though. Every time he raged in frustration at another empty hole, the treasure sank a little lower into the earth - forever out of his reach. It was these outbursts that fed the shade of his partner. He couldn¡¯t do anything but exist and hate. He couldn¡¯t defend the treasure or summon minions to do it for him. All he could do was watch and feed on the frustration of the man who searched.


    The murderer consulted soothsayers and arcanists. Sometimes he returned with little toys like dowsing rods and charms that did nothing. Occasionally he even brought the hedge wizards with him. The con artists spent days leading the bastard in circles, but the ones with a real gift only found a growing malignancy in those murky waters and left almost immediately, never to return. They sensed the light fading from this place as surely as the egrets that had stopped nesting here in the year since his betrayal.


    The dark waters and deep rushes were still full of life, but that life was changing. Ducks and cranes chose to land in other wetlands along the river, but Shoebills and Bloodbeaks were becoming more common in their place. The animals all sensed what Riley couldn¡¯t.


    The murderer didn¡¯t notice. Instead of running from the festering darkness, he built a place to stay atop the one place he was sure the treasure wasn¡¯t: the empty chest. It was a terrible excuse for a shack - just sticks lashed to sticks to make a place to sleep. The floor was a foot above the high-water mark, and the roof was thatched well enough that it mostly kept the rain off. The shanty had a large flat rock in the center, just big enough to make a small cooking fire without burning the whole place down.


    It was a sign that he¡¯d exhausted his meager savings staying in the nearby village, not that the shade cared. All it cared about was that, instead of feeding on its murderer for a few hours at a time, it could do it all day long now. Things became more vivid after that.


    The murderer could only spend half his time hunting for treasure because he had to spend the other half hunting or fishing for food, but that only made things worse for him. The more he ate of the swamp, the more he became a part of the swamp.


    The shade could touch him now. It could slide its fingers deep into the man¡¯s twisted little mind and fan the flames of greed so that he would never give up. In time the swamp discovered that all sorts of new torments became possible as well. It couldn¡¯t just make him stay - it could make him suffer. Those torments turned the trickle of life force he¡¯d been siphoning off his betrayer into a flood.


    Dreams were the easiest way to hurt anyone foolish enough to dwell in its depths. The shade could invade the murderer¡¯s dreams most nights when his defenses were lowest and force him to remember what he¡¯d done. The swamp couldn¡¯t remember those details anymore, but its murderer did.


    Most of the time, it could only remember that look of disappointment when the murderer realized the map had been smeared into illegibility by his partner¡¯s lifeblood. When it was in the head of his murderer, though.


    It could remember other things too. It could remember what it was like to have a name and hands. It could remember what it would feel like for his reanimated corpse to hold Riley¡¯s head under the brackish water until the bubbles stopped. It could teach the murderer things too. It could teach him what it felt like to be devoured by the denizens of the fen one tiny bite at a time. These dreams were almost always rewarded with screams as the murderer bolted up from his nightmares.


    The real nightmare was all around him, though, and because of that treasure, he couldn¡¯t leave. So, day after day, he sank further into the mud and the madness, and he fed the one thing he wanted to stay buried the whole time.


    After dreams came diseases. It was a harder thing to do that required the swamp to work through insects and spoiled food because it had no hands of its own. All it had was a desire to make its murderer suffer, and the best tool for that turned out to be sickness.


    The first fevers came on tiny wings. Malaria. Swamp shivers. Grey fever. For over a year, the murderer had managed to avoid all of them, but in the space of a month he was infected with all three, back-to-back. After that, the swamp let him recover from death¡¯s door just enough to avoid killing him before he followed with Giardia and Goblin Guts.


    Every day was hell after that, and every night was worse. Not just because he couldn¡¯t manage to keep anything down but because he was too sick to fulfill the need to hunt the swamp¡¯s treasure, and it ate at him as badly as the diseases did. Any sane person would have left by now, but there was no sanity in Cutter¡¯s Fen. There were only the dead and the damned.

 Ch. 02 - Those that Followed

    It didn¡¯t start out as a plan. The swamp couldn¡¯t plan because it no longer understood anything but now. It knew what more meant though, and it always hungered for more.


    It was those sentiments that filled the murderer¡¯s dreams. If there were more men like you to dig, then you would find it. If you hadn¡¯t killed your partner the two of you could look in twice as many places and you¡¯d already be rich by now. They were the regrets of a damaged mind infected by a hunger that could no longer be sated by a single victim. They were echoes of a person that no longer existed, but every night it found a thousand subtle ways to make the victim long for more hands to help him dig up the swamp. All he needed were a few slaves or even a small gang to help him tear the fen apart and find his ill-gotten gains.


    The murderer didn¡¯t notice how sick he was getting, or how the island he¡¯d built his hovel on had started to grow with the waste earth he brought back daily. All he could think about was his worn-out shovels and the strong backs he needed to dig more of this accursed soil.


    So, one day he left, and the swamp didn¡¯t even try to stop him. It knew that he would be back - no matter how long it took.


    The wraith followed him to the edge of its domain, surprised that it could see a small village from there, just across the lagoon. It had known it was out there somewhere, because sometimes they ate its fish or brought down its fowl, but the place itself had been an afterthought.


    Looking at it now, all the shade could make of it, was that it only had a few dozen souls at best. The swamp would have loved to devour them, but they were just out of reach and under the protection of a vague curtain of light that had to be the work of the divine. It could feel the sanctified land of their temple, even from this distance. So, for now the wraith would have to let it be, unless a fisherman was foolish enough to cast his nets too deep into its mire.


    The days blurred in the absence of a human mind to toy with, and so it drifted among the fog. For a time, all that the wraith cared about was that its treasure continued to slowly sink downwards. It had started out five feet under where the hovel now stood but was closer to twenty feet now.


    It had left the layers of mud and slime behind and was now buried firmly in the thick band of red clay that hid beneath the swamp for at least a league in every direction. No one would ever find its treasure now - the swamp was certain of that. After drinking deeply of intoxicating emotions like fear and madness though, the swamp had developed a taste for humans, and desperately wanted more.


    Then one day, there was a boat. No - there were several boats, paddling from the river that marked the edge of the swamp towards the lands of mist and darkness that the wraith alone held sway over. The murderer had returned, and with him came a large group of strangers. Many of them looked even less savory than the man that had brought them here.


    The murderer had certainly seen better days. He¡¯d left a frail and starving hermit looking for help to find the treasure he¡¯d sought alone for almost two years. He returned bound hand and foot - the victim of someone stronger who¡¯d smelled opportunity.


    The big man wasted no time and began barking orders before they¡¯d even arrived. Once they made landfall on the murderer¡¯s island, a handful of henchmen quickly stirred the slaves from their oars to start unloading everything they¡¯d brought with them.


    Within minutes there was more activity in the heart of the fen than there had the entire rest of the time the wraith had been aware combined. Boards. Tools. Food. Sandbags. It didn¡¯t know the words, but as the men communicated with each other it learned them. None of them had eaten or drank of the swamp yet - so they were mostly beyond its vaporous reach.


    That was fine. The wraith merely watched as they turned its very heart from a small and empty island with only a hovel, into a true campsite. That was when they strung up the murderer from a strong tree, lashing him to make sure that he hadn¡¯t forgotten anything before they were done with the lunatic.


    The swamp watched, and it feasted, enjoying the pain and despair as the light behind the eyes of the man that had murdered it so long ago finally went out. After he¡¯d hung there for a few hours someone finally cut him down, letting him splash into the water where the swamp could finally taste his flesh.


    It had waited years for this moment and would have waited years more if it had to. Now that the day had finally come though, there was a feeding frenzy as water rushed to fill the corpse¡¯s chest, dragging him below so that the catfish could nibble, and leeches could drain to their heart''s content. A pulse of power flowed through the wraith that it had never known before as the soul of another living human was dragged screaming from whatever its true destination was meant to be, into the dark heart of the bog.


    Its obsessions added to its own, and its need for gold only amplified the needs that were already there. The sensitive among the slaves could feel it, and made a sign against the evil eye, even as most of the rest of that motley crew let out a ragged cheer while the animals ripped the corpse to pieces and made the dark water bubble and froth.


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    When that grim business was done, and the waters were finally still, the newcomers turned to the business of keeping away the darkness. Dry wood was hard to find this deep, and what they¡¯d brought with them would only last so long, but for now they had enough to keep the shadows at bay.


    The swamp was in no hurry as it circled them. They would falter¡­ they would drink its water and eat its creatures, and then the wraith would worm its way inside their heads the same way it had with the murderer it had haunted for so long.


    Now there was a small part of it that wanted these betrayers to die as badly as it had wanted to feast on the murderer - but it would have to wait, because if the wraith ate at this group too quickly the rest would merely flee. They needed to be cultivated and allowed to dig until they caught the deadliest fever of all. The one that would keep them chained here for as long as it took to feast on them: gold fever.


    Their camp formed over days. The original hovel was leveled except for the posts and cross members that had held it up, then the floor was replaced by planks, and walls made of cloth were put up to keep the bugs out. It was in that room, almost out of its reach, they schemed while sandbars were dug up by the slaves and used to expand and flatten the main island.


    Shacks for the men and supplies, and canvas tents for the slaves quickly became the pattern. Two men kept watch every night and tended the fires, keeping the darkness at bay and weakening the swamp when it was at its strongest during the darkest hours of the night. It had enjoyed feasting on the murderer, but he was sloppy and careless. The shadows had found a thousand ways to worm into his soul, but now the swamp worried that these men and their precautions might be too much for it to devour.


    For a time, they were. The newcomers were cautious and methodical, eating the salt pork and ship''s biscuits they¡¯d brought with them while they kept up the fires and set about their methodical search plan, eliminating one island at a time in a slowly expanding spiral that turned up very little. Then one day the slaves got it in their head to supplement their meager rations with skewers of freshwater drum and carp.


    It started with a couple of them surreptitiously using a bit of line and a watch fire to feed the grumbling in their stomachs, but soon spread to most of the men. They devoured the flesh and spit out the bones, but worms and parasites that they contained, along with a touch of darkness - those persisted long after the meat was digested and passed. Those men didn¡¯t belong to it yet, but in time, they would.


    Soon it was feeding off their dreams, taunting them with visions of gold, or even better - escape. Days of hard work and nights of treasures they would never have soon wore down even the strongest of them, and the whole time the darkness of the swamp gorged on it all.


    After almost a month of fruitless searching came the first escape attempt, followed by the first mutiny. Those led to the first whippings and executions, and every drop of blood that ended up in the water made the wraith that hounded them ache for more. Being able to drink deep of so much essence so often was a luxury it had never imagined before, and its reach and power only grew by the day.


    The sickness started with their leader. The swamp knew that if it started to pick off the weakest, the strongest would just flee while they still could, denying it the revenge and vitality that it craved. So, it watched and waited for his habits to slacken - for his men to fail to boil the water long enough or for him to leave his windows open on sweltering nights.


    Then in the peak of summer, when the water levels were at the lowest, and the ruins of so many of the smaller islands were visible above the much-reduced water line, the task master came down with a bad case of gray fever. His sweating became more profuse even as the sun set, and then his skin turned ashen.


    ¡°What you need is to take a trip into Aiden. I¡¯ll row you myself. They¡¯ve got a real healer, and gods know you need one,¡± his second in command argued.


    ¡°Bah,¡± said the taskmaster, weakly. ¡°We both know that if I leave half of the superstitious mutts we have here will run for the hills. I wouldn¡¯t dream of such a thing.¡±


    ¡°That might be true,¡± his second agreed, ¡°But isn¡¯t that reason enough to think about packing all this in. Maybe that lunatic had no idea what he was talking about.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re close Mick. I can feel it in my bones we''re close,¡± the leader answered, before ending the conversation.


    They were close of course - practically on top of it. The swamp knew that, but it also sent dreams telling him that almost every night lately. That they were so close. That any day now they¡¯d find the object of his desires.


    The man in charge was certain they¡¯d find the gold before the fever broke, but while he lay in bed, other disasters abounded. Without careful inspections, rats had gotten to two casks of food and spoiled them completely, and a crew returning with firewood had capsized on the way back to camp after hitting a snag that hadn¡¯t been there the day before. A good man lost his leg to a gator, and two slaves drowned in a panic to escape, in water they should have been able to stand in.


    While the wraith drank deep of all this human suffering with one hand, it had used tremendous amounts of its energy to cause them, and so it was a net loss. It was getting impatient though. It knew that this group lacked the monomaniacal dedication to seeking the treasure that the murderer had unless they found something, and it was loath to give up a single coin - even to keep them here forever. A few days later the taskmaster was well enough to leave his sick bed, and he started to issue orders - they were leaving.


    That¡¯s when the real madness started. One of their pole boats sank, three slaves escaped, and several more fell sick with a bad case of goblin guts. If things had been going bad before they decided to leave, then they got much worse once they began making preparations.


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    Four months earlier they had arrived with 23 living souls including the murderer toward the end of spring rains, and now that summer heat was finally dying off 14 people were making plans to leave in the next day or two. They¡¯d been humbled by nature and feasted on by powers they couldn¡¯t see, let alone understand.


    Then the mage came.

 Ch. 03 - Taming the Swamp

    Aside from the man at the oars, the mage was alone. He came without any servants, but he practically glowed with ethereal energy. His layers of enchantments left him well beyond the reach of the wraith from the moment he first crossed into the swamp¡¯s domain.


    He was rowed out into the fen by a local fisherman who had only the tiniest stains on his soul from regularly eating the swamp¡¯s polluted catch; it was just a hint that soon enough - a year or two at most - he would have the whole village, not just the men hidden in the fever-ridden swamps outside of it. The mage¡¯s robes didn¡¯t have even the faintest trace of mud or stains from work on them, and he smiled at the dangerous men like he didn¡¯t have a care in the world.


    ¡°Leaving already, are you?¡± he asked, ¡°I suppose I could allow that. Sell me your slaves and the rest of your supplies, and I¡¯ll even give you a good price. You¡¯ll need money for the road if you¡¯re going to get far enough away from me that I¡¯ll never find you again.¡±


    ¡°Leave? We¡¯ll be back, and with even more men than before!¡± the headman yelled, purpling with rage.


    The swamp loved anger and rippled hungrily around the violence, preparing to savor what was sure to happen next. The leader would never have the chance to yell anything again, though. In the split second it took him to reach for his sword, a lightning bolt came down from a clear blue sky and boiled his brains in his skull before he hit the water, still steaming. He was dead before he¡¯d gotten wet and before he or the swamp had gotten even a taste of suffering.


    ¡°Anyone else?¡± The mage asked languidly. Everyone there stood dumbfounded, including the swamp. It recoiled from the painful flare of essence that wasn¡¯t its own. One moment it had been expecting to feast on blood and suffering, and the next, it was burned by foreign magics - hurt in a way that it had never been hurt before. For the first time in its existence, it knew fear. ¡°The local lord has promised me this whole area for my experiments if I purge the thieving vermin in it. As far as I¡¯m concerned, purge means ¡®to expel,¡¯ so if you hurry, I won¡¯t have to kill all of you. I can just¡ª¡±


    The headman¡¯s second had been standing at the window of the main building, overlooking this whole exchange near the shore. He raised a crossbow, but he burst into flames before he could pull the trigger. The swamp was tempted to drink deep of that terrible suffering but held back.


    The mage¡¯s magic cut through the mist and shadows that made up the wraith like the noonday sun, and it wanted nothing to do with them. So even as the gang''s second in command threw himself from the window into the shallow water to enjoy a short life amid the mud and worms, the swamp retreated into the water. That left only a few men that had already pissed themselves in fear and a burning building behind them.


    Even before the flaming man hit the water, though, everyone else with a weapon met with an equally grisly fate. It was only when the gang was dead that the mage got off the boat and began to survey the island.


    ¡°Yes - this will do, I think,¡± he said to himself, ¡°This will do nicely.¡±


    ¡°What will become of us,¡± one of the surviving slaves asked. He was strong enough to have survived two rounds of the shivers, but he didn¡¯t look like he would make it through a third.


    ¡°Why - you¡¯ll work for me, and when I have no further need of you, I¡¯ll set all of you free.¡± The mage said, not bothering to look at any of them. ¡°Now unload the boats and bring the tools. We¡¯ll need to knock some of these huts down before we can put up the circle.¡±


    The men got to work after that - knocking down many of the structures they¡¯d built up so carefully until now. This should have pleased the swamp, but the swamp knew that nothing good could come from this new arrival. It slunk away into the shadows to feast on the corpses of the recently dead to recover its strength and keep an eye on all the goings-on from a safe distance.


    The fisherman left at once, and everyone else labored for several days until the mage pronounced their preparations completed. The swamp could feel the change. It was like a numbness in the center of its very soul.


    The mage had cleared and leveled the land enough to create a broad ring on the island that only existed to safeguard the treasure. Once that was done, he¡¯d lit a brazier. Then, he added potent incense to drive back the fetid swamp air from his ritual site before adding granite dust mixed with salt in a perfect circle while chanting, causing the whole area to thrum with geomantic power. The weather smelled of storms, but even if the swamp called to the thunderheads, there was no way the rain would come in time to stop what was coming next.


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    The swamp was afraid. It had stayed clear, so it wasn¡¯t trapped inside the circle, but its treasures were. There were a few coins and pieces of jewelry in the waters surrounding its lair. Still, it was less than nothing in the face of its great golden heart, and right now, it could barely feel its sole reason for being. Was this mage really going to dig up its treasure in a single moment?


    Was it going to do in a day what the murderer hadn¡¯t been able to accomplish in years? That part of his soul was frothing with rage while the rest sank into fear and despair. That¡¯s when the ground started to move.


    It started somewhere below it. Below the layers of clay that it had claimed, in the bedrock that would forever be too hard for the dark waters of the swamp to penetrate. What was once silent and still was rumbling and cracking. Then the rock began to rise higher. It was an impossibility, but it was happening just the same.


    The slaves fell to their knees as the earth shook, even as the mage stood there unperturbed while his chanting reached a crescendo. The rock was rising in a handful of broken spires - like teeth or claws, and the swamp could feel them tearing at its underbelly. Was it not enough to rip the treasure from its beating heart? Was it also going to pierce the clay, so the infected waters could be lanced and drained before it had the chance to reach the village?


    The swamp recoiled in anguish as the first outcropping pierced the bloodstained soil of its domain. Like the mage that summoned it, the rock was entirely beyond its control. It was an affront to everything it had been building - a monument to frustration, but one built within mere feet of its gold.


    The first outcrop wasn¡¯t the only one, either. Soon there were half a dozen, and each was a finger in the fist gripping the core of the wraith¡¯s being. It could feel itself being damaged by the ritual. Even if the rocks hadn¡¯t pierced the soil in such a way as to drain the swamp, they¡¯d still pierced it in a way that was probably fatal, and there was nothing it could do.


    The swamp could only watch as the megalithic stones eventually stopped moving. The still-living humans celebrated this with a lavish dinner. All the swamp could celebrate was that even though the mage had dealt it a grievous blow, the treasure everyone sought still lay more than a dozen feet beneath them.


    If raw magic like that couldn¡¯t force it to the surface, then it was confident that no one would ever find it, and as long as it wasn¡¯t found, the swamp would heal and recover. It would feast on victims or slowly increase its reach a little every week until it had enough blood to become strong again.


    Things passed quickly after that. Lost in the fog of its weakness, the swamp couldn¡¯t follow the small changes on the island that used to belong to it or the people who lived on it as they slowly improved it. One day it was just a series of ugly stones, but only a few months later, those stones had been dressed and shaped, and fired clay bricks were being placed into walls around the whole thing.


    The clay still belonged to the swamp, and so did the wood used to bake them. So, slowly, even though the humans tried to seal it out of whatever they were building, they were unknowingly locking themselves in with it.


    After almost half a year, it began to look like a tower. That¡¯s one of the words the mage used most often, along with phrases like geomantic and ley lines. They meant nothing to the swamp. The mage had apparently discovered that the spot he now occupied was a source of great power, and he had come to harvest it.


    The swamp grew angry at this revelation, of course. The mage had come here to steal its powers, and there was nothing it could do to stop the theft from happening. That was why it had never recovered, it decided, finally fitting the facts together. No matter how many corpses it devoured or dreams it invaded, it was trying to fill a bucket with a hole in it. Without mending that hole, it would never be full again.


    It could do nothing, though, and more months passed while the tower that both was and was not the swamp began to grow in height. Three stories were finished, and then a fourth was added. Eventually, artisans started to frequent the island, adding timber supports and ornaments that were beyond the mage¡¯s slaves.


    After over a year, they finally came one last time, adding glass to the windows of the sixth story, just below the flat roof. That¡¯s when the tower took on its final form. It was a drum tower just over 30 feet at its base and a little over half that on its highest story.


    It was a massive structure that would hum with the mage¡¯s power when he conducted one of his experiments. Those were the days the swamp feared most. Whenever that happened, there was nothing for it to drain or harvest, and the mage sucked power from the wraith to accomplish his arcane goals. Whenever that happened, the swamp lost weeks of time as the energies that let its soul exist faded into the background.


    During one of these blackouts, the mage had his libraries and tools moved into his new home by a small army of servants. After that, no one new came for a long while, but dozens of men still swarmed about the mage, running his errands and doing his bidding. There was precious little the swamp could do to interfere in any of this.


    Indeed, it could only watch as entirely mundane cottages and, eventually, even a manor house sprung upon its island. It was practically a village in its own right now. The swamp should have been drowning in blood and power with such a feast on its doorstep, but it could only watch and wither as civilization flourished, and the mage sucked it dry.

 Ch. 51 - Darkest Past

    The gates of bronze were familiar to him, even battered and tarnished as they were. Krulm¡¯venor had been here before, even though he did not remember when or why. He was sure of that much. The stonework in the tunnels that led to the twenty-foot tall doors was wide and open, presenting multiple layers of defenses and lines of fire in an unmistakably dwarven way. However, the shapes that moved behind the walls - the shadows he could see flickering from gap to gap in the shadowy recesses of the firing slits were unmistakably goblin.


    He was thankful that he couldn¡¯t smell anything because, as befouled as the entrance was, the sight was almost enough to make him gag. Seeing the glory of the past desecrated like this was truly tragic, but the presence of goblins did worse things than sadden him. It made him itch. He could feel them crawling inside his bones now. That monster had locked the frayed souls of dozens of their kind in here with him, and they haunted him, muddying the edges of his precise dwarven soul with their filth and hunger. It was a disgusting process but one he could do nothing about. All he could do was take out his frustration on the still-living goblins he encountered.


    That thought made the blue flames that licked his skeleton flare brighter. Boiling these creatures alive in their skin was the only thing that would make him feel better.


    The interior of the ancient fortress wasn¡¯t in any better shape than the exterior had been. Only the highest parts of the tapestries remained unshredded, and any ornamentation near the ground had been ravaged and ruined; the frescoes on the ceilings were largely intact besides the black stains that had accumulated from countless small fires in this room.


    The rooms of the dwarven fortress were nests or battlefields, and sometimes they were both at once as the goblins constantly waged war with each other one room at a time. As Krulm¡¯venor moved from room to room, the tiny creatures that infested the place ran before him, eager to flee his eerie blue light. That just gave him more time to study the place and wrack his mind for some clue as to why he would have walked these halls before, though.


    It wasn¡¯t until he reached the library, or at least what was left of it on the second floor, that he discovered that answer. The leather tomes had long ago been devoured, and the pages and scrolls were only ash now. The stone shelves carved into the exterior walls could never be erased by such crude creatures, and the mosaic of All-Father on the ceiling was equally out of reach. It was the beauty of that piece that brought him back. The ancient, white-bearded dwarf stood there in a finely appointed smithy wearing an apron of dragon leather and a look of judgment.


    Such was the skill of the nameless artist, though, that if you looked past the obvious, you could see that the All-Father was made up of hundreds of tiny dwarves, each a seamless part of the greater whole that had been found worthy. That was the dwarven afterlife. Krulm¡¯venor knew that because once, long ago, he¡¯d been a part of that. He¡¯d been¡­ a jolt of pain assaulted him as fragments of discordant memories assaulted him.


    In his mind, he could see ossuaries stacked with the bones of dwarves. The youngest who died in battle were honored in their own way, but their gleaming white skulls would never achieve unity with the divine. It was only the older skulls that had lived hundreds of years and tested their mettle against every adversity that were free to join him in the afterlife. All the other dwarves would have to take another trip to the fire to have their mettle tested once more because only the crystal skulls of the ancestors could genuinely connect with the divine.


    If that was true, though, then why was Krulm¡¯venor not still in the afterlife, helping the All-Father to forge creation forever more? A loose thread of a memory pulled at him - something about how in times of dire need, a dwarf would be selected and¡ª He almost had it, but in the time it had taken him to remember these things, his fires had begun to dim, and it was in that near darkness that the goblins crept closer and closer.


    He could feel them, or at least the goblins locked inside this cursed cage could, but he was so focused on trying to remember that he did nothing and so emboldened they crept closer and closer. It was only when the first one attacked him that those memories drifted away like smoke, leaving Krulm¡¯venor with only the coals of wounded pride and raging resentment that was all that was left of his dwarven soul.


    The sharp stone that the goblin struck his steel femur with could never hope to scratch this terrible body. However, the single clear note of the impact rang out, and like a single drop of water in a still pool, it clarified everything. Revelation could wait. Knowledge and memory could wait. Even revenge on the Lich that had done these terrible things to it and trapped it in this bag of rats could wait. What couldn¡¯t wait was killing these disgusting, insignificant vermin.


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    ¡°Do not touch me,¡± Krulm¡¯venor rasped.


    For a moment, the goblins that surrounded him flinched in unison, wavering at the sound, but when no action followed. They surged forward, emboldened. At that moment, the world burst into flames. They emerged from where Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s heart should have been, like a nova, and flooded the room with liquid fire.


    For the first time in decades, this room was lit brightly enough for every detail to be seen, but the only thing anyone would ever see here was a massacre. The goblins closest to him could touch him with their weapons, but that was all. Even as they achieved that remarkable victory, the hands that held them burned to ash. Those goblins that were further away had a chance to scream as the heat of the fire made their rancid green skin steam before the flames reached out to crisp them to shades of brown and black.


    The goblins that were furthest away tried to flee, but the magnitude of Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s fury kept rising, so that was impossible. He paced through the three-story structure, burning away every goblin, as well as every sign that they¡¯d ever existed. The totems and graffiti they used to mark the ever-shifting line of their territory vaporized almost as easily as the warriors that fought over them, along with any remnants of the dwarves that had once lived here.


    Only when all that had burned away did Krulm¡¯venor start to feel clean again. He couldn¡¯t erase the many stains on his soul that the swamp had put there, but the purity of fire could hide them with its all-consuming light for a time. He would gladly stay like this forever if he could have, as the heart of his own tormented sun. However, when he saw the bronze fixtures were starting to melt and the perfectly dressed blocks of dwarvish stone were cracking under the heat, he couldn¡¯t keep going.


    Being buried alive by the collapsing structure wasn¡¯t his concern either. He was happy to die. He was getting to the point where he welcomed true death and the oblivion awaiting him, but he wouldn¡¯t harm dwarves. Even as tarnished as this building was, an ambitious clan could one day reclaim it. Their job would be that much easier now that he had purged it of vermin and filth with fire, he thought, looking for some silver lining to all of this.


    Now he could go back downstairs and examine the mosaic to his heart¡¯s content until he remembered what he¡¯d forgotten. The Lich wouldn¡¯t even protest such an activity. It was precisely what that foul creature wanted him to do. The last thing he wanted to do was give that evil access to more information about his people, but in this matter, he couldn¡¯t resist his own terrible compulsion to find out more about himself. For years now, all he¡¯d been was a spark of the divine, and for who knows how long before that, he was reduced to little more than smoke in a filthy cave. He needed to understand why he would ever subject himself to such a fate; part of that answer was why he¡¯d been separated from the Allfather; he was sure of it.


    When Krulm¡¯venor reached the library once more, his spirit sank. In his mind, he¡¯d been expecting to see a now cleansed room that had been turned from the midden heap it had become into the shrine to the only god that mattered it should have been.


    Instead, he found he had cleansed the whole place entirely too well. The goblins were reduced to ash, and the trash had been vaporized as well, but he¡¯d burned too hot for too long, and the artwork that had managed to survive the goblins for who knows how long had been blasted to ruin by the full force of his dark fires.


    Krulm¡¯venor could have wept for the feeling of loss he felt then, but there were no tears left to cry. Indeed, there was nothing left at all. Just an empty skeleton in an empty fortress surrounded by the new and the old dead. He turned to leave, and that was when he finally felt his master¡¯s dark gaze upon him.


    ¡°That picture. The one you destroyed. What was it?¡± the Darkness in the back of his mind asked.


    ¡°That was the Allfather, lord of the dwarves, and I bitterly regret its loss. I wasn¡¯t attempting to hide anything from you.¡± As he responded, Krulm¡¯venor realized that perhaps it was for the best that it was gone. The Darkness couldn¡¯t quite read his mind, but it could compel the truth from him and leave him suffering in agony until he told it everything that it wanted to know. Less evidence meant fewer questions to ask.


    ¡°The dwarves only have one god then, while the humans have multitudes. Why is that?¡± This time the Lich pressed harder like it suspected something, but Krulm¡¯venor merely shrugged.


    ¡°Who knows why the humans do anything,¡± he rattled. ¡°The dwarves have one god because there is only one way to do anything right. That¡¯s as true for stone cutting and steel forging as it is for worship.¡±


    There was a long, uneasy moment where it worried the Lich would press harder still, but as quickly as it appeared, the dark pressure on his mind eased. His master was gone, leaving him alone in the infinite dark to worry in private.


    He desperately wanted to know more about his past than the growing pile of scraps he had, but the more he learned, the more the Lich would too. What terrible deeds could such an entity do with the knowledge that the dwarven god was made up of the souls of all the dwarven elders who ever lived?


    Krulm¡¯venor prayed silently that it would never find out as it exited the ash-filled fortress and continued his long silent walk into the deeps.

 Ch. 52 - Dark Missives

    When the messenger arrived in the holy city of Siddrimar, the seat of the light God Siddrim¡¯s earthly power, with his ill news, he was forced to wait almost a day before the guards could be bothered to admit him. This was good and proper, of course, as he was not a member of the church and had not come at the request of any of the priests. He came bearing only the seal of temporal power and a minor one at that. The Count of Greshen was not a well-regarded name. Their river heresies were only tolerated thanks to the generous tithes they¡¯d given to the church.


    Few small gods were granted such benign neglect, and only when all evidence showed that they were an unmitigated good for the region¡¯s people. Despite his unlimited power, neither Siddrim nor his servants needed to hunt down every stray spirit. After all, there were more than enough evils to banish in the world.


    So, the tired, saddle-sore man was allowed to rest and wait in the perdition courtyard. This was the outermost enclosed area, just inside the main gate. It was a drab, undecorated affair crowded with penitents and petitioners. While he waited, his request to be seen by a member of the Templars was filtered slowly up the chain of command between meals and scheduled prayers. That he didn¡¯t even know enough to call them by their proper name, The Order of Purgative Flame was no help to his case. Any of the rank-and-file members of the order would have accepted Templar just as readily, of course. They seemed somewhat attached to the name even if it was officially frowned on in favor of the formal title. However, they would never be the first to hear an unknown petition.


    Such requests were only ever passed through the priesthood for proper deliberation. The more important they were, the more priests would have to be involved in ensuring that whatever was decided was the right decision for the church. In this matter, the request of a minor noble was deemed too unimportant for the Hierarch of Purgative Flame or even his aids. After all, what need would a country fief have for such a prestigious branch of the Siddrim¡¯s palace? Their elite forces were busy stomping out the brush fires of heresy across the country, as they always were. Whether those came in the form of hedge witches or raucous bards, there were never enough of their cadres to go around. So, the request fell to the high priest of the Regency, who in turn was too busy and sent it on to the high priest of the Penitent. He was too ill to take guests that day, though, so it was sent to his underlings.


    Ultimately, after more than a dozen quiet conversations and thoughtful reassignments to someone who might be better suited to the task, it was delivered to Verdinen, a priest-candidate acolyte. Unlike everyone that ranked higher than him in the pecking order, he was eager to please, though. He might not have had the sight or some of the gifts that his fellow priest-candidates had. Still, he was eager to work hard and advance, and he was confident that alone would take him places, even if his divine blessings and healings could use a little more work.


    Brother Verdinen found the messenger sitting alone on a stone bench shortly before sunset in the outermost courtyard. He¡¯d spent the last few minutes rehearsing a speech about all the reasons why the messenger had to go through proper channels and why it would likely be a week before a man in his place would be allowed to see the Underkirker to arrange a more personal audience. Of course, he secretly hoped that the lord of such a rich county would have sent his man with a little coin to spread around and expedite things. Brother Verdinen would have been happy to take his cut and help the man find an audience with an acolyte of the holy flame the day after tomorrow at the latest with that sort of incentive. After all, he was owed a few favors for all his good works.


    But the man didn¡¯t argue or haggle. He just looked up at the priest with haunted eyes as soon as Brother Verdinen started to make his apologies and said, ¡°Read it, your holiness, I beseech you,¡± as he pressed a rather large sealed scroll into Verdinen¡¯s hands.


    Typically these requests were about bandits as often as cults. Still, something about the desperation that clung to the man in front of him affected him. Rather than delivering the rest of his speech, he checked the golden seal that featured a river and chain for integrity and then cracked open the wax.


    The scroll was perfectly normal velum written in unremarkable ink with a slightly shaky hand. There was nothing evil or magical about it, but with every word he read, his mind recoiled in horror as the words and their evil meaning invaded his brain. Even though it rebelled, the priest-candidate acolyte forced himself to continue, and a picture slowly resolved in his mind. Greshen was a region being punished by the gods for their misdeeds with a severe drought and an unseasonable storm. Suddenly everyone of any importance had gone missing, and all that had been left behind was a house full of blood, a squalling child, and a hole in the basement.


    Brother Verdinen didn¡¯t know what could have done such a thing, and honestly, he didn¡¯t want to. He wanted to administer last rites to rich old men and comfort comely women during their times of trouble. He wanted to advise princes of the realm as a prince of the church. He knew without doubt that there was evil in the world, but he hadn¡¯t joined the church to deal with such things. Those details were best left to the Order of Purgative Flame, the Brotherhood of the Blazing Harrow, or even the Inquisitors, though he¡¯d never mention that last one in public.


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    Suddenly, despite the almost mortal danger, he couldn¡¯t help but imagine what sort of yawning evil must have welled up from the depths to drag so many sinners into the darkest hell. His mind conjured up something slimy, like a dragon or a serpent, and an involuntary shudder went through him. He was no seer, but he could only take what he¡¯d experienced as a sign regarding the machinations of the dark god. Perhaps Harquines or Tallethin were at work here. He couldn¡¯t say, but his superiors would know.


    He closed the scroll as soon as he decided what had to be done next and brusquely ordered the messenger, ¡°Come with me. I will find you a place to sleep while my superiors deliberate.¡±


    That part was easy enough. The church kept bunks year-round for pilgrims, and the end of summer was hardly pilgrimage season. With so much work to prepare for the harvest, they had more than enough room. Seek an audience - that would be another matter entirely. Usually, Brother Verdinen would have gone to great lengths to avoid drawing that kind of attention to himself, but this was a chance where the spotlight could only benefit him. After all - it was he that had seen the genuine danger and he that had felt the taint radiating from the page. Surely if he could see that, then everyone else would too.


    Ultimately, he decided the most expedient route was approaching the Priest Varquaress. The old man was undoubtedly amenable and much more sensitive than he and began to shake with the first signs of a fit almost as soon as he opened the scroll and closed it immediately after reading only a few lines. That was all the convincing he needed.


    After that, a conclave was called for dawn, and it was scheduled for the room of eternal dawn. Its murals of light and life would do wonders to keep the evil they would be discussing at bay, though it would have to be scrubbed hard by the acolytes afterward just the same.


    The message was locked away in a sanctified chest to prevent its taint from spreading. This turned out to be both a brilliant and terrible idea because, in the morning, when the priests and high priests had all assembled to examine the document and decide what needed to be done, all they found was ashes. Sometime during the night, the holy power of the city had proven too much for the implement of evil, and it had withered before the might of their god.


    ¡°That should be all the evidence that we need to dispatch a cadre to root out this filth,¡± Gantrin, a high priest who dealt more with tomes than people, argued. For him, anything relating to writing like this was a miracle from their god directly to him, and he would not budge in interpreting that.


    ¡°I remain unconvinced,¡± Armuth answered, making sure the trace of arrogance in his voice was obvious enough to be unmistakable as the Hierarch reasserted his dominance in the conversation. ¡°Tell us priest-candidate everything you can remember about this cursed missive, and then we shall make our decision.¡±


    Brother Verdinen swallowed hard. He¡¯d been dreading this moment since they¡¯d found the heap of ashes in place of the scroll earlier. He¡¯d wanted to be the center of attention, but only as the person with the wit to escalate this as soon as possible. Now, as the only one to read it, that role was inescapable, and he began to sweat as he stood and bowed before the assembled leaders of the wing of the church militant. He hadn¡¯t planned to actually speak to his betters, so he¡¯d made no attempt to memorize that damnable scroll, but here he was, suddenly expected to recite it from memory.


    ¡°Thank you, your glory,¡± he said, his mouth dry as he realized he had no idea whether the Hierarch wanted him to exaggerate or downplay the danger for the audience with the pointed way that the man was glaring. ¡°I shall give you all every last detail, so you may make the proper judgment.¡±


    Brother Verdinen began to speak, but not a word of it was what he remembered from the scroll. He couldn¡¯t remember a single thing he¡¯d read verbatim, so he just made it up. He started with a simple greeting that was respectful but not respectful enough. He described the eerie scene of a palace where decadent nobles had danced into the night, never to be seen again. He mentioned the blood, but since it didn¡¯t seem to have the desired impact, he added a few ritually butchered servants to the description for color. If he was going to stand up here speaking in front of so many influential men, he would make sure his words left an impact.


    When he was finally done describing the horrors unleashed in Fallravea, he took grim satisfaction in the number of men around the table who looked stricken. There was only a brief debate after that, and in the end, everyone agreed that a sworn cadre should be sent with all haste to root out this terrible blight. It was going as well as Brother Verdinen could have hoped until the Hierarch said, ¡°of course, you¡¯ll need to go with them too, priest-candidate.¡±


    ¡°M-me sir¡­ I mean your glory. Why would the Tem¡­ the warriors of The Purgative Flame require the assistance of a lowly acolyte?¡± Brother Verdinen asked. Normally he was loathe for anyone to reduce his meager rank, even in passing, but this time it seemed best to make himself as small and unimportant as possible.


    ¡°Why, of course - you were the first to recognize the danger, so it is only right that you are there to share in the glory.¡± The Hierarch smiled. ¡°And with your fine words, I can think of no one better to document the brave deeds of our holy warriors.¡±


    Brother Verdinen forced himself to smile and thank the man for his obtuse punishment. Deep inside, though, he felt like something had already died.

 Ch. 53 - Squire Todd

    Fear mixed with excitement the day that the priest-candidate stormed across Todd¡¯s path to see Brother Faerbar. There could only be one reason for such a visit: to bring them orders that he was to ready his men for another mission. Even after being here for over a year, Todd was still on edge whenever one of the lower priests crossed his path. They were a fickle bunch in their red robes and much more likely to scream at him and his fellow acolytes for imagined sins than to praise hard work. Worse - those beratings usually ended in lengthy punishments. As Brother Faerbar¡¯s squire, he was often singled out for those while he was told how he needed to ¡®hold himself to a higher standard.¡¯


    By contrast, the priests and high priests barely noticed that he and his fellow acolytes existed. Anyone that had been elevated to the white no longer seemed to see the gray and brown robes of the acolytes, even though many of them had worn them for much longer than they¡¯d worn the white or the red. Todd thought it was funny, but he didn¡¯t really care beyond the extra chores. He had less than zero interest in ranks and titles. All he cared about was that Brother Faerbar had been good to him, and he was teaching him how to fight. One day he would no longer be a squire but a full-fledged warrior, and then he could go back to the broad plains of his birth and finally get his revenge on the goblin tribes that still lingered there even now.


    That wasn¡¯t what would happen today, though, based on the sense of urgency on display. The red-robed man barely glanced at him long enough to scowl before he hurried to speak with his master. A priest candidate would never hurry half so much for a lowly goblin. He was almost certainly here because some heretic or bandit needed to be dealt with like usual.


    Being ignored suited Todd just fine. He¡¯d just finished mending his master¡¯s chain mail after their expedition north last week. Right now, he was rolling it back and forth across the small courtyard of the guardians, where most of the sparring practice took place to get the last of the rust off. The swamp they¡¯d trudged through to track down their last fugitive had been tougher on everyone¡¯s armor than the self-styled bandit king of the Greenwood had ever been. Besides a single ambush where Todd had taken his first arrow, they¡¯d barely put up a fight.


    Todd paused in his exertions to scratch the place the wound had been on his arm. There was barely a mark now, thanks to the paladin¡¯s healing magic, but sometimes it still tingled. Pausing for a quick break to stretch was just a cover, though. He¡¯d chosen his spot well. It was almost directly outside Brother Faerbar¡¯s window. The rumbling of the barrel made it impossible to hear anything, but as soon as he stopped, he could listen to them speaking again.


    ¡°...nothing beyond that. The letter claims that the palace was filled with evidence of a slaughter, and we have been ordered there with all speed,¡± the strange priest-candidate said.


    ¡°Well - if it¡¯s a rebellion and not something darker, we could well be walking into a trap. The light will not avail nearly as much against mortal enemies as infernal ones,¡± Brother Faerbar responded thoughtfully.


    ¡°There is definitely a taint here. I could feel it through the ink,¡± the other man said stiffly. ¡°Make sure your cadre is ready because, in Fallravea, we will face true darkness.¡±


    Afraid of being caught, Todd started rolling his barrel once more as soon as he heard that. The details didn¡¯t matter. They could wait until his master felt like doling them out. All that mattered was that they would finally fight real evil, and his heart thrilled at the news. That wasn¡¯t to say what they¡¯d done in the past wasn¡¯t important and that they didn¡¯t help people, but there was a world of difference between a ghoul or a demon and an old witcher-woman.


    The rest of the morning passed without incident. Once Brother Faerbar¡¯s armor was clean and his sword was sharpened, Todd devoted himself to his drills even more than usual. After all, he would have to be ready. He¡¯d grown stronger over the past year as the dual magics of age and training had done their work. He¡¯d begun to feel the light flow through him with purpose now, even if he still had no control over his sight. When it would show him things he¡¯d rather not know, it was great progress, and he felt more than ready to charge into battle with the other Templars. His master saw Todd sweating as he battered the poor training dummy and smiled that knowing smile of his that told Todd that he already knew exactly how much he¡¯d heard and that he was pleased with his squire¡¯s eagerness.


    That silent combination of compliment and rebuke kept Todd working hard throughout the day. It was only when the entire cadre sat down to evening prayers and bowls of hearty vegetable stew that he announced the plan.


    ¡°We¡¯re off to Fallravea at sunrise,¡± he declared. ¡°It will be a hard four-day ride. Plan accordingly; bring your full kit. This isn¡¯t going to be another exercise in bandit hunting.¡±


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    Everyone took a minute to absorb the words. He¡¯d probably left out the key details so as not to spoil anyone¡¯s appetite, but it was easy enough to read between the lines and hear what he was actually saying to the veterans. ¡®Our enemies are infernal, not mortal.¡¯


    ¡°Why can¡¯t we take a ferry downriver,¡± Brother Darrius asked, ¡°It would save the horses and a whole day besides.¡±


    ¡°You know my stance on the river, Darrius. It¡¯s been tainted, and I believe it might have something to do with the rest of the mission,¡± Brother Faerbar answered between bites of his meal. ¡°I aim to cross as far upriver as possible and stay well clear of it until we get to the city. Too many ships have disappeared to risk it.¡±


    Brother Darrius shook his head but made no argument against his leader. He lacked the sight, so while he respected Brother Faerbar, he¡¯d always been skeptical of the man¡¯s stance on the broad and meandering Oroza. Especially since that fixation had cost all of them quite a few extra days in the saddle. Todd understood too well, though. Even though the river might look picturesque, he could see the gray-green film that clung to it like an oil slick. His master had petitioned the Hierarch on more than one occasion that he be allowed to go upriver and investigate the source of the taint. However, to date, it had not been deemed to be worth the church¡¯s time.


    Perhaps this mission would change that, Todd thought hopefully as he wolfed down his meal. He would sleep sounder if they could find and fix such an apparent evil, but truthfully the world was full of them, and they couldn¡¯t be everywhere at once. He¡¯d even felt the taint of the monastery at Garvin¡¯s Gift sometimes. So much blood had been shed in the world that it was hard to find true purity outside the walls of the fortress city of Siddrimar.


    <hr>


    While Todd might enjoy his new home¡¯s clean air and holy aura, he loved being out of it almost as much. Until he¡¯d been taken away by Brother Faerbar practically two years ago, he¡¯d hardly traveled at all in his whole life, now they did it constantly, and he¡¯d grown to love it. As they traveled west on the high road, he looked around at sights he¡¯d already seen a dozen times with fresh eyes. Siddrimar was large enough that small villages crowded every road that led to it for miles and miles in all directions, but after a few hours of riding, they came only every hour or two, and eventually not at all, as the fields gave way to forests.


    He¡¯d been told more than once that before the Drowning swept across the land, there were twice as many villages and that the forest never crowded this close to the main roads. It would be years before that was true again, and everything was in its proper place, though. Now you could see the thickets encroaching on the overgrown fields, and occasionally, you could pick out a cottage all but engulfed in ivy, but mostly the communities that had been swept under by the sickness had all but vanished.


    On the third night, they camped in what used to be a town on the far side of the river. There were dozens of buildings that were no longer occupied, and the only part that had any life to it was the inn and tavern that stood at the crossroads. They ate there, giving Todd a chance to listen to a bard sing a song about some heroes in a swamp, which seemed appropriate given that they¡¯d just fought in a swamp themselves, even if there hadn¡¯t been anything as exciting as zombies waiting for them.


    This was enough for his master to decide that the run-down place was too worldly for them, and as soon as everyone had finished eating, they quickly paid and left. Instead of nice warm beds, they slept on the dusty floor of an empty cottage in their bedrolls. The roof had begun to sag badly in the middle, but it was still enough to keep the rain off and the fireplace still worked, which was all that mattered. The constant drizzle had shown that the autumn had finally begun and that the mighty Oroza would soon fill its banks rather than the muddy trickle it was now.


    The most exciting thing that Todd did the rest of the night was gathering firewood, though, even as run down and empty as the area was, he didn¡¯t feel afraid. Not even the rain or distant thunder was enough to make him jump at his own shadow these days, and this place still smelled too much of man for the monsters to move in yet. He still carried his mace with him at all times, of course, but he never once felt the need to lift it from where it hung on his belt.


    Things didn¡¯t start to grow worrisome until they were less than a day outside Fallravea. There the sun-ravaged fields had yet to heal, even after all the rain they¡¯d gotten in the last week, and they were greeted by stunted crops and starving people in every little village. Only the villages right on the river had been spared the worst of it, but those families had an evil look that Todd didn¡¯t care for.


    Since Brother Faerbar¡¯s trip to the red hills, most of their questing had taken them north and east, but the short conversations that he heard the stoic Templars sharing amongst themselves certainly agreed with his assessment: things had been much better when they¡¯d last passed this way.


    At the end of their journey, all that awaited them was a city in mourning. Their cadre entered just before sunset, with cloaks covering their armor and as little fanfare as possible. ¡°Evil rarely welcomes our arrival,¡± Brother Faerbar said as a reminder as they rode down the side streets single file. When they reached the palace, they closed and locked the outer gate, commissioning the city watch to hold the public at bay while they dealt with whatever darkness was contained within in private.


    They would sleep in the garden until morning, and only then, after prayer and fasting, would they finally enter the palace proper and discover the truth of the matter.

 Ch. 54 - Gone

    Brother Verdinen was slow to rise every morning, even though it was a small sin in and of itself not to get up at dawn and greet the sun god Siddrim when he graced the mortal realm with one more day of light and life. Normally he justified such bad behavior by telling himself that he was up far too late studying the scriptures, but today he had no such excuse. All he could say was that several days on the road had done him no favors, and several nights of sleeping on rocks had been far from restful. By the time he was dressed up and out of his tent to greet the dawn, the Templars and their squires were just finishing their dawn prayers, instantly banishing that fig leaf.


    If he never took another trip on behalf of the church, it would suit him fine, he thought, chastising himself for failing to maintain his focus on dawn¡¯s cleansing glory. The truth was that he was exhausted, and today was certainly going to be one of the longest he could remember.


    When Brother Verdinen finally finished the slow ritual movements of his prayer dance, he went to the campfire looking forward to breaking his fast but found only squires that were helping their masters to put on their chain mail hauberks and breastplates. Brother Faerbar gave him a knowing look that seemed to go right through him and simply said, ¡°After. No one is going to want to eat before we go inside. Nausea will foul your helmet.¡±


    The priest-candidate tried to hide his annoyance because, however he might outrank the veteran Templar on paper, it was never a good idea to get on the bad side of a well-liked veteran warrior. Paladins had their place - it just wasn¡¯t in the halls of power.


    ¡°As you say,¡± Brother Verdinen agreed quickly, noting the way that Brother Faerbar¡¯s squire kept giving the nearby palace fearful glances like he expected something to come rushing out of it in broad daylight. It seemed quite out of character for a paladin to pick a cowardly squire, but for now, he reserved judgment. After all, he could feel the fear too, however distantly and unlike this boy, he was a grown man.


    When they finally set out, there was no one to bar their way, and the doors were not locked. The smell of death and putrefaction that came boiling out of the entrance hit him like a physical force, though, and he gagged, finally understanding what it was that the Paladin had meant with that knowing glance. He¡¯d obviously checked the palace out before the rest of them had woken up, at least to this point. It was a dirty trick not to warn him more thoroughly, Brother Verdinen thought, but he was still grateful on some level that he hadn¡¯t vomited.


    ¡°Open every curtain and every window, squires,¡± Brother Faebar ordered grimly. ¡°Everyone else spread out in groups of three on the ground floor only and look for the hole that the message spoke of. That is where we begin our search!¡±


    As if to further illustrate his point, his sword began to glow dimly at that point as he invested lord Siddrim¡¯s holy light into the ancient blade. It wasn¡¯t a trick that everyone could do, but it was one of the few things that all the great Paladins throughout history had in common, and Verdinen felt pangs of jealousy as half of his men did the same. This was clearly a blessed group, loved by their creator, and he should be grateful for that, but as he watched the cadre splinter and drift off to explore the entrance hall, he couldn¡¯t help but feel exposed. With every passing minute, the dark hall brightened, but that only made his feeling of dread worse, and eventually, the priest candidate was forced to return to the Paladin¡¯s side simply to feel safe again.


    He couldn¡¯t help it. This place looked like a butcher¡¯s floor, and each step he made on the stone floor made awful sticky sounds that said everything about where he was, even though he purposefully looked away. They went room by room, and other than the evidence of violence, the place was completely untouched. Nothing had been stolen or defaced. Whatever had done this had neither an axe to grind nor pockets to line. Anyone of that bent would have taken the golden candelabras or the silver dinnerware. Instead, all they had taken were the people that had once populated this beautiful building, and all they had left behind was evidence that they hadn¡¯t gone willingly.


    It was a sobering thought; he oscillated back and forth between that and the idea that no matter how many rooms they searched, they couldn¡¯t find a trace of the creatures that had done this. It wasn¡¯t long after that that the floor was pronounced clear, and everyone joined together to descend into the basement. It was there that they immediately found the hole, almost as he¡¯d pictured it days ago. It was like an open wound in the basement¡¯s stone floor.


    There were only 17 of them there in that basement, but Brother Faerbar didn¡¯t even pause to delay. He just flared his sword a little brighter and went into the darkness without a word, along with another Templar. The opening was huge and easily big enough for two men to walk abreast, and they went in a few at a time without any preparation or discussion, which struck Verdinen as more than a little rash. Each group that followed waited only long enough to give the pair in front of them enough room to maneuver before joining them in the darkness. So, moment by moment, the once crowded room got emptier and emptier while he stood aside. At first, he¡¯d considered finding an excuse to stay behind, but now that he was almost alone, that sounded like a terrible idea, so he joined the last of the squires and descended into the stinking pit with a silent prayer on his lips.


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    There was still a blood trail, though it got thinner and less consistent as they went along until it was lost in the darkness along with everything else. After that, the silence quickly became the most chilling part of the whole ordeal. It spoke to the professionalism of the Order of Purgative Flame, and it should have been reassuring. Instead, the crunch of rocks and dirt beneath their feet as they descended lower and lower into the earth made his thoughts race with imagined evils. If the shadows worked through the idle hands of men, then they traveled into their minds on taut and empty silences like this one.


    Brother Verdinen was almost tempted to hum a hymn to comfort himself. Only knowledge that the silence was a tactical decision and that making unnecessary noise would earn him a rebuke kept him quiet. Instead, he tried to focus on the surrounding details to keep his flights of fantasy at bay. His vision of this place had been reptilian and slimy, but reality hadn¡¯t borne any of that out. Even so, he couldn¡¯t help but imagine that the rough surface he was walking on was the scales that some titanic snake had sloughed off, mixed with the bones of its victims, and no matter how many times he tried to shake it by reassuring himself that this tunnel had been carved by men, not even touching the tool marks on the wall as they walked could completely shake that fear.


    After almost two minutes of walking, they finally paused as they came to a room. Well, it wasn¡¯t a room, really. It was an intersection of five different passages that met in a messy, overlapping intersection without any apparent rhyme or reason. Despite the tool marks he¡¯d seen earlier, the priest-candidate began to doubt that humans had been behind this after all. Just looking at the way that the corridors met gave him a headache. All of them met at uneven angles, and none seemed to be the continuation of the others. It was as if someone was just digging around beneath Fallravea almost completely at random.


    The leaders debated the best course of action quietly for a few minutes there, giving Brother Verdinen a chance to push his way closer to the front of the line.


    ¡°Well, what¡¯s the plan then,¡± he said softly after making sure that the man he spoke over wasn¡¯t anyone important. ¡°Clearly, getting lost down here could easily be a factor. Perhaps we should go fetch extra members of the guard and chalk so that we can¡ª¡±


    ¡°We continue ahead, acolyte,¡± Brother Faerbar said, with just a hint of annoyance in his voice. "The only question is if we make ourselves more vulnerable by exploring the auxiliary branches first or if we move directly down the primary one.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see a difference,¡± Brother Verdinen hissed back, snatching a torch from one of the nearby squires and looking from one rough-hewn tunnel to the next, looking for drops of blood or other clues that might point such things out but seeing nothing.


    ¡°It¡¯s not in the seeing,¡± the Paladin whispered, tapping his ear. ¡°It¡¯s in the hearing.¡±


    For a moment, the priest-candidate looked at the three tunnels that were roughly ahead of him, letting his gaze drift back and forth as he tried to decide. All three passages looked the same: they were empty, dusty, crooked, and occasionally spattered with blood. It was true that there was the faint sound of water down the one that drifted off to the right, but as he moved the torch back and forth, he saw it flicker slightly when it moved in front of the leftmost tunnel, and his smile of superiority reasserted itself.


    ¡°It looks like this one goes back to the surface. Perhaps if we cleared it first, we could¡ª¡± Brother Verdinen started to say, trying to prove his worth to the veterans. But as he spoke, his words trailed off because the torch began to gyrate and sputter wildly.


    ¡°Get back,¡± the cowardly squire said, ¡°something is coming!¡± The boy spoke at a normal volume, but the silence had smothered them all for so long that it might as well be a shout, and the idea that a lowly squire could command him to do anything, especially when the passage was clearly empty raised Verdinen¡¯s hackles. He started to turn to rebuke the boy when something moved in the shadows.


    No, it wasn¡¯t moving in the shadows. It was the shadows. Almost faster than he could see, the dark, shimmering outline of a snake that was almost as big around as his whole body struck out from the wall of night that began where his torchlight ended, and with a mouth full of jagged obsidian teeth, it bit down on the right forearm holding the torch and yanked him forward hard enough that it pulled him completely off his feet and began to drag him down the tunnel almost as fast as he could run.


    He shrieked as everything happened at once, but it was more in surprise and horror than pain. In truth was that the pain of being dragged across the rough stone floor was much worse than the pain coming from his arm, which was almost numb.


    Brother Verdinen forced himself to stop screaming, and for the first time in his life, it wasn¡¯t for appearances either. It was so that he could focus on reciting the words to invoke Siddrim¡¯s holy light.

 Ch. 55 - Things that Should not Be

    Things happened all at once after that. One second the haughty priest-candidate was arguing with his master and the next, he was being dragged off into the shadows too quickly for anyone to understand what happened, let alone stop. His panicked screams echoed off the walls, and the light that he managed to hold onto got further and further away. The very first thing that Todd had noted when they were getting ready this morning was that the man had only bothered to bring what was obviously a ceremonial weapon with him, which had struck Todd as laughable when one considered where they were going. Even someone like him didn¡¯t deserve this fate, though.


    Before he could react, Brother Faerbar and Brother Lucius were charging down the hall after the wailing priest. Their chain mail rattled as they went, and Brother Faerbar¡¯s sword glowed all the brighter as he prepared to engage the enemy, but they didn¡¯t even get halfway to the priest before a sudden explosion of light rippled outward, and his motion ceased. That was when Todd started to charge, too, with his mace in hand. He didn¡¯t know what that was, but he knew what would happen next and what his master would want him to do. Brother Faerbar would slay the vile pit spawn that had dared to attack a servant of the light, but while he was doing that, someone would need to save the priest.


    As Todd ran to aid the fallen priest-candidate, he tried to puzzle out what that abomination might have been, but he could think of nothing that he¡¯d been taught which could match that description. For a split second, he¡¯d seen it. It had appeared as a viper larger than a horse made of almost pure shadow, which meant that it had to be what? A demon? A work of clever and malicious sorcery? He knew that it couldn¡¯t be natural, but he wasn¡¯t sure of anything beyond that, and he didn¡¯t have the time to wish that he¡¯d focused less on swordplay and more on learning his letters.


    When Todd arrived, he¡¯d thought for a split second that the red-robed acolyte was practically unharmed. It was only when he grabbed him to pull him into a sitting position that he realized that those robes were soaked with blood, almost completely hiding the extent of the man¡¯s injuries. Todd quickly peeled them back from the priest-candidate¡¯s obviously broken arm and pushed him back against the wall when he started to squirm.


    ¡°By the light, that hurts!¡± he yelled, but Todd ignored him, trying not to gasp audibly as he saw the ruin that the priest-candidate¡¯s arm had become. The blast of holy light had annihilated the beast that was attacking him, at least in part, but it did nothing for the crushed bones or the portions of the jet-black teeth that were already buried in the man¡¯s pale flesh.


    Todd mumbled a prayer of healing, and he saw the flesh try to knit together, but his strength wasn¡¯t nearly enough to override the trauma that the injured man had received. His efforts did little, if any, good, though. Even with the gift of sight, he had little talent for healing and none for summoning the holy light. So, rather than try again, he pulled off his belt and wrapped it tightly around the injured man¡¯s bicep to stem the flow of blood. This took longer than it should with all his squirming, but once he stopped cursing and passed out from the pain, it became easy enough to finish the task.


    It was only when the priest-candidate¡¯s life no longer hung in the balance that he looked up to his master¡¯s fight. Though the thing had only seemed to have a single giant head moments ago, it had three now. One was half the size the previous one had been and would have had trouble making the sorts of marks that the injured man bore, but the two smaller heads were only big enough to latch onto perhaps one of his hands rather than the entire forearm as it had done. For all their reduction in size, they were no less threatening, though. Instead of single strikes with the shocking sort of power that could drag a man to his death, they now struck in a series of dizzying patterned attacks that were almost hypnotic and no less dangerous than the single giant head had been.


    The only thing that was faster were the swords of the Templars that fought it. In the dim light, Todd couldn¡¯t really see Brother Lucius¡¯s blade, but his master¡¯s blurred like a living thing, leaving streaks of light that wove patterns that were almost arcane as he smoothly switched from attack to defense and back again, holding the monstrous threat at bay in a grudging stalemate.


    Todd had no idea what was going on, but as Brother Faerbar parried a barrage of attacks, Brother Lucius charged in and cut off one of the two smaller heads. Almost immediately, it grew back into two more heads that were each half the size of the original. That was what finally made the pieces fit together for him. He hadn¡¯t known that there was such a thing as a subterranean species, but this was very clearly a hydra of some sort. The reptiles were said to be creatures of flesh and blood that were almost as dangerous as the trolls that dwelled in the same swamps, but this one was practically incorporeal.


    As he struggled to think about how he could help, his eyes fixed upon the torch that the priest-candidate had managed to hold onto. Instantly, he knew what to do. Fire was said to stop the creatures from regenerating, but even if he didn¡¯t know how that would work for a creature made of shadows, he had to think that such a state would be even more vulnerable to the purging flame. So, without thinking of his own safety, he picked up the guttering torch and ran forward between the two Templars, plunging the flaming end of the torch deep into the spongy wall of shadows that was the thing¡¯s body. The smallest heads burst into flame and then ashes. Its largest remaining head lasted a few seconds longer, giving it a chance to snap at Todd, but its teeth didn¡¯t get through his leathers before his master had a chance to push him back and out of the way.


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    The thing smoldered on the ground for a few seconds after that before dissolving into smoke and ash. It left no trace to study, making him think of the nightmares that haunted him last night. This palace was cursed. Anyone could see that much, but in his dreams, the shadows tore at his flesh, trying to drag him down and drown him. He wasn¡¯t the only one that had slept fitfully, he was sure, but he didn¡¯t truly feel clean again until dawn¡¯s light had cleansed him during morning prayers.


    ¡°Brace yourselves, men,¡± Brother Faerbar called out as the sounds of shuffling and moaning grew louder. ¡°The light will protect you!¡±


    As soon as the shadow finished dissolving, it revealed a wave of zombies coming down the hall behind it. No, he realized as he rushed towards his mace. The sounds of battle coming from behind him weren¡¯t just echoes. There were zombies there, too, now. Coming from two, no three other corridors. For a long moment, Todd was conflicted about which group needed the most help, but then tightening his grip on his mace, he ran to his master¡¯s side.


    The bulk of the cadre was facing far more zombies, but they had 13 people, and right now, Brother Faerbar only had his glowing holy sword and a single Templar to support him, which was enough to face any single evil, but it might not be enough to face such a horde. The next few minutes would be both critical and terrifying. Todd had been lectured many times about fighting the undead, but after all the mundane opponents he¡¯d faced to date, he wasn¡¯t sure he¡¯d ever see something so fantastical. In the last year, as they¡¯d dealt with nothing but bad people, he¡¯d grown increasingly sure that the more fantastical opponents he was trained to fight were just myths. He was wrong.


    ¡°Hold the line!¡± he heard someone yell behind him, but there was no time to turn around and see how the rest of the cadre was doing. Not when half a dozen dead men were clawing and biting at the three of them, with who knows how many more lurking in the darkness behind them.


    These were old dead, and they fought with strength and brutality, but without the speed of the living, that would make them a truly fearsome opponent. The real danger was how many of them there were. If there were dozens, they would finish cutting through them in minutes, but if there were hundreds, then they might well drown beneath the waves of enemies no matter how many they slew in the process.


    Todd held his master¡¯s left flank, beating back every monster that came at him with his mace and shield until his arm began to feel like lead from the repeated, almost mechanical blows. They were so regular that they made him feel like he was practicing on the dummies back in Siddrimar rather than fighting a deadly evil, but the moment certainly put those rigorous drills into the proper perspective. These enemies were easy to hold off but hard to kill, and lacking Brother Faerbar¡¯s height, he had to content himself with breaking arms and knees - maiming the undead into harmlessness rather than beheading them outright and granting them the peace of true death, which required almost more endurance than he had.


    Fortunately, after only a few minutes of desperate combat, the tide of the dead began to wane until there were more dead bodies scattered on the floor than there were standing against them. Once the endless flow of the dead peaked and stopped, the battle was over in seconds. Without infinite reinforcements, the zombies were barely a threat at all to properly trained warriors. After that victory, the cadre quickly reformed in the intersection and counted only two squires, a paladin, and their priest candidate among the injured, but except for the red-robed acolyte, no one was seriously hurt.


    ¡°Brother Samael - take the others to the surface and tend to the priest. We will continue without you,¡± Brother Faerbar ordered. ¡°Should the worst happen, then I trust you will put the torch to this palace so that none of this filth escapes.¡±


    Samael nodded tersely, and a whole conversation was exchanged in that gaze. Of course, he could be healed and stay in the fight, but if he stayed, the priest would surely perish, so ultimately, no matter how badly he wanted to fight, someone had to go, and his bloody wound made the choice an obvious one. He was obviously not pleased with being ordered to withdraw but knew better than to argue, and the wounded squires quickly made a litter with a cloak to carry the unconscious priest candidate to safety.


    While Todd was securing the acolyte to the makeshift stretcher, he bandaged the man¡¯s shattered arm and noticed that the terrible broken teeth that had embedded themselves had vanished. Though the most likely answer was that they had simply ceased to exist when the monster they belonged to was slain, he couldn¡¯t help but visualize those broken shards of shadow burying deeper and deeper into the dying man¡¯s flesh until they disappeared from view.


    With a shudder, he shook the image from his mind and stood, readying his mace and torch as they prepared to head even deeper toward the sound of running water.

 Ch. 56 - The Under Temple

    They continued deeper into the darkness after that. As the sound of water got louder, the air became more humid until water began to drip from the ceiling of the narrow winding passage. They waited for the next attack to come at any moment. Instead, the terrible fury of the zombies'' attack had been replaced with an unsettling silence so oppressive it made Todd¡¯s hands tremble, at least that was until he heard the sound of distant chanting. The words were too faint to be understood, but the darkness behind their terrible rhythm was clear.


    He could not let himself be overcome by the fear that boiled out of the dark and mouthed a silent prayer to the light bringer to drive it back. At the same time, he followed Brother Faerbar deeper into the darkness. Even the holy light radiating from the Templars and their weapons did not penetrate far into the cursed shadows they were walking through, so when the room opened into a large cavern, it surprised everyone. One moment the winding path seemed like it would continue forever into the bowels of the earth, and the next, the walls fell away to reveal a wide hall that was very dimly lit by a number of large brass braziers lined up down the center of the hall.


    It was entirely different from the tunnels they¡¯d traveled through so far. Not only was it larger, but the floors here were smooth and the walls painted. Someone had taken great care in their construction. In places, there were grooves cut to channel something from the broad, flat surface, but he had no way to know if they were meant to keep water from pooling, or if they existed for some darker purpose.


    Brother Faerbar led them along the left wall, toward the nearest of the small doors that led away from the great hall. This made sense Todd reasoned, since they shouldn¡¯t stray far from their only known exit until they¡¯d found another. Instead of finding more attackers, though, they found a wall and a series of rooms which resolved themselves into a nightmare more awful than anything they¡¯d seen in the palace above. There, there was only the blood as evidence that something horrible had happened. Here though, lay the bloodless corpses - pieces of them, anyway. The rooms were packed with stacks of body parts, and on tables, there were corpses in different stages of disassembly or reassembly. That most of them wore the remaining shreds of fine clothing told him that they had found the final resting place of the missing nobles.


    All the squires had made signs of warding as soon as they¡¯d caught a glimpse of these sights, but the muttering began when they saw one particular corpse, with five extra arms grafted onto it and a sixth sitting there just waiting to complete the horrible symmetry. Barbaric. Butchery. Abomination. The words were quiet, but the disgust in the syllables was unmistakable. This place needed to be cleansed, and the people responsible needed to be brought to justice.


    There was no one to hold to account, though. Wherever the chanting voices were coming from, it wasn¡¯t here. Here there were just mutilated corpses that had been modified until none of their humanity remained. At least, that was the case until they reached the final room. There they found a man with his back to them, busily stitching away on the corpse before him like they weren¡¯t even there. His back was to them, and they couldn¡¯t see his face, but because of the fluid nature of his movements, Todd was sure that he was a living person, and if he was persuaded properly, he could finally give them the answers they sought. So, he was surprised when Brother Jakobous approached with his glowing sword raised high to split the stranger in half without asking his name.


    Todd understood the rage as much as anyone. He could see the evil roiling off the cloaked figure in waves and knew a swift execution was too good for such a man. It was only when the Templar was bringing his sword down like a vengeful god that Todd finally saw the third hand that it had been using to hold the stitches and understood the truth: it was just one more corpse that happened to be busy making other corpses.


    Everything happened at once after that.


    The blow never landed as a corpse next to the strange surgeon suddenly came to life and grabbed brother Jacobus¡¯s arm. The undead¡¯s hand began to smolder on contact with the Templar¡¯s holy aura, but its death grip held firm nonetheless. Even as that happened though, all the partially finished and half-completed zombies suddenly came to life on all sides of them as the room erupted into chaos. Not even the zombie that began reaching for Todd distracted him from the gruesome sight that would remain burned into his mind for as long as he still drew breath.


    With Brother Jakobous¡¯s sword held over his head and his arm restrained, there was nothing to stop the strange zombie¡¯s fourth hand from plunging through the Templar¡¯s chest and ripping out the man¡¯s heart before suddenly withdrawing. For a second, Todd struggled to understand how something could rip through the warrior¡¯s blessed chain mail like it was little more than paper. However, that single image of the hand holding a still beating heart answered his questions and would live in his nightmares forever. The seven fingers on that hand had all been knives of one shape or size, and they glowed with a foul aura that made them glitter violet and black in his sight.


    After that, he didn¡¯t have time to rush to Brother Jakobous¡¯s body. No one did. They were all fighting for their lives, and though many of these half-finished monstrosities were effortlessly slain a second time, some of the more monstrous creations proved quite a challenge. No matter how hard Brother Faerbar and the other Templars fought, they couldn¡¯t quite reach the surgeon that had struck down their friend and sworn companion.


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    Each time they got close, there would be a new surge of monsters to push them back, and it only ever had to move to parry their blows a handful of times. It didn¡¯t even bother to turn around and face them as it had its ragged little army attempt to tear them to pieces. Ultimately, the Templars were forced to retreat from the relentless, murderous insanity. Such a maneuver was not without cost, though, and warriors were wounded and maimed as they fought their way free from the insane slaughterhouse to regroup in the main hall, where they weren¡¯t surrounded.


    They¡¯d expected to have to hold the door against a wave of dead, but in the end they weren¡¯t followed as they left those cursed rooms and returned to the eerie orange glow that was reflected in the puddles that spotted the floor. In that moment of relative safety, an argument ensued. A few of the men argued that they needed to go back to secure the bodies of the fallen before that thing could bring them any harm. Todd was having trouble paying attention to that for one simple reason: the chanting was getting louder.


    ¡°They are brothers,¡± Brother Harnin swore. ¡°We owe them nothing less than this!¡±


    ¡°It pains me to say this, but the light will protect their souls, their bodies are already dust, and we will have to mourn them later,¡± Brother Faerbar said softly, ¡°The light will protect us too, but we need to keep pushing deeper. We have not yet found the true source of evil in this place, and people will keep dying until we do.¡±


    A few moments were spared for the paladins to use the light to heal the most injured of their brothers. Once they were done, the only evidence they¡¯d been wounded were rent clothes and damaged armor. Even these miracles were a trade-off, though. Every one spent healing the dying was one less miracle they could use against the darkness, so those with lesser wounds made do with bandages. Then they were back to pushing deeper into the cavern.


    ¡°Why would there be light?¡± Brother Samael asked as another brass brazier bloomed to life in the distance with no apparent cause. ¡°Surely the damned would do best in the dark.¡±


    There was some quiet debate about witchcraft or it being a trap before Brother Faerbar interjected. ¡°It¡¯s because they want us to see this sacrilege,¡± he said, pointing at the barely visible wall on the far side of the light. The way was narrowing as they approached a pool, and the walls were covered in blasphemous murals of aquatic scenes, which were barely visible in the dim light.


    Todd wanted to study the pictures but couldn¡¯t take his eyes off the almost circular pool of water in the center. Its dark water was perfectly placid but so full of evil that it might as well have been acid or poison. Nothing had happened yet, but he was sure that it would.


    It was only when he saw the murals on the far side that he finally turned and looked to his master, ¡°Look - it¡¯s Oroza - the water dragon!¡±


    The mural depicted her as a giant, sinuous blue-gray water dragon, but no sooner had he spoken that name than the pool began to boil and froth. For a moment, he worried that the water dragon herself would burst up and devour them all.


    But instead, tentacles shot out of the water, aiming to drag every nearby warrior into the depths and drown them. When Todd felt the first two tentacles crunch beneath his mace, he realized they weren¡¯t tentacles at all but arms sewn one to another until they stretched over a dozen feet and made a mockery of life itself. The monster might not have revealed itself yet, but this fact told him a great deal about it. He shouted a warning to his brothers, but he wasn¡¯t sure if they heard him over the roar of the leviathan that finally rose from the bloody pool.


    It rose along with the pitch and volume of the hellish chanting that echoed through the hall. This wasn¡¯t a man or a beast; instead, it was a monster made into the shape of a beast out of the parts and pieces of countless men. Todd would never be able to describe it better than that. Its wide mouth was filled with row after row of teeth, and innumerable tentacles were attached to its bloated body. He would remember those details in his nightmares for years. As it dragged itself onto land with its wavering tentacles and clawed limbs, it used its grasp to entangle and then devour two of his fellow squires almost immediately. A Templar followed soon after.


    It was all Todd could do to keep from hyperventilating as he battered the grasping arms and pseudo tentacles from him as he tried to fight his way to his master¡¯s side. He couldn¡¯t, though. Even if he could fight through this forest of flesh, he never would have been able to stand so close to Brother Faerbar¡¯s brilliance.


    The Paladin shone like a tiny star as he advanced on the horror, with no fear on his face. There was only determination as he struck at it time and again. Three of the other Templars did the same, as they fought in a long crescent, absorbing most of the attacks. Still, none could get so close as his master, which filled Todd with a strange sort of pride as he struggled to do his part.


    In the end, it was their holy light that did the creature in. No matter how many limbs they lopped off or rents they created in the creature¡¯s bloodless skin, more tentacles ending in dead men¡¯s hands always rose out of the water to assault the warriors. Still, slowly but surely, the thing began to smoke and smolder before it finally burst into pale-yellow flames of holy fire. Todd had been taught that evil could never stand against the might of good, and he had never doubted that.


    It was one thing to believe and quite another to see with his own eyes. As the strange aquatic creature switched from lashing out in a never-ending storm of attacks to flailing in agony as it became a slowly deflating spiritual bonfire, Todd praised Siddrim for his protection and strength, vowing never to forget this moment of triumph.

 Ch. 57 - The Purge

    Once the aquatic abomination was no more than a melting pile of flesh sloughing off a jigsaw puzzle of a skeleton, it was finally over. Another four brave warriors had died in that final fight, and twice as many had been seriously hurt, reducing the martial strength of their cadre to half of what it had been at dawn. Most of those hurts would be healed within a few days with the proper rituals, but the dead were set aside together respectfully in a bloodless part of that foul hall until the danger had passed enough that they could be brought to the surface. Already though, Todd could feel the change. Everyone could. The blight that existed in these dank caverns had, in large part, vanished with the death of that monstrosity.


    The chanting that had throbbed in the darkness was gone now, and the dreadful stillness had once more replaced its unnatural rhythm. Was it possible that they had really slain Oroza, he wondered. The Oroza was said to be a mighty river dragon, but the way that these people worshiped around that pool, it wasn¡¯t impossible, was it? Perhaps she¡¯d never been a dragon at all, and that had just been a myth to cover something darker. From its size, he could easily believe that it was linked underground to the nearby river.


    That was the thought he returned to over and over again as they searched the side rooms they¡¯d skipped until now. In them, the holy warriors found prayer rooms filled with unresponsive cultists who seemed to be able to do nothing more complicated than breathing and small libraries that were overflowing with blasphemy about the nature of their gods. The Templars would not even allow the remaining squires to look at the latter and had them end the suffering of the helpless cultists while they alone reviewed the profane material before burning it. In their search, they found several altars dedicated to the Oroza in all her aspects. Still, they found no one who could explain what had happened here. The leviathan had died, and somehow it had taken everyone¡¯s minds with it.


    The living worshipers weren¡¯t much different than the remaining zombies in that sense. The zombies still moved and attacked if you got close enough for them to sense the spark of life that burned within Todd or his fellow warriors, but they lacked the strange teamwork that had made them such a formidable threat before. Now they were just a thrashing menaces somewhat less challenging than a rabid dog.


    The Templars made quick work of the place after that. In killing the abomination these heretics had worshiped, they¡¯d torn the heart out of this web of darkness just as it had torn the heart out of Jakobous¡¯ body. They retrieved the bodies of the warriors that had died in the butcher¡¯s den, but the strange surgeon that had made all of them had vanished without a trace. In the end, that zombie and the heart it had stolen from Jakobous were the only missing pieces of the puzzle, in a physical sense. Still, the mysteries only grew deeper as they found the routes that led from this underground temple to the buildings it was connected to on the surface.


    That the set of winding stairs closest to the river led to the main temple of Oroza, the Storm Bringer that looked out over the river was a foregone conclusion. The only ones that were surprised that was where the first tunnel led were the priests they interrupted when they burst into the place. After taking several priests into custody, they quickly summoned the city guard of Fallravea to handle their prisoners and put the place to the torch.


    ¡°Rotten from top to bottom,¡± Brother Garrand said, scowling.


    Todd was forced to agree because, to his eyes, the whole edifice was tainted. The beautiful marble building might not have been as obviously evil as the temple below. Still, it was easy enough to see the shadows lurking in the corners and on the faces of the devout. The entire edifice of the Oroza¡¯s worship was as contaminated as the river, and he had no qualms in helping to light the fires himself.


    Things happened quickly after that as Brother Faerbar took command of the guard from a weaselly-looking noble named Baronet Geldin. He was locked in a tower with the rest of the captured priests until each could be questioned and tested individually. It was a priority, but there was too much work to be done to take care of that just now. The smoky plume from the waterfront temple was drifting over the whole city by the time they had sealed the old city¡¯s gates. Now they could descend again into the darkness and root out all the other filth that had to be purged by fire.


    Watch Captain Bruden had worked hand in glove with the now-arrested guard captain. Still, he¡¯d shown no reluctance in obeying every order the remaining Templars delivered to him. Todd couldn¡¯t say whether that was because he was a devout man or because he knew the kind of scrutiny such resistance could bring to him. He¡¯d heard that inquisitions were an ugly business, and there was no doubt in his mind that Brother Faerbar would send for those fanatics once the danger was past.


    While the holy warriors were busy rooting out the nests of filth below, the watch captain carried out his mandates on the streets above. Curfews were being established, checkpoints were being manned, and anyone that seemed the least bit foreign or strange was being rounded up so that his master could look hard at them for the taint of evil. Each new path led to a new tunnel and a new den of vice and evil that needed to be purified by fire. A brothel, a butcher, a warehouse on the docks, and three noble houses all went up in flames before sunset. It was only once that was done that the Templars brought their dead to the surface to give them their last light rites by the glow of the setting sun.


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    ¡°We honor the fallen with the full knowledge that someday we too will fall as well,¡± Brother Faerbar intoned as he looked from his comrades to the setting sun and back. ¡°They are only a step ahead of us in the eternal struggle, and we shall meet with them again in the next world.¡±


    The ceremony continued until dark, and each surviving Templar said a few words. Todd could tell from the way several spoke that he wasn¡¯t the only one concerned by Brother Jakobous¡¯ missing heart, but he said nothing because it was not his place. He, like everyone else, was just grateful to have survived. They¡¯d gone into the darkness of the palace with 17 men: eight Templars, eight squires, and one priest candidate. Now two Templars and three squires were dead, and another six people were dying, including Brother Verdenin, who was still only barely clinging to life.


    By tomorrow half of those injured would be so wholly healed that it would be as if their wounds had never existed, but that was tomorrow. Tonight there were only five members of their cadre that were uninjured, and there was still much work to be done. The smell of smoke was heavy in the air, and the prisoners were overflowing the city jail and three other defensible buildings that had been set aside for that purpose.


    Todd had always thought that he would have been thrilled to be doing the work of the divine on such a day, but this evening excitement was the farthest thing from his mind. Between the exhaustion and grief, he felt like he was about to pass out on his feet. Unlike so many others, though, he was uninjured, so he owed it to everyone to do whatever he could for as long as he had to. As the night wore on, that mostly turned out to be running messages back and forth across the city through empty streets to let this unit of the city guard know to reposition here or inform the watch captain that all boats were to remain moored pending a thorough search.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see? This is the most crucial time,¡± he heard Brother Faerbar yelling at the watch captain after he hurried back breathlessly from delivering another message to the jailers. They were to start bringing prisoners to the temple at first light for questioning. Usually, his master would have another errand for him as soon as he arrived, but this time he had to wait for this argument to subside¡­ or escalate, he thought grimly.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t that when you set half of Fallravea aflame this afternoon?¡± the man asked, not bothering to hide his irritation. ¡°I¡¯m telling you, the day watch needs to sleep, or we¡¯ll be adding mutiny to our list of problems.¡±


    ¡°They can sleep when the checkpoints are all manned,¡± the paladin answered. ¡°We have burned the viper¡¯s nests and rounded up as many of their colleagues as we can find, but tonight is the night that the rest of the vermin will try to flee. Every man that escapes is another village that we will someday have to purge and burn in the exact. Same. Way.¡±


    Whether it was the strength of Brother Faerbar¡¯s argument or the way his eyes glowed as his righteous anger gathered, eventually, the Watch Captain relented. ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do, but I ain¡¯t promising any miracles,¡± he grumbled.


    ¡°Siddrim will provide all the miracles we could ever ask for,¡± the brother said with a smile, which quickly disappeared when he turned to Todd and gave him his next assignment.


    Todd didn¡¯t talk back. He just took the note and was off again on another jog through the moonlit city. He would deliver two more messages before his work for the day was finally done. It was almost midnight when he finally went to sleep on the floor of the tiny chapel to Siddrim that had become their base of operations in this godless city. They couldn¡¯t be sure anywhere else was safe until they knew how deeply the rot had already spread. So, like everyone else, he fell asleep in his armor, waiting for an attack that never came.


    Instead, he was greeted by dawn¡¯s light and freshly baked bread that he greedily devoured after morning prayers were complete. There was still much to do, but now that the light was again on their side and the Templars had enough energy to heal the wounded, there was no chance that they would lose, Todd told himself.


    When what healing could be done had been done and everyone had finished eating, Brother Faerbar addressed them all. Though he wasn¡¯t a handsome man, as he stood before his assembled warriors in torn armor, silhouetted by the rising sun, Todd couldn¡¯t help but be stunned as he took in everything his master said. The church of Siddrim forbade iconography of their god, preferring to think of him as pure white light. Still, in that moment, Todd couldn¡¯t help but think of the man as the living embodiment of all that was good and just.


    ¡°You may or may not have realized it already,¡± his master said, speaking mainly to the assembled squires, ¡°but we have already won. Last night was evil¡¯s last chance to strike us down, and they failed. Instead, they are routed, and we are victorious.¡±


    A cheer went up after that, but Brother Faerbar kept talking for quite a while as he laid out the plan. By the time the sun was set again on the city, there would be a messenger on their way back to Siddrimar to relay everything that had happened and request more assistance and public proclamations would be read to explain what had transpired to the fearful townspeople. After that, those with the sight would use it along with some harsh questioning to sort the genuinely guilty from those that had merely been standing too close and cut their number of suspects by at least half before they started putting people to the question. He continued, enumerating a long list of specifics they would focus on and who exactly was going to do what, but Todd didn¡¯t worry about that. All that mattered to him was that they had fought evil, and they had won.

 Ch. 58 - A Fitting Sacrifice

    This was the second time it had caused the city of Fallravea to burn, and it was glorious. The Lich had done little else but watch things unravel once the Templars had made their appearance. The fighting and the dying had been interesting in their own way, but the longer things unraveled, the better things got. Even though the scents of death had barely begun to mingle with the thick smoke and rank fear that suffused the city, it already made for a better sacrifice this time than it did last time its minions had sacked the town.


    This time things were only getting started, too. Previously the goblins had butchered at random, which had its charms. However, the genuine malevolence and corruption that it had been brewing beneath the city for years had finally been lanced by the Templars. The methodical nature of the way they did things turned the whole affair into almost a ritual sacrifice. Now that evil was flowing out into the streets and fleeing from the city under the cover of night. As contagious as The Drowning had been, panic was the faster of the two plagues.


    The Templars hadn¡¯t just killed the evil that the Lich had been cultivating, though. They had destroyed the religion that even the untainted members of the land had taken heart in for generations in one form or another. The worship of Oroza touched every life in the small city. Fishermen prayed to The River Dragon for still waters before they set off each day, the sick prayed to The Drowned Woman not to take them, and midwives prayed to The Lifegiver for a healthy birth.


    For every member the Lich had converted to The Cult of The Undying, a hundred people worshiped one of Oroza¡¯s more benign aspects. However, that didn¡¯t matter to those that walked in the light. They smashed every other god with equal fervor. It made for an enlightening lesson for the Lich. However, that was less important than the fact that they had ripped the heart out of that community by their actions almost as surely as its chirurgeon Granzarious had ripped the heart out of one of their companions as they had tried to purge the underchapel of evil.


    Even now, the heart still beat slowly as it hung by a slender silver thread in the center of its fleshworks. So captivated had the chirurgeon been by the clean way it had cut it out of the warrior that it had been unwilling to let it stop just yet. Though the Lich did not know what they would do with it at present or how it would pry the holy spirit out of the lump of flesh without damaging it. For now, the Lich was content to let it reverberate alone in the dark while the darkness watched its comrades blunder around, making a bad situation worse.


    The Lich had been slightly surprised at how easily they cut through the leviathan. As large and powerful as its flesh crafters had made it, it had been little more than a clumsy parody of the River Dragon. Even if the monstrosity hadn¡¯t been its best work, the Lich had still expected to kill more of the holy warriors before it finally succumbed to them. Either way, it had learned a great deal from both the way the forces of light had fought and the way that its creations endured that terrible brightness, of course, but next time wouldn¡¯t just be a test. It would have to improve its creatures if it wanted to crush the enemy utterly.


    Its undying army was deadly and larger than ever, but in the fight, it had not been the swords that had struck the mortal blow but the radiance of their wielders that had boiled them from the inside out. The Lich had felt the revulsion and the fear surge through the hardened warriors at the sights they had been forced to endure in those fights and vowed to make its creations going forward even stranger than they had been to date to make better use of both emotions. Why wouldn¡¯t it? Those dark emotions paralyzed and weakened its foes almost as well as its magic did, and they cost it nothing.


    Everything was in motion now, and most of it was going splendidly. Its minions had managed to peel its pet Lordling completely before the quivering mass of flesh that had been left behind was finally allowed to expire. The only change to its original plan was that instead of keeping Kelvun¡¯s spirit amongst its other trophies, it was currently bound in a skull set aside to observe exactly what was being done with the parts of his body step by step. It would, of course, be reunited with them in time, but only when its newest abomination was complete.


    Its dragon continued to make progress in that regard, but it still could not fly. The Lich was tempted to replace the scales with hardened black iron, but its chirurgeons rightly cautioned against such changes for reasons related to weight. The beast was so massive that each time they tested it for flight, it had to be taken apart to be brought outside and then put back together for testing, which had thus far been fruitless.


    That had been frustrating to no end. Even with three sets of wings: Manticore, Wyvern, and Drake, it simply lacked the energy to take to the sky. All it could manage was to leap from hills or to glide from the top of a boulder pile near the area where it did its testing. Its fiery servant burned without issue, and its aquatic servant had no problem swimming, but the winged servant that was being built to swoop down from the darkness and smite its enemies simply couldn¡¯t get airborne.


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    At this point, it couldn¡¯t stop the Templars'' messenger even if it had the inclination to.


    Its shadow raptors that had been stitched together from darkness and appropriate swamp fowl had found a dozen minor air spirits. Generally, these fast-flying servants took the form of four-winged ravens, though lately, vulture corpses using two wings that had been lengthened and modified showed excellent results too. Sadly when it came to the magic of flying, symmetry appeared to be a core part of the process, which was not a complication that mattered to any of its other servants.


    Symmetrical design was an alien idea to the mind of the Lich as well as its servants, and it struggled with it. How much different would they have turned out if it had been forced to build its dungeon or its swamp dragon with such principles? The Lich tried to imagine what that world would look like, but it could not. Every glimpse of the perfect symmetry that Krulm¡¯venor offered from the dwarven city had baffled it in much the same way.


    No matter how many aerial spirits were stitched into the wings of its greatest creation to date, it had yet to solve the problem. The bird¡¯s prey had not been enough to buoy it into the skies. Normally they would be busily out hunting even now, even though half of them never returned to the rookery from their dangerous night flights. That wasn¡¯t the case tonight, though. Tonight they hung thickly over Fallravea. Dozens of them circled the city in low, lazy circles. Most of them basked in the fear and distrust that was radiating throughout the city, but some of them watched the positions of the Templars and the city watch, whispering their information to the Lich as it changed.


    Though darkness was everywhere, its attention couldn¡¯t focus on everything at once. With the help of its servants, though, the Lich could keep an eye on the whole city, whispering into the ears of its agents and any other evildoers that might show promise on how best to escape the tightening noose. Many of its agents would die in the prisons and the torture chambers of those righteous fools in the coming weeks, but many more would be innocents, and the Lich hungered for those terrible travesties almost as much as it hungered for the public executions and pyres that would certainly follow.


    Other than perhaps its torments of the Late Kelvun, and everything that was going to happen to him in the coming months while his new body was shaped to purpose, it could think of nothing it wanted more than to watch good men dirty their hands with the blood of those who had done nothing wrong. Even the light could not blot out the spots of darkness on the souls of the just.


    The Lich could see them even now. It could see that one of the most dangerous Templars tended to do terrible things when he was drunk, which was most nights, and that another¡¯s body was riddled with venereal disease as much as his soul was riddled with perversion. Even the young child that seemed to be the apprentice or servant of the band¡¯s leader had blood on his hand from the children he had murdered. All of these things were things that it could touch and manipulate if the circumstances were right. They made the Lich¡¯s mind race with possibilities, but none of the servants of the god of light were as filled with darkness as the unconscious priest was.


    That man still stood on death¡¯s door, even after two days of healing magic. It was not the light that saved him, though - it was that the Lich planned to hold back death and disease as long as it would take for the weakling to recover. The priest hadn¡¯t been a particularly bad person before this adventure. His worst sins had been greed and pride, which were things the Lich understood well, but its shadow hydra had bitten deeply into the man, and even after the priest had eradicated the thing¡¯s first two heads with a powerful spell, the teeth that had been buried in the man¡¯s arm had stayed behind, burrowing ever deeper into the man¡¯s necrotic flesh. Even though the Templars had wisely removed the arm the next day, that darkness had already traveled through the priest¡¯s bloodstream and into his heart.


    The priest might not be the Lich¡¯s creature exactly, but only because the Lich wanted him to keep his connection to the light. When the time was right, it would take the pawn completely, but now it would let the wounded man fester spiritually in equal measure to the way that the disease refused to take root in his physical wounds.


    Few others would merit its mercy, though. The thin trickle of death that was leaking from the city now was nothing but the appetizer for a promised banquet. It would claim the souls of the few who had died on its cursed earth, but they would serve only to whet its appetite for the carnival of death that was sure to follow.


    The servants of the light had already sent a messenger back to the holy city they resided in, and it was certain that messenger came to beg for reinforcements, so the Lich would do nothing to bar its way. After all, when it had finally decided to devour his puppet ruler in such a public fashion, it had known that a day of reckoning for such a brutal piece of theater was inevitable. All it could do now was learn from it but let the priests and pontiffs show off as many of their tricks as they liked so that it would be prepared for the great war to come.

 Ch. 59 - At Long Last

    ¡°Purify the headwaters!¡± echoed in his mind with the same cold, tormented voice as always, startling Paulus awake. He recalled everything else she said, too, of course. It almost never changed. So, it would have been impossible to forget, but none of her other strangled ravings that she made while gripping the bars of her steel cage burned right through him as much as that impossible command. The darkness? The dead? Even the moment when she told him to flee to land before the dragon overpowered her once more hadn¡¯t mattered nearly as much as those three simple words.


    He pulled himself into a ball, huddling his legs against his chest under the thin blankets as he shivered in the chilly predawn darkness. The reaction was more from fear than the cold, but it comforted him just the same. The winter had stopped his search for months, but with the spring flood, he¡¯d returned to the Wodenspine Mountains, even though the cold still lingered there. His patched clothes and thin blankets might do little to warm him, but his urgency kept him from freezing each night. He would find the poison the Goddess spoke of because he must. There was no other option.


    Why would he do anything else? In the villages where he¡¯d labored for little more than food and place in the barn, all that awaited him were the nightmares as he recalled that awful night. At least when he was out here searching, he felt like he was outrunning the terrible Goddess that had issued him this burning command. That was doubly true on the days like today when he felt certain he was getting close. It didn¡¯t matter to him that he¡¯d felt that way for almost a week now. It seemed like the higher he rose following this stream, the cleaner his soul became. It was like he was slowly but surely rising above the world¡¯s corruption with every step.


    There was real relief in the search, and he secretly believed that if he succeeded, he could finally be free of the dead eyes that haunted him. On the days he couldn¡¯t search as she¡¯d ordered him, though, all he could do was relive that terrible night as his mind connected dot after dot in an endless and expanding web of evil. It always started sensibly enough - with the priestess and the Count. However, if he obsessed on it long enough, he could inevitably connect everyone from the fishmonger to his mother in a plan that was too vast for anyone to understand. Anyone but him, of course. He might no longer have the spies or the purse of a true spymaster, but his mind was sharp, and his notes were expansive. No one could take either from him, no matter how far he fell.


    Even now that he was free of both the city of evil Fallravea and the cursed county of Greshen, he still imagined that the conspiracies he¡¯d started to uncover followed him. He could never stay with a family more than a week or two now. Even when he was with good god-fearing people that rewarded him with extra portions when he worked until his hands bled, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that the washerwoman was watching him. He didn¡¯t know who she was reporting back to, but he wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to if they were strong enough to enslave a river goddess and poison a whole river.


    A thin strip of light clung to the horizon, but he would need more than that before he could build himself a fire. Still, he stared at it like a ward against evil until the sun finally peeked above the earth, dispelling most of the shadows on the high slope. This gave him the light he would need to decide which of his pages he could steal an inch of paper from so that he could shred it to kindling.


    His overstuffed journal was all he still had after his year spent fruitlessly searching for the source of the taint she¡¯d spoken of. He¡¯d explored four tributaries and three watersheds but found nothing definitive. All he¡¯d accomplished in that time was wearing out the soles of his boots and filling the last of his clean pages with detailed maps of places that few people had ever been to and no one but shepherds cared about. He no longer had the paper to document this latest trip, but that was okay. He could no longer afford ink either.


    ¡°Soon,¡± he told himself. ¡°Any day now, and you¡¯ll be done with this. Then you can finally rest.¡± He still had caches in the city. When he was done looking for the source of the sickness, and the river was pure and clean, he could finally return to Fallravea and retrieve them. Then he¡¯d return to the village of Bellmor and disappear; of all the places he¡¯d been on this insane quest, it had been the most picturesque. He could see himself retiring there under a different name as a trader or bookseller while he waited for the world to forget he¡¯d ever been born.


    None of that mattered right now, though. All that mattered was which pages he could tear a bit of paper from. Even though he didn¡¯t need the book to remember, Paulus still treated it with a reverence that was more appropriate to a holy text than a scribbled notebook. He tore the thinnest strip he could stand to part with from the side of a sketch that showed the imprisoned Goddess. He then shredded that, using it to catch the sparks from his flint.


    A minute later, he was feeding twigs to the tiny flame and trying to put the image of the Goddess trapped inside that giant corpse out of his mind. To him, that image always looked like the strange decaying dragon she was chained to had swallowed her, but something like that obviously didn¡¯t eat. Its giant maw full of rusting steel teeth was only for murder.


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    Paulus only stayed by the warmth of his fire until the sun was entirely above the horizon. By then, his feet and brain both itched too much to sit still, and he set off for further up the mountain. It didn¡¯t matter to him that his feet were bare or that his few remaining possessions were stuffed into a satchel made of his best blanket. All that mattered was the destination, and like yesterday and the day before, he was certain that today would be the day.


    Once he started walking, he didn¡¯t stop except to eat old snow that he found in the shadows of trees and boulders. That was one of the reasons he was so sure that this stream was the tainted one: drinking from it made him violently ill. It was a technique he wished he would have figured out sooner, but it had eluded him on his quest until recently. This time he was sure. This was the tainted water, and he would follow it to its source.


    Still, once it warmed up, the day was lovely, and other than the occasional cloud of gnats, it was as close to paradise as he¡¯d ever known. From this high, he felt like he could see all the way to Dutton, and though he didn¡¯t let himself stop to appreciate the view, he frequently glanced over his shoulder at it.


    Paulus continued like that until he reached a fork in the road a little before noon as the stream split into two. This time he didn¡¯t even need to taste it to know which of the two was tainted. He could smell it. The large flow to the left might look as crystal clear as the smaller stream to his right, but it had a faint whiff of death that only got stronger as he went further up the slope.


    He knew he¡¯d found the source of the poison half an hour before he finally set eyes on the cursed pool. It was easy to see because everything in the area was dead. The trees were brown, the birds were silent, and animal life was entirely absent. As soon as he set eyes on the pool, he understood why. In the middle of this glen sat a small spring-fed pool. Instead of being the crystal clear artisanal spring that he¡¯d seen half a dozen times before, though, it was a bubbling pool of murky green that made his eyes water to approach.


    He¡¯d heard that there were smoking mountains across the sea that burned at night and stank of sulfur, but even this strange mockery of nature was as close as Paulus ever hoped to get to seeing one. As he stood on the bank, afraid to touch the water, he looked into the shallow pool and saw something bubbling and fizzing at the bottom. It was a large metal object that was too flimsy to be called a grate. It looked like a buckler of thin woven metal, which was full of holes. That made no sense, of course, because the thing couldn¡¯t stop a single blow. Regardless of what it was, though, it was the only thing that didn¡¯t belong, which meant that it was definitely the source of the problem.


    After studying it for as long as he could bear, he decided there was no way he was reaching in there to grab that thing. Instead, he went off in search of fresh air and a long enough branch to fish the object out. The dead trees scattered throughout the glen had plenty of branches to offer. That wasn¡¯t the hard part. The hard part came when he tried to use them to pull the thing out. They started falling apart on contact with the water and had fully dissolved in only twenty or thirty seconds. Paulus was incredibly thankful that he hadn¡¯t just waded in there to retrieve the object and instead went off to find another branch.


    After four branches, he was finally able to drag it near enough to the edge that he could reach in to pull the thing out with the tip of his short sword. Once it was firmly pierced, he pulled it out and carried it very carefully to the nearest rocky slope, where he placed it on a small boulder to inspect the oddity. From the damage he¡¯d done to it just by poking it with sticks, it very clearly wasn¡¯t meant to be armor. He wanted to bring it down the mountain to deliver it to the church so they could deal with the cursed thing themselves, but one look at his sword showed that to be an impossible task.


    His blade had been made of fine steel, and until today it had been pristine, but now it was pitted in places and spotted with corrosion. Everywhere it had touched the strange shield, it was falling apart.


    ¡°What in the hells am I supposed to do now?¡± Paulus asked the empty valley as he set his sword down to dry. There was no way he was putting it back in its sheath until it was dry as a bone.


    While he waited, he tried to figure out what he could do. He lacked the ink to draw it or any tools to carry it. In the end, all he could do was dig a hole in the scree and push it in with a large rock. Then he covered it up and marked the spot with a stack of flat stones. There it wouldn¡¯t contaminate much water, and if he found someone that could help him investigate, he could always escort them back here, even without a map.


    In the end, he belted on his sword and inspected the pool. Even those few hours had made a real difference, and the water was now merely murky rather than hopelessly polluted.


    ¡°I did just what you told me to,¡± he said barely above a whisper while he looked at his bare feet with something approaching reverence. He knew she couldn¡¯t actually hear him from here as he spoke to the water, but he was sure she would feel the difference as the pool became clearer and clearer. ¡°You hear that, Oroza? My task is complete. Let me rest now, I beg of you. That is my only prayer.¡±


    Then he turned, and itching a stray bug bite on his hand, he turned and began to walk back down the mountain. Paulus could finally close the book on this insane chapter of his life.

 Ch. 60 - A Public Spectacle

    Though it was hard, Todd forced himself to watch as his superiors put the people of Fallravea to the question. It was an ugly business that went so slowly at first that they could only redeem a few souls each day as the cultists and blasphemers denied they were ever involved in any of the terrible activities that the Templars had uncovered. The butcher who had been trafficking in corpses denied knowing that the tunnel dug into the rear of his shop was even there, and the noble families whose manses were also connected to that dark network insisted that they had despised the Count and his toadies more than anyone.


    ¡°If my family was really as close to that disreputable swine as you say, then why weren¡¯t I or my daughters at all of his unseemly little parties this summer?¡± the Granddame Rockmira demanded angrily after a series of less than courteous questions.


    Unlike the butcher¡¯s tale, it was a story that had initially made sense to Todd, though he would have never contradicted his seniors by saying that. Eventually, the priests forced her into the light of truth, kicking and screaming by using brutal techniques that made Todd wince. Ultimately, both confessed and gave the names of all other local luminaries that had helped them with their misdeeds. The former eventually signed a statement that he sold human meat to unsuspecting customers for reasons related to both profit and devilry. The latter admitted that the only reason her family wasn¡¯t fornicating with all of the other nobles as they usually did the night of the massacre was because they had been forwarned by their dark Mistress, The Drowned woman.


    No one called her Oroza anymore. That was the name of a river, not of a goddess of the underworld. In private, Brother Faerbar was conflicted, though, in public, he never wavered. He¡¯d seen signs of the river¡¯s corruption for years, but at the same time, he¡¯d never known any of the healers that worshiped the river goddess to have anything but spotless souls, especially during the year of the plague. It was a conundrum that he wrestled with often, but according to him, even prayer couldn¡¯t resolve it.


    ¡°How was it that so many good people could worship such an evil thing?¡± he asked them all at dinner one night, but no one had a good answer.


    Fortunately, there were still good people in the city, and the weight of the witness statements that their neighbors buried them with was usually enough to force a blubbering confession before it was time to bring in the thumb screws or the hot irons. That all changed a week later when their reinforcements arrived from Siddrimar.


    Though the Templars might be the best-known arm of the church militant, they were not the most feared. That distinction belonged to The Penitent Seekers of Truth, or the Inquisitors as everyone called them. A hush followed in their wake when their convoy entered the city, and after that, a muted anticipation about what would happen next hung over Fallravea like a cloud.


    It would not take too long to answer that unasked question, though. The Inquisitors differed from their brethren in that they preferred to do all their questioning and the associated penance under Siddrim¡¯s light, so they only waited long enough for a scaffold to be built in the city center before they began their bloody spectacle.


    Fortunately, Todd was not expected to watch them work. Still, he caught glimpses often enough while he was out and about performing other tasks for his Master as they carried out their ever-expanding carnival of mortification. For the first week, there were almost no spectators, but gradually that changed for reasons Todd didn¡¯t really understand. He knew that people often gathered to watch hangings, but torture? That seemed too far, even if the crowd¡¯s true interest was in justice and salvation.


    Still, day by day, the crowds grew, taking some kind of comfort from the public nature of the proceedings. After that, though, things got weird. Brother Garrand had said that they would, but Todd had not fully believed him. On the ninth day of the Inquisition¡¯s attempt to turn over every last stone of sin, people began to come forward from the crowd and confess without anyone laying a finger on them. Sometimes these crimes were significant, and other times they were only private shames, but soon enough, the Inquisitor¡¯s cages were overflowing with those in need of salvation.


    Most of those that confessed spontaneously weren¡¯t executed, which was more than he could say about those that had been dragged kicking and screaming into Siddrim¡¯s light thanks to a tip from their neighbors or someone that had already spent their time on that bloody stage. Todd thanked the divine for that. More than enough intersections were decorated with the flayed body of the guilty already. If his brothers started to kill everyone who had confessed to blasphemy or adultery, then eventually, there would be nowhere left to put them all.


    It was a dismal time. At first, he¡¯d been excited to strike such a blow against evil, but now he couldn¡¯t wait to be free of this place. It was one thing to strike down the animate dead but quite another to wake up each morning to the smell of corpses and the sound of screaming. Even those things were only slightly better than acting as a nursemaid to priest-candidate Verdinen while he recovered. While that task had been easy enough while the man was unconscious, he¡¯d become a petulant nightmare once he¡¯d awoke to find that he was missing his right arm, and since Todd was one of the few squires that knew his letters, he was frequently forced to sit with the bitter man for hours, scribbling reports. No mark he ever made on the page was good enough, of course, but all of them were better than what Brother Verdinen was capable of with his left hand.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Thirty-eight days later, The Penitent Seekers of Truth pronounced the city clean of all of its taint. To celebrate, they held a midnight mass in the center of the city, burning every last vestige of The Drowned Woman that they could find. Every holy symbol and tapestry in the city that was left with a river theme was thrown on the pyre that night.


    ¡°So does this mean we finally get to go back to Siddramar now, sir?¡± Todd asked his Master the next morning after they finished their sunrise sparing session.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not,¡± he said. ¡°Now that the city no longer needs our swords, we travel south to Blackwater to see if the rot has spread downriver.¡±


    ¡°Blackwater?¡± Toad asked, confused. ¡°But the taint on the river has to come from the north, doesn¡¯t it? Shouldn¡¯t we be following it to its source to finally purify it once and for all?¡±


    That answer made the older man laugh louder than he should have. ¡°You would think, wouldn¡¯t you, but that isn¡¯t how they see the world. To them, the water is polluted by the souls of the people that worship it when they should be worshiping the light.¡±


    ¡°But what if it¡¯s the other way around?¡± Todd asked. ¡°What if it¡¯s something in the water that poisons the hearts of those who drink it?¡±


    ¡°Who can say?¡± Brother Faerbar asked philosophically. ¡°You and I - the church relies on our strong sword arms. It would be hubris not to trust in the learned men who use their minds to do the same. The learned priests say the devil is in the heart, but my nose tells me that there is something rotten in the Wodenspines, and it will have to be addressed eventually, but if it happens after we gauge the darkness of Blackwater, it makes no difference to me.¡±


    Todd nodded, understanding why his Master was correct, even though he knew that neither of them agreed with those morally upright words deep down.


    After that moment of silence, Brother Faerbar continued. ¡°They say that the whole area around that little port town has an evil reputation. Even the song we heard in the inn on the way here was about dead rising from the bog to protect its ill-gotten treasure.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see a swamp when we traveled through,¡± Todd retorted after searching his memories for a moment.


    ¡°No,¡± his Master agreed. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have. The late Lord of the region paid a king¡¯s ransom to the mages at the Magica Collegium in Abenend to use their earth magic to dig him a canal to Garvin¡¯s¡­ I mean Garmoore¡¯s Gift.¡±


    Brother Faerbar sat down so that Todd could unlace his Gambeson. Last week they¡¯d started renaming everything in the region that had been named for the late Lord¡¯s family in an attempt to erase his blasphemies. Everything that had once been named for Leo, Kelvun, or Garvin was now named after an appropriate saint of Siddrim or another lesser god, though it was hard to remember so many recent changes.


    There had even been a petition sent to the king to rename the whole county to something more appropriate in light of everything that had happened. The priesthood lacked the power to make those changes unilaterally; Todd struggled with a particularly stubborn knot as he recalled just how frustrated the Priest Cawleon had been by that fact. As temporary governor of the whole area, he chafed at any limit imposed on Siddrim¡¯s vision.


    In the end, the only thing that would be left to bear any of those forbidden names was little Leo Garvin the Fifth. Though only an infant and the spawn of a heretic, he would be well-taken care of for some time to come. This was because, through his guardianship, the church could lay claim to the whole area, at least until he came of age.


    ¡°It¡¯s my understanding that the late Count wasn¡¯t specifically trying to rid himself of the swamp so much as build a path free from goblins so he could extract the riches of the earth,¡± Brother Faerbar continued, interrupting Todd¡¯s wandering mind and pulling him back into the conversation.


    ¡°But if the swamp was evil, and he was evil, then why would he seek to drain it?¡± Todd asked, meeting the other man¡¯s eye. ¡°I just¡­ Something about all this doesn¡¯t seem to make sense, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    That protest brought the patient smile back to his Master¡¯s face as it always seemed to when he¡¯d said something that was unintentionally smart or stupid. ¡°The only people in the world to whom everything makes sense are the ones that are truly crazy. We should just be grateful that in the midst of all his other debaucheries, the late Count of Greshen cleaned up one mess and replaced it with verdant farmland. That¡¯s one less place that evil can hide from our Lord¡¯s light. Right?¡±


    ¡°Thank the light for that,¡± Todd mumbled, unconvinced.


    That would be the last time they would spar in that benighted city because the following day would be spent packing and provisioning, and then they were back underway, traveling south on the main road, which was uncomfortably close to the river as it parallelled the Oroza south and west to their destination.


    Even though it was only four nights by horse, Todd slept fitfully. For weeks he¡¯d been forced to battle that awful tentacled abomination over and over in his sleep, but this was something new. Now in his dreams, he imagined something lurking just beneath those oily waters. It waited there each night, and though it never broke the surface, he was certain that if it had, it would have crushed the life out of all of them without issue. Even Brother Faerbar was no match for that much darkness lurking in those still nighttime waters.

 Ch. 61 - Petty Little Lives

    The Lich watched its finest craftsmen as they made the final few stitches on the spine of its dread book with some small part of its mind even as it gazed out over the turmoil of its kingdom. Now it was drinking deep of that suffering, but as soon as the blood-red sun finished setting, it would be time to complete the spells and unite its latest victim¡¯s body and soul once more. For now, though, it was content to enjoy the view. The Shrines were burning in every town and village along the length of the Oroza now, and the Lich¡¯s pet goddess was struggling against her chains even as she burned with them. She could feel the suffering of those who loved her most in the same way that she¡¯d been able to feel it as the Lich had slowly poisoned the souls of her most devout.


    Both the darkness and the light had violated her in this sense, but she could do nothing about either, not as long as she was merely a focal point for such a terrible master. She still managed to resist the magics that chained her from time to time, but years of captivity had all but broken the river Goddess¡¯s spirit. Her purpose was to constantly absorb torrents of power only to have them stripped away while the Lich filled whole reservoirs with her tears, drop by drop. Usually, this suffering was a private treasure, but today it shared the view with someone who would soon know his own personal brand of hell as a hint of things to come.


    ¡°She will remember this moment forever,¡± the Lich intoned to his audience of one. ¡°Whereas I will forget it ever happened in time, I always do. A month? A season? A year? How could I ever hope to remember every torment I inflict on this miserable world? When the darkness overshadows everything, these small sadnesses will be erased like everything else.¡±


    The maelstrom of souls that was its heart of darkness was so tumultuous and chaotic that it often had trouble remembering anything but its current obsession and the next steps of its great work. Today in between thoughts about the mysteries of flight and breaks to enjoy the continuing efforts of Siddrim¡¯s dogs as they ravaged the countryside, all it could think about was its newest creation which was nearing completion, hour by hour. The tome was weighty by anyone¡¯s measure, but it wasn¡¯t the size of the thing that would define it when the construction was complete. It was the infinite darkness that would fill its pages, one black word at a time.


    ¡°But I cannot bear to lose even the smallest of my treasures anymore, and that is why I have created you. From now on, it will be your job. To remember everything that ever happens. You shall document my every whim and whisper so that nothing is lost. Likewise, every debt, every grudge, and every obligation will be recorded along with all the ways those debts are eventually repaid in blood so that everyone will get what it is they deserve when the time comes.¡± As the Lich¡¯s poison-drenched words echoed voicelessly in the darkness, the soul that was the target of that terrible message trembled from the skull that it was still bound to. The last thing it wanted was to be put to such a purpose, but it had no choice in the matter.


    When the world above finally drifted into night, the Lich turned away from the spectacle to find that its book now sat finished in the middle of the heptagram binding circle as it had been for the best part of the last hour, awaiting the next step in the process.


    An ugly thing, the large black tome measured a foot and a half tall, nearly a foot wide, and several inches thick. Though that wasn¡¯t enough space to fit an entire corpse, the Lich had done its very best to waste nothing. The book was bound in Kelvun¡¯s flesh so that his face could still be made out on the cover, his sinew had been used to stitch the thing, and even his bones had not gone to waste. Not only had they been used to make the glue for the binding, but they¡¯d also been pulverized and added to the pulped pages of religious scrolls and rare spell books to make up the terrible paper that was at the heart of this project. Though it might seem that the slender volume had perhaps 200 pages, there were a thousand times that many hidden inside the clever working, or at least there would be once the Lich¡¯s magic had activated the rest of them.


    Though its library of heads had served it well for decades as a repository of knowledge, they were not portable, and it would soon be time to centralize that power into a single implement that it could bring with it to the battlefields of the world above. The living might not realize that the darkness would soon be upon them. Still, every day drew closer to that dread confrontation whether they knew it or not.


    At an unspoken signal, zombies brought in seven severed heads and set them down at each corner of the star. In life, none of them had known a single thing about magic, but in death, all that mattered was that they were fresh meat that was less than a week old. They had been pilfered from the local graveyard shortly after the ceremonies ended and brought here to be dissected for parts.


    The locals of Blackwater might think that such places protected the dead, but the evil here ran deep, so only the first few feet of ground was truly consecrated. Beneath that lay the Lich¡¯s domain, and every week new bodies were delivered to it only to disappear into the depths like they had never been.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Their arms and legs would yet be used for new, outrageous war machines, but tonight their heads were nothing but extensions of the Lich¡¯s will. As one, they began to sing a complex seven-part harmony. It was less of a sonata than sacrilege, and note by note, it pulled Kelvun¡¯s screaming soul from where it had resided the last few weeks and into the infinite pages of the Lich¡¯s new library. In time, he might be joined in there with other souls as the complexity of their task increased, but for now, his little lordling would suffer alone under the burden of transcribing everything the Lich knew.


    Minute by minute the layers of enchantments and compulsions built up in a complex symphony of arcane cruelty that would have hurt the ears as much as the souls of any listeners if there had been anyone in that empty room to hear. Each line was a prohibition; it was a brand on Kelvun¡¯s soul. The book must do this, but it couldn¡¯t do that. It was a formula that had been borrowed from Krygain Mundi, a book that was meant for dealing with the diabolic, but there was no reason it couldn¡¯t work on the dead, so long as small alterations were made to reflect the true nature of the bound.


    Eventually, after several minutes, the singing reached a crescendo that verged on screeching as one of the heads'' vocal cords started to fray, while two more were beginning to smolder even as they screamed their commandments louder and louder. Just before its tiny little implements could burst into flame, the ritual was done, smothering the room in an eerie silence that lasted until it was disturbed by the brief shuffling of pages as the book stirred briefly.


    Judging the spell a success, a drudge was then allowed to bring the book to the Lich¡¯s throne room. It held it there motionless until the thing suddenly sprang to life in its lifeless hands, opening on its own to a random blank page as it waited expectantly for its first order.


    ¡°We will start the volume with your own terrible end, Kelvun,¡± the Lich gloated. ¡°You forgot that I existed, so we shall make certain that nothing else ever goes unremembered regarding our encounters.¡±


    Suddenly the book sprang to life as line after line of dark script appeared on the page. The ink was a mixture of blood and shadows, but the handwriting was Kelvun¡¯s formal penmanship. He¡¯d hated those lessons his tutors had forced on him over and over with a passion, and now he would spend the rest of time doing just that. Creating short lines of text that captured every detail of an event with clean loops and tight, well-spaced letters, the book started the section with ¡®The Life and Death of Kelvun Garvin.¡¯ It went on ceaselessly for seven pages, making notes about things that Kelvun had never been aware of in life as it gathered clues and facts from the vast darkness that was the Lich.


    In the end, it noted correctly that it had crossed the Lich three times and ¡®in his final attempt to cheat the darkness of its due, Kelvun met with a sudden violent end, which is the only possible way to pay back such debts when dealing with forces of this nature.¡¯ Obviously, if Kelvun had known that he would have happily paid double for the rest of his days in an effort to be as helpful to his dark benefactor as possible, but it was the Lich¡¯s knowledge that lent to the rash man the only wisdom he¡¯d ever had in the afterlife. The Lich was pleased to note that the document didn¡¯t fail to mention that Kelvun¡¯s surviving son was the product of an affair. That twisted the knife, though the Lich was surprised Kelvun hadn''t figured it out before then. After all, his wife had had ample time to spend with the many bards that entertained at his house while he was off on his own dalliances.


    That was one of the only reasons the Lich had spared the child, of course. A mewling infant would have made a lovely morsel in its banquet of death that night, but as the only living member of Kelvun¡¯s ¡°lineage,¡± the Lich knew that would forever irritate the tormented spirit and that the church would use the child to cement their legitimacy, as any group seeking to usurp power in the region would.


    To most, it would make no sense at all that the darkness was doing everything it could to invite the light into its domain, but it knew something they didn¡¯t. It was the first lesson that it had ever learned: the safest place to hide a treasure was a few feet under an empty treasure chest. The forces of light had already found and vanquished an evil in the form of the cult of the drowned lady. They would have no need to dig deeper and find out that she was little more than a hand puppet in the grand scheme of things. She''d never been at fault in the same way that the Garvin family had never really been in charge.


    Neither had done anything, yet it was their names that would bear the shame in the histories that would be written about such things. Not that history portrayed the reality of such events any more than bardic song writers did, of course. After all, Blackwater wasn¡¯t even a swamp anymore. It was the name of a growing river port and a style of beer that was brewed there. As a place, it no longer existed. It had been erased from the minds of the world.


    Where once there had been a swamp brimming with disease and the unquiet dead, there was now only rich black earth and more farms every year as the population continued to blossom like the crops in the fields. People sometimes disappeared, of course, and to a man, the region experienced terrible nightmares that no one was willing to talk about openly, but that was the price that they paid for their peace, and no one seemed to think it was a high one.

 Ch. 62 - Dead Man Walking

    Paulus stumbled down the dark foothills, toward the light in the distance. He didn¡¯t know what the building was, or who might be living there, but it didn¡¯t matter. He was dying. He had been for days actually, but he knew that he didn¡¯t have long left now. His heart was pounding in his chest and his breathing was erratic and shallow. This morning he had left almost all of his meager possessions behind when the throbbing in his arm had woken him up. All he wanted to do now was to give his book to someone, anyone, who would get it to the proper authorities before the poison ran its course.


    It was almost a week ago that he had pulled the strange object from the mountain spring. In doing so, he had finally freed himself from the river goddess¡¯s final command, but in the process, he¡¯d let a single drop of that poison land on the back of his left hand without noticing.


    For the first day it had only been an itch, and he¡¯d thrilled in the beautiful weather and had the last of his bread to celebrate the completion of his quest. He hadn¡¯t even known there was a problem yet. He¡¯d just scratched at the spot now and then like his other bug bites as he walked down the mountain.


    However, what was a red bump on the first day, had turned into a painful canker by the second, and after that, the black tracery lines began to crawl slowly up all the arteries and veins beneath the surrounding skin, reaching closer and closer to his heart. At first the process was slow, but by the fourth day, the necrotic skin advanced with that darkness. It looked like some kind of snake bite, and hour by hour, and inch by inch, his arm began to rot away.


    At first Paulus was terrified by what was happening. He¡¯d tied his belt around his bicep as a tourniquet, cutting off blood to the arm, but that had stopped working tonight. Now he could feel the throbbing as the poison traveled deeper and deeper into his body. He was no longer afraid though, because now he knew what he must do.


    ¡°The records must be saved,¡± he murmured as he traveled inexorably forward staggering the whole way as he weaved back and forth like a drunkard. ¡°They have to know. They have to know the truth about everything that¡¯s happened, and everything that¡¯s going to happen¡­¡±


    Speaking was exhausting now, but it still moved him forward through his haze of pain. It reminded him of why he couldn¡¯t just lay down and die right there on the wet grass, even if it would have been the easiest thing in the world to do. That part he couldn¡¯t say out loud, because he might listen to himself. He was sure that if he paused long enough to undo the belt that held back the rot that had already ravaged and mummified his left arm, he would be dead before he hit the ground.


    He paused a moment to listen. Hearing the sound of distant crows. He was sure they¡¯d been following him for the last few days. They might be gone every morning, but they were there every night he made camp, waiting for the day he would fall asleep and never wake up. They were ready and waiting to pick his bones clean and devour his brains for all the secrets he contained to spread them to gods knew who, but he wasn¡¯t going to let that happen.


    ¡°At least the poison in my veins will make sure that they didn¡¯t live to tell anyone,¡± he whispered to himself with a chuckle that quickly became a racking cough.


    Paulus forced himself to keep walking though, even through that. He had to; he knew that if he stopped it was all over.


    He¡¯d thought about cutting the hand off days ago, but he¡¯d lacked the will to do what was necessary, and now he was paying the price. That, and the fact that his blade had almost completely rusted through by the time he¡¯d noticed there was a problem.


    ¡°Almost there,¡± he reminded himself as he stepped onto a dirt footpath. That meant that lots of feet had been through here, he realized, and at least a few people would be connected to those feet, so he was definitely going the right way.


    Soon he found walls he could stagger against. A waist high fieldstone enclosure was the first, but soon there were thatched outbuildings too. Soon enough cobblestone appeared beneath his feet, and he could see other, larger buildings looming up out of the dark as he approached some kind of small-town square.


    ¡°Help!¡± he called out, as he continued to stagger forward. His voice didn¡¯t carry very far. It wasn¡¯t even loud in his own ears because he couldn¡¯t quite catch is breath anymore. ¡°I-I¡¯m dying¡­ and I need¡­ I need¡­¡±


    Now that he was in the square proper, he looked into a second story window to see a woman. Paulus opened his mouth, but his words were taken away by the look of disgust she¡¯d given him. Rather than help him, she made a sign of warding and then pulled the shutters closed, leaving him tottering in the dark. Part of him wouldn¡¯t believe that a decent person as that woman so clearly had been could have turned him away like that, and he reached out to her even as he collapsed backwards onto the cobblestones.


    From his view on the ground, he could finally see what it was he¡¯d been walking toward. It was one of Siddrim¡¯s eternal flames perched atop the little white temple that they so favored. They didn¡¯t have them in every small village temple, but there had been two in Fallravea, and it had been a point of pride for his city and his family, that they''d been lit since the end of the last King¡¯s mourning period. It was that pride that forced him to roll over and force himself to his feet instead of laying down next to the well there and dying like he should have.


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    Clutching his papers to his chest, he staggered stiff limbed to the reinforced wooden door of the temple, and he pounded on it. There was no strength left in his arm though. Instead, all he could do was bang on it with his head while he leaned heavily against the cold wood, and slowly slumped down to his knees as the world began to swim around him.


    <hr>


    Sister Annise stumbled down the stairs half asleep to see what all the commotion was about only to find Priest Mallen and his acolytes wrestling the body of a hermit onto a table in the small clinic that the temple ran for the villagers of the area. Thankfully it was empty but for the four of them, but that still did nothing to explain what was happening at this late hour.


    ¡°What in the name of the light are you doing at such an infernal hour?¡± she demanded as she swept a few stray brown hairs out of her face. From all the noise she¡¯d heard, she¡¯d feared they were under some kind of attack, so she¡¯d only put on her cream-colored robe and left her white apron and shawl upstairs to investigate.


    The priest noticed immediately and rebuked her with his eyes, but he said nothing about it. ¡°A dying hermit was found on our door. He¡¯s been bitten by a snake I think, though it¡¯s much too late to save the arm.¡±


    As Priest Mallen spoke, his acolyte Theo moved out of the way for just a moment, but it was long enough to see the ghastly shriveled thing that was the old man''s left arm. No, he wasn¡¯t old, she corrected herself as they started to strip him. He was just haggard. From his birdsnest hair to his gnarled, blackened feet, he was every inch the holy man. Right down to his dangerously slender waistline and emaciated ribs.


    ¡°Well then, if you¡¯re here make yourself useful and burn these,¡± the priest said gesturing to a pile of wadded up robes and a sheave of disintegrating papers that might have once been a book. ¡°We¡¯ll do what we can for the poor bastard but I¡¯m not expecting much.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to heal him?¡± she asked hopefully. It would have been a strange thing for the priest to attempt. He almost always hoarded Siddrim¡¯s light, claiming that the recipient wasn¡¯t worth it, so this time she wasn¡¯t surprised when he shook his head and picked up a cleaver.


    ¡°Maybe if he survives the night,¡± the priest answered, cleaning the meat cleaver with a rag, ¡°but even with a tourniquet, I don¡¯t expect a man in his condition will survive the blood loss. Still - we must place it in the lord of light¡¯s hands.¡±


    Sister Annise brought her hand to her heart and bowed her head in reverence at the mention of her lord''s name, but only for as long as was necessary. Then she quickly scooped up the garbage that the priest had pointed out and fled the room. Though her heart went out to the man, she had no wish to see any butchery this evening. She was certain it would give her nightmares.


    She had only just gotten out of the infirmary door and shut it behind her when she heard the dull impact of metal on meat and gagged at the mental image that was briefly conjured up involuntarily in her mind.


    Though she was sure that the flash she saw wasn¡¯t the sight, she blamed that gift for the vivid imagination she was cursed with. She couldn¡¯t see anyone sick or in pain without knowing exactly what it would feel like, and when she was trying to assist someone who was vomiting, it was all she could do not to join them. It was a curse that she¡¯d lived with her whole life, and tonight she was grateful for Priest Mallen¡¯s low opinion of her as she went to the main fireplace and threw the lice infested robes onto the bed of coals, quickly making the flames leap to life for a moment in a burst of greasy brilliance.


    She was about to add the papers too without a second thought. After all, as soon as they were ash she could return to her bed. Sunrise would always come sooner than she would have liked. Something stayed her hand though, and instead she decided to flip through them first.


    At first she expected them to be mad religious ramblings, and at places, where the writing was still legible, they sometimes seemed to be. ¡°The poison river continues, no matter how far I travel into the mountains today. She follows me. Her and her storm clouds and only the light of the heavens keeps her lightning at bay,¡± she read to herself.


    Did that make the hermit some mad Orozian prophet then? If that was true then should she hold on to these for The Penitent Seekers of Truth? She wasn¡¯t sure, and ultimately it was hardly the place of a sister to decide these things. Still, she couldn¡¯t help but flip to another spot and read again.


    ¡°But the Count has no enemies. None I can point him to. He¡¯s already had me kill the few he had, which makes him both the villain and the hero of his own story. Still if I do not find a name to give him by our next meeting mine is certain to move a few places higher on the invisible list that the shadows put into his head.¡± This passage was almost nonsense, and if the words weren¡¯t enough to convince her that the man that had written it, the doodles around the edges of the book were certainly enough to do it. Random words were circled and linked to other random shapes. It was insane.


    She decided that more than anything she didn¡¯t want to deal with whatever this mystery was, and was about to flip the book closed, but as she gazed transfixed at the madness on the page, she felt herself start to freeze up. Then suddenly she could feel the edges of her brain quaking as a vision boiled up out of the edges of her mind and her body began to tremble. She was having a fit, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.


    Suddenly the fire fell away, leaving her in the dark room that expanded into an endless and expanding web of darkness. She could see people she didn¡¯t recognize connected in ways that she didn¡¯t understand in an infinite tangle of causality that spread further and further until it was the landscape itself, from the Wodenspines to the Oroza. From here she could see that the river flowed with blood, and that a town far to the south was on fire as a black sun set in the distance behind it all.


    It was a terrifying image, and almost as soon as it was done, she found herself on the floor, gasping and sobbing at a feeling of loss and fear too terrible to understand.

 Ch. 63 - City of the Dead

    His walk ever deeper was a timeless monotony, punctuated only by death, as Krulm¡¯venor slew each and every creature that crossed his path. Neither the slow-acting slimes nor the dreaded stone borers could hope to match the fury he could draw upon at any moment, thanks to the nearly limitless power of the Lich that he was tethered to. At first, the fire spirit welcomed these terrible bouts of violence because they were all that could distract him from thinking about the Allfather and wondering about all the other things he''d forgotten.


    Even thoroughly fireproof enemies like belchers and emberkin could not stand up to the strength of the steel skeleton that was his body. No matter how satisfying it was to rip his opponent¡¯s limb from bloody limb, though, the dwarf eventually grew to hate and then dread the encounters. This wasn¡¯t because it disliked striking down all the terrors that lurked in the dark, though, or purging the rust funguses and the acid spitters from the tunnels with fire the way that every dwarf wished they could.


    No, it was because every time there was violence, he could feel the goblin spirits that powered the bones of this body come alive and pollute his soul a little more. Each time they were roused by violence, his rigid, perfect dwarven soul was suffused by the slime of their simple existence, and even when the fight was over, some measure of that filth stayed behind.


    It was inescapable, and no matter how many kobold dens he destroyed or spider nests he cleansed, it wouldn¡¯t be enough to make up for the terrible poison sliding inside him one drop at a time. He could hear the whispers all the time now, even when he was at peace and the goblin tribes that dwelled within him were asleep. He thanked the All-father that at least he did not yet understand their gibbering, for he knew that when he¡¯d fallen that far, he would begin to grow truly mad.


    He didn¡¯t even feel the need to resist the Lich¡¯s orders anymore. There was no point. With this terrible punishment, the proud godling was slowly being hollowed out in the same way that the dread kobolds might ruin a city: with one small hole at a time, undermining what had taken a lifetime to create with their irresistible hunger. With each day and each fight, Krulm¡¯venor could feel the inevitability of what was happening to him, and it was with growing despair that he realized that even if he found a way to escape this body, it was likely that the taint he carried within him was permanent now, no matter how brightly he burned.


    So, he walked in misery, and it was only when Krulm¡¯venor reached the gates of the Ghen¡¯tal that he knew this was where it had all started. From the very moment he spied the tarnished crest of the city on the huge brass doors, the sundered mountain eclipsing the world axe, he knew he was home, just as he knew that behind those open doors stood a dead city populated by only dust and shadows.


    He''d barely stepped past the threshold when he felt the darkness boil up inside his skull.


    ¡°What is this place,¡± it whispered as they gazed out of his eyes together at the shadowed ruins of what was once one of the greatest cities beneath the world. ¡°You know it. You¡¯ve been here.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Krulm¡¯venor agreed, looking out into the darkness. Unlike some of the previous places he¡¯d been that were devoured by kobolds or ruined beyond recognition by goblins, Ghen¡¯tal was still just as perfect as the day he¡¯d left it for the last time. The city itself had become a mausoleum, and the bodies still lay where they¡¯d fallen when the last of the lights had been extinguished. ¡°I was born here, I lived my whole life here, and when I was raised again from the clutches of death to fight the darkness, I was born here a second time.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t until the words had left his mouth that he realized he¡¯d said far too much. These were the secrets that could truly hurt his people, but he¡¯d dwelled in the darkness alone for months now, with only the whispers in his head for company. So, when the darkness had asked a question, he¡¯d answered it automatically, and now he could feel the Lich salivating as it awaited more details.


    Krulm¡¯venor was extremely grateful when he saw movement in the darkness to distract both of their attention. For a moment, he thought it was goblins, but the red glowing eyes gave it away. Goblins wouldn¡¯t still be alive this deep with nothing to devour. It was just one of the silent wearing a goblin¡¯s shadow. Of course, the silent ones would still be here. Why wouldn¡¯t they? They¡¯d been the ones to sack the city so long ago.


    Just like the Lich, they weren¡¯t living creatures but a parody of life that existed only to snuff it out. Like other cities before it, Ghen¡¯tal had dug too deep and paid the price for it in the form of these horrors.


    Fortunately, these creatures of darkness were very susceptible to light. When he flared to life, he saw the closest creatures that were slinking through the rubble to ambush him, burst into greasy smoke as the light of his fires erased the darkness they needed to survive.


    Then just as suddenly as his fires had kindled, they vanished, preventing him from becoming a living inferno. A moment later, Krulm¡¯venor realized it was because the Lich had cut him off from its dark power.


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    ¡°No,¡± the darkness hissed painfully in his mind. ¡°Do nothing while I study these wonders, you ignorant swine, or I will find an even deeper pit of filth to bury you alive in!¡±


    With a command like that, the fire spirit could do nothing but stand there as more of the dark spirits began to swarm him. First, there were dozens and then hundreds, but he was not alive, so they could do nothing to him except wonder at the strange new thing that had invaded their home.


    When the boldest of the wretches, wearing the shadow of a venerable old dwarf, finally reached out with its magic to drain the life essence from his body, Krulm¡¯venor trembled in rage and revulsion. He was only mollified slightly when the Lich grasped onto that magical thread and absorbed the caster instead of the other way around.


    That little reversal was amusing to the fire spirit at least, even if the sudden chill of the alien soul going through him was incredibly disconcerting. What happened next, though, was that much worse. As soon as the Lich realized it could devour the silent in such a straightforward way, it began to do so voraciously.


    The creatures were only spirits of darkness wearing the shadows of their victims. There was nothing to them that one could touch. So, at first, the darkness that dwelled within him began to devour them one at a time, but soon that wasn¡¯t enough as its greed expanded to fill the size of the cavern. Five spirits, then ten¡­ The Silent were fleeing now, which was not something that Krulm¡¯venor had ever seen except for in the face of fire. Now the Wraith knew what it was looking for, though, and it stalked the city, hunting the creatures that had been hunters their whole lives until a moment ago.


    That idea might have filled the fire spirit with some measure of joy if it wasn¡¯t being forced to endure the torrent of dark magic from the very center of the vortex of darkness. Even if the cavern¡¯s light had grown too dim for him to see what was happening, he could certainly feel it. The first one of the silent shadows to be devoured had made it feel chill, but now the skeleton was frozen solid as its flames guttered until it was once more reduced to a single spark in its skull shape lantern of a head as it tried to endure the torrent of darkness that threatened to snuff it out completely.


    Of course, Krulm¡¯venor longed for such an outcome, but even as the metal skeleton that was its body got colder and colder and icicles began to grow on its ribcage, the final ember that was his tainted consciousness would not be snuffed out, no matter how much the Lich feasted on the souls of its enemies.


    Then, just as suddenly as it started, it was over. In only a few minutes, the Lich had defeated an enemy that tens of thousands of dwarven warriors had been unable to best. Only when that was done did it restore its power and allow the fires that burned within Krulm''venor''s bones to light once more.


    When he began to move again, he ignored the sounds of cracking ice that broke off him and fell to the stone floor below as the Lich spoke. ¡°Now that the pests have been taken care of, you begin again. Tell me of your rebirth here, hound.¡±


    Krulm''venor chafed at that, but after the harrowing experience he¡¯d just endured, he lacked the strength to fight the Lich. ¡°When a dwarf that has led a good life dies, they go to their promised reward in the afterlife. To Vargaren, the eternal forges, to labor on greater things than mortal minds can even imagine.¡± As he spoke, the fire spirit began to walk toward the now cold forges of Ghen¡¯tal in the center of town. ¡°But sometimes, when there is a great threat, as with the silent ones, a soul is brought back to this world as a spark of the divine to help the living and ensure a future for all dwarves.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t the whole truth, but Krulm¡¯venor desperately hoped it would be enough because it was treading right on the edge of terrible secrets that the Lich must never know.


    Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s dread relaxed slightly when the Lich finally whispered, ¡°Show me the city¡¯s cemetery. Show me where you keep your dead.¡±


    Silently the fire spirit moved to obey. There was no harm in it. He walked to the far wall and showed him the deathless halls of the mausoleum complex. It contained tens of thousands of dwarven dead, but to accommodate so many, all of them had been burned to bone and ash and placed in clan ossuaries.


    The Lich had him rip open several, which was an unconscionable act of defilement for Krulm''venor, but he obeyed just the same. In the end, that wasn¡¯t enough for the dread voice in his head, though, and the Lich finally said, ¡°You¡¯re hiding something from me, Krulm¡¯venor, but since you have given me such a banquet of darkness to feast upon, I will give you one final chance to tell me the truth before you are made to suffer for your defiance.¡±


    ¡°This is the only place in the city where the dead should ever be,¡± Krulm''venor swore, ¡°Right now, there are bodies in the streets, but normally¡ª¡±


    ¡°Silence,¡± the Lich¡¯s voice thundered, freezing his disobedient body in place once more. ¡°There is another place then. Outside the city perhaps, because I see no statues of kings or plaques for heroes in this dingey place. Tell me where the dwarves take the bodies of their elders and their hallowed dead.¡±


    Krulm¡¯venor didn¡¯t answer the question because doing so would have terrible consequences. He simply stood there as the pain started to rise, and the goblins boiled up out of his bones to gnaw at the corners of his soul.


    ¡°You will tell me what I wish to know, and if you wish to suffer until you are ready to do that, then so be it,¡± the Lich whispered.


    Krulm¡¯venor wanted to say something defiant. He wanted to tell the Lich to go to the pits and that he would never betray his people. He couldn¡¯t do any of that, though, because once the fire started to flare in earnest, he couldn¡¯t stop screaming.


    ¡°Then stay here and burn with your secrets until you¡¯ve learned the error of your ways.¡± The Lich said as it began to fade from his mind. ¡°Unlike your kin, no matter how long the flames assault you, you will never be allowed death''s sweet release.¡±

 Ch. 64 - Blight

    Once the rain started, it didn¡¯t stop until the parched land was transformed into mud. The Lich hadn¡¯t been the one to cause such widespread destruction, of course, but once he¡¯d given Oroza free rein to refill her river, it hadn¡¯t felt any need to hold her back while she thrashed and raged inside the abomination it had inflicted on her. Even as its underground reservoirs had filled, the river emptied, and no matter how many tears poured from the sky in memory of all of the good and loyal priestesses that had died for the sake of its schemes, it didn¡¯t care. So while the people suffered as a consequence of her suffering, the Lich merely reveled in both.


    At first, the long-suffering people of Greshen welcomed the rains. All they wanted in life was mild weather and healthy children. It took weeks for the torrential rains from the constant storms that swept in from the sea to the south that the goddess had mastered during her exile for relief to become torment. In the summer, boat traffic had ground to a halt in the face of a vanishing river, but in the winter, even as the barge traffic resumed, the roads had become almost impassible to wagons. Only small groups of riders with good horses could move about with any freedom as the whole world seemed to flood in an overreaction to everything the earth had endured earlier in the year.


    This caused no end to mudslides in the rural villages that dotted the Wodenspine range¡¯s foothills. Not all of these tragedies were random, though. The Lich targeted Garhaam and Bellmor to be swept away specifically. The former had to be buried in eight feet of mud because of the monastery it hosted, and the latter was devastated in a flash flood from the river it hugged in the hopes of displacing them because it was too close to the ever-expanding range of its pet lizardman tribes. The Lich¡¯s dark hand would never be noticed amidst all the other very natural tragedies that occurred that season, though. Everything would be blamed on their evil Lord, and all of that blame would be recorded by Kelvun¡¯s ghost.


    No amount of rain could wash away the blood that had been spilled in gutters for the last few weeks, though. Just like no amount of inquisition or persecution could purge the rot that was taking hold in granaries around the county. Indeed, even as tortures continued in the capital where the devout and the corrupted were sifted and judged, the ergot that blossomed amongst the grain stores of the city would only add fuel to the pyres of distrust.


    It would make good honest people see horrible things, and even if they weren¡¯t real, they would still damn others in their life to slow, painful deaths until they finally confessed to dark deeds they¡¯d never done. Trust quickly became rarer than food as once kind, happy neighbors would blame sicknesses in both their household and their farm animals on each other.


    Soon it wasn¡¯t just the official witch hunts that were being undertaken. Thanks to the late Lord¡¯s many plans, thousands of strangers had moved to the county in the last few years. They spoke to each other in unfamiliar dialects and accents that did nothing to help with mutual understanding. Sometimes they even worshiped foreign gods. It took only the slightest push from the darkness in the form of dreams for the people of every village and town to begin to blame their misfortunes on the new arrivals or the bitter old spinster that lived at the end of the road. Even with all of that, though, the darkest winter in memory had yet to truly explode while the rains tamped down the building fury.


    It was only when the cold started to arrive that tribunals were quickly put together and blessed by the local priests. Sometimes this was done in earnest fear, and other times it was with a jaded eye toward new lands and old grudges. In Isiqha, while winter flurries hinted at the heavy snows to come, old lady Fotenoi was fed to the flames because she was a midwife and an herbalist that had charged too much for her remedies during the drowning years ago. Elza Brom joined her for the crime of having dark eyes and two black cats that were said to feast on the souls of sickly children. The two were roasted in the town square by a group of villagers as eager to stay warm as they were to see the women punished.


    That winter, there would be few Yule feasts. Not even the mild weather could offset the lack of food and goodwill. They were hard, bleak times, even for the good and the righteous. To the Lich¡¯s annoyance, it did make the light burn brighter in a few as they sought redemption for the things they¡¯d done wrong. Most turned to envy instead, though, blaming others for everything that was going wrong in their life.


    In the span of little more than a year, the region that had been perceived as one of the richest of the southern domains had been brought to its knees. In truth, it had suffered for years in the wake of the goblin attacks, and only the outrageous revenues from the Count¡¯s gold mine had been able to hide all of that human misery behind a gilded veneer.


    The plague had touched Greshen only lightly, but nothing could stop the brewing famine, and this pleased the Lich greatly. Only in the area directly around Blackwater did it make even the smallest efforts to stem these terrible trends as the black mold and red rust spread amongst the last of the crops that still lingered in the fields and those that had been quickly harvested at the start of the storms.


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    The farmers had prayed for months for rain and left the crops in the ground until the very last minute in many places in the hopes that some miracle might save their harvest. The result was that their often-requested blessings built up and were delivered all at once as a curse. Though most families would survive for another planting, not all of them would, and that was a lesson that was hammered home by the children scavenging the empty fields for grains of wheat and barley along with the birds each day until the snow began falling once more.


    As the world slowly turned to ice, people¡¯s hearts were no exception, and the Lich watched with undisguised hunger as villages turned on their weakest members in an effort to save enough grain for the spring. Many people just disappeared into the snow that winter, and a rash of the elderly and infirm passed away in their sleep with a pillow pressed into their faces.


    The fact that the Lich had not been the one to force these once-good people to take such drastic action only pleased it more, and it rewarded the culprits for such things with unending dreams filled with guilt at what they¡¯d done and dread that they might yet be caught.


    The only area spared from the fog of distrust was the region immediately around Blackwater. It was a relative oasis of peace and plenty as the rest of the region descended into chaos. This was because of the Templar presence, of course, but there were also more pragmatic reasons. The Lich wanted to consolidate power and prestige on the heart of its growing empire, and while its tools for encouraging the men that dwelled there were limited, it had many, many tools to crush the smaller surrounding towns and villages.


    Fallravea itself would need no further efforts on the part of the darkness. By the time the holy men had finished with it, it was a broken husk of a city. All its buildings would still be standing, of course, but its heart had stopped beating, and its reputation was cursed by people as far away as the capital. Almost all of its best families were ruined, and its harsh governor that ruled in the name of the infant count, was a brutal tyrant that would soon crush all the joy that could be found within a day''s ride as he forced the River Goddess¡¯s worshipers to convert to his Lord of light.


    The Lich considered murdering the man just to see what the church would do about it, but for now, it stayed its hand and chose not to inflame them any further. Forcing a confrontation before the time was right would not be advantageous, and it was still concerned that it might have to disappear the templars roaming the area should they dig too deeply. After all - they foolishly thought they¡¯d already fought and defeated the worst monsters in the region, but nothing could have been further from the truth.


    They¡¯d beaten only what it had built specifically to test them and nothing more. It had other weapons in its arsenal that would easily grind them to dust. The juggernaut had been built specifically to counter light wielders. Its flesh had been soaked in darkness before it was reattached, and the eighth-inch thick verdigris-covered scales that had been riveted to its hide would resist the glare dozens of times better than the thin skin of its leviathan. Besides, if it succeeded in its current tests with its shadow dragon, then it could simply immolate the warriors from the sky whenever it desired, leaving the church no leads to chase it down with.


    The dragon flew now, but only because of the innumerable air spirits that had been woven into its cured flesh to render it as light as a feather. It was almost as fragile as one too now, and the Lich might have set the clumsy project aside to focus on other things were it not for its breath weapon.


    Drakes had no ability to belch fire naturally like their cousins, the true dragons, but thanks to the shocking influx of shadow energy that Krulm¡¯venor had located for it, the black fires that its creation could belch defied belief. Though they were not a limitless font of flame like the godling, the shadow dragon¡¯s breath was more devastating, erasing even towering trees in seconds as the darkness unmade the physicality of creation and whatever was caught in it effervesced into nothingness. In that sense, it was an acid, not a fire, but no matter what it was, it was lethal, and the Lich would hoard it until just the right moment before it unleashed it on an unsuspecting enemy.


    The only thing that stayed its hand now was the one-armed priest. Despite the darkness that so obviously festered in the wounded man¡¯s heart, his comrades had yet to drive a stake through it. This made the Lich wonder how much corruption they really saw and how much he could taint the man before they decided he had to be dealt with. It was an interesting experiment that the Lich would not rush, and since it could keep tabs on the troublesome group through the man¡¯s dreams, it saw no need to strike them down just yet.


    For now, it would do just what it had done for the last few months. Nothing. It would let the world think that good had won while it planned for the next phase. Darkness could never move openly until it had a way to banish the light in the same way that man currently used light to push back the dark, but that day was coming. All that the darkness needed was time to breed more sheep for the slaughter and the way that Blackwater was growing and would continue to grow as the famine took hold further inland. It would only be a few more years now before it was ready to challenge the gods themselves.

 Ch. 65 - A New Order

    The trip to the Red Hills had gone without issue. The rains hadn¡¯t affected their ride across the grasslands nearly as much as they¡¯d affected the roads to the east, which had been brought to a halt by the river. For Todd, it was a thoroughly nostalgic experience, and he reveled in the half-remembered views of the distant mountains that could only occasionally be seen through the stormclouds.


    The nights were miserable, so they stayed in the barns of righteous villagers where they could find them and in burned-out ruins or ghost towns that were still left over from the goblin war where they could not. One night, they even stayed in the overgrown remains of Todd¡¯s old village so that he could pay his respects to the rough stone marker that had been erected after all the fighting was done. The inscription was the same as all the others he had seen, save only for the village''s name. ¡®The good people of Widinreach will be avenged.¡¯ It was simple and a little trite after seeing so many similar monuments, but Todd appreciated it just the same.


    His parents would never have a proper grave, of course, because only a single mass grave for the victims that had been found was erected, as was the case with all of the ghost towns they¡¯d passed on the ride so far. Still, Todd left a bundle of wilting wildflowers and purple thistles he¡¯d been able to find. He even said a prayer to guide them into the light, though he had no evidence that they were actually buried here.


    Still, it gave him closure, which in turn gave him the confidence he¡¯d never had when they finally arrived to rename Garvin¡¯s Gift into something more appropriate. The templars had discussed it at length, and by the time they arrived to give the news of everything that had happened in Fallravea to the priest who ran the temple and orphanage, they¡¯d chosen Gelhome¡¯s Gift both because it sounded similar and because it was named for a saint as famous for being a pauper all of his life as for his good works.


    There were plenty of memories there, too, for Todd, and even some old friends that he could share his adventures with, but there were shadows as well. They stayed in Gelhome¡¯s Gift for only three days, and Todd spent half the time in the graveyard, thinking about all the awful things he¡¯d done to the people who had been so cruel to him. He hadn¡¯t killed anyone, of course, but still, every one of the boys that had made his life hell had managed to end up here because of his bad advice. Even if the goblins had been the ones that had killed the boys, Todd had still been the one to put them in harm¡¯s way.


    The fact that he knew for certain that he would have been the one to die if they hadn¡¯t didn¡¯t make him feel better, though, and that puzzled him. If he¡¯d killed a man who was trying to kill him today, he wouldn¡¯t have felt the least bit guilty about that, but this seemed more duplicitous somehow.


    Todd thought about that on the long, rainy canal ride back to Blackwater. Even while the other templars worried about what they might find in such a den of villainy, he could really only focus on his own guilt and on helping priest-candidate Verdenin. The ride had been hard on the injured man, but in spite of all the exertion and the damp, his injuries hadn¡¯t gotten reinfected and were slowly healing. The worst was definitely behind him, and he was gaining strength every day.


    Todd helped him with writing his missives, but also more basic things like helping him to dress and changing his bandages. He also watched him, though, and wondered at the darkness he saw growing in the man. At first, he thought it was just rage and despair as a result of the horrific injury that had been inflicted on him while fighting Siddrim¡¯s enemies, but as the days passed, he decided that there had to be more to it. So, the day after they arrived in Blackwater, he approached Brother Faerbar about it.


    ¡°Master, when should the darkness in the hearts of your allies worry you more than the darkness in the eyes of your enemy?¡± he asked while they sat alone under an awning, waiting for the rain to slacken so they could continue their sparring.


    ¡°And which of our allies troubles you so, Todd?¡± he asked patiently, as he always did.


    ¡°Can you not see? It has become so obvious that¡ª¡± Todd protested.


    ¡°There will be some darkness in the heart of almost everyone you ever fight beside,¡± Brother Faerbar cautioned him. ¡°You cannot fight evil for long and stay clean. No one can. Our priest candidate has only just regained his physical health after a grievous wound. Surely you can begrudge him some time for his soul to mend as well, can¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Of course, Master,¡± Todd answered, feeling suddenly ashamed at the very gentle admonishment. It was natural, he knew that, but like so many other things, that didn¡¯t stop him from worrying about it. ¡°I¡¯m not saying anyone is perfect or that they should be, except Siddrim, of course. Certainly, I¡¯m as flawed as anyone.¡±


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    ¡°Well, maybe not anyone,¡± the paladin laughed. ¡°But I wouldn¡¯t let you serve me if you didn¡¯t have a good heart. Knowing that makes me certain that whatever you¡¯ve done to stain your own soul was done for the best of reasons, and with time and effort, you may yet wash that taint away, just as the Oroza is already recovering.¡±


    ¡°You noticed it too?¡± Todd asked, surprised by the sudden shift in topic.


    ¡°The spiritual poison seeping from Fallravea upstream will take years to be cleansed,¡± Brother Faerbar said, looking past the courtyard they were sparring in into the water of the flooding river beyond it. ¡°But the healing has already begun. Do you see how the river floods? It is almost like it knows that the source of the poison has been removed and that, with enough water, it can flush it all away. It is nature healing itself as it should.¡±


    Todd considered that as he watched the river flow by. It was high enough now that it was only a few feet from the top of its channel and was threatening to overtop the piers. The toll chain that was a landmark for the area had long since disappeared under the murky brown waters, and though it would be ridiculous to call the water clean now, it was certainly cleaner than it had been on their last visit.


    Then, the water had been a clear blue-green color. Though not clear enough to see the bottom, there had also been a patchy grey oily slick of spiritual taint that clung to the water¡¯s surface that was almost entirely absent now. If he stared hard, he could still see a spot now and then, but it would appear that purging that awful temple was already doing some good.


    Uncomfortable with the lull in the conversation and the slowly building uncomfortable silence filled only by the drizzling rain, Todd finally said, ¡°The whole city is cleaner than I thought it would be. Spiritually, I mean.¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± Brother Faerbar answered. ¡°For all the evil stories that center on this area, it seems no worse than any of the other parts of the kingdom I have been to and better than a great many of them. There are problems that need to be fixed, of course. The poverty and the prostitution most of all, but if there is hope for the country of Greshen, it likely lies here.¡±


    ¡°Not Fallravea?¡± Todd asked, surprised. ¡°It¡¯s the bigger city.¡±


    ¡°Fallravea existed as the seat of governance and culture for the region for decades,¡± he agreed, ¡°but only because it was where the main sources of income met. The harvests traveled east to the city each fall, and all the trade traveled by it on the Oroza. Even if we hadn¡¯t had to purge the city of half its leading lights for dealing with unclean spirits, Blackwater still would have eclipsed it in a decade or two.¡±


    ¡°Because of the gold?¡± Todd asked.


    ¡°The gold and the canal,¡± the paladin nodded. ¡°What villages remain bring their goods south to the canal now instead of east to the capital. It¡¯s a faster, safer route without a swamp and its foul creatures to threaten them.¡±


    Todd opened his mouth to speak again, but his master interrupted. ¡°Alright, lad, let¡¯s work on your ripostes. I¡¯m sick of waiting for the rain. It¡¯s likely to drizzle like this for the rest of the day if we let it.¡±


    It did rain the whole day, and the next one, too, but the Templars didn¡¯t let that stop them from doing what they needed to do. They proceeded to round up the pimps and the pushers of vice and drink and then punished them publicly. Those who were the least tainted were invited to confess their sins publicly so that they could give testimony against the worst of the lot. Then they would be shriven and flogged before the true scum was hanged and left to dangle until they¡¯d rotted enough that their neck would no longer support the weight of their torso.


    Beyond busting up the brothels and the gambling dens, though, there was little for them to do. A review of the warehouses and the shipping records revealed little that was amiss, and even the tax collector, Jurgen, seemed like a man more obsessed with making sure the numbers were right than enriching himself in the process.


    There weren¡¯t even any rumors of evils or cults, and apparently, the zombies and the lizardmen that featured in so many stories about the swamp hadn¡¯t been seen in almost two decades since Count Leo Garvin, the Third, had been the ruler of the area. While Todd didn¡¯t doubt that the stories had a basis in reality, two decades without a monster, even before the swamp had been drained, made it difficult to believe that either one of those creatures had ever been a real threat.


    Once all of that was done, and there was seemingly no one left to bring to the light, they made a show of burning a small shrine to the Oroza at priest-candidate Verdenin¡¯s suggestion. It only had one full-time priestess. She was a kindly old woman who was full of light and did little more than cry as they shattered the shrine that she had spent years tending. They decided not to kill her or even to flog her since she was deemed to have been the part of the goddess¡¯s cult that had worshiped the good and the true.


    The decision didn¡¯t save her, though, and a few days later, she was found dead in the river. Rumors said that she¡¯d killed herself in grief for what the Templars had done to her goddess, and the town¡¯s attitude toward their saviors soured a bit after that, but Todd didn¡¯t care. Like everything else, he felt grief over her death just as keenly as if he¡¯d caused it, and he spent the afternoon digging her grave by himself in the rain as penance for the tragedy.


    The following day, Brother Faerbar announced that they would stay here the full month to root out evil as they were told to, but every man in the cadre agreed that there was little need for such thoroughness. Soon enough, they would be going back to the holy city to bury their dead and report the horrors they¡¯d seen to their superiors.

 Ch. 66 - Purified

    It was on the next to last day before they journeyed north to Siddrimar that priest-candidate Verdenin had a vision. Not far from the warfs, where the squat and ugly toll tower that held the near end of the chain stood, he saw a beautiful temple to Siddrim rising up to shine its light onto the polluted river. To hear him describe it, it was a building of pure light that would transcend anything that had ever been created before in all the reds, oranges, and pinks of a beautiful sunrise, forever showing the people of the region that Siddrim would light the way.


    No one doubted the priest-candidate¡¯s communication with the divine. However, it did occur to Todd as he helped the one-armed priest with the initial drawings and what he called the elevation that it was oddly specific. He¡¯d heard of many visions in his lessons about important saints and battle priests. Though some of them had been incredibly vivid, especially in regards to the bloody and terrible end times, none of them that he was aware of had come with measurements.


    As more details fell into place on the way back home, it was unlike any of the other temples he¡¯d been in over the years in a number of major ways. It featured the holy number seven quite strongly and would be built as a giant domed edifice with pillars in the outer apsis, as was tradition, but somehow the details were off. Todd had trouble putting his fingers on the differences at first, but he could not escape the way that the subtle reflected symmetry was unnatural.


    ¡°It will purify the river, I¡¯m sure of it,¡± the priest candidate had told them around the fire one night while he tried to explain the fountains that he¡¯d chosen especially strange placement for on the roof and near the outer walls. ¡°You see when the spray of water hangs over the oculus like a cloud, day and night, all you¡¯ll see from the inside is the rainbows of that prismatic spray!¡±


    That detail did sound lovely, although Todd had no idea why the priest-candidate thought that such a touch would be needed for a town like Blackwater when a city the size of Fallravea didn¡¯t even have a full temple. It made do with a small shrine, and Todd doubted that a larger, more beautiful edifice would have kept the deprivations of the Oroza at bay.


    This was one of many small conversations that the priest-candidate had either to share some strange detail or another or to ask the brothers to pray with him so he might have a better understanding of how this door should be oriented or what scene should play out on this stained-glass window. Publicly everyone humored the man, but privately they worried that he¡¯d gone quite mad to develop such a strange fixation. That was a fair worry for Todd because he could see Brother Verdenin in a way most of them could not, and to him, it looked like the darkness had taken root in the other man¡¯s heart and was slowly growing.


    That merely brought back the words of his Master about giving the man time for his soul to heal, and so he tried to be patient with Brother Verdenin. After all, until the day of his vision, the priest had not seemed particularly interested in anything but recording the minutia of the day for his superiors to read later, Todd thought. It was entirely possible that all of this was merely a coping mechanism.


    However, it was enough to make him seem like he was a different person. He didn¡¯t even complain about his missing arm or the quality of Todd¡¯s linework anymore. He was just a man possessed, and by the time they reached Fallravea, he had something resembling a plan. Drawn on all the spare pages of the notebook he¡¯d brought with him to record the events of the trip.


    The cadre stayed there almost a week to resupply and make their reports to the governor, and in all that time, Priest-candidate Verdenin was almost nowhere to be seen. Todd largely stuck with Brother Faerbar, and though they did examine the city more than once, Todd found that hopelessly depressing. The place was a shell devoid of happiness and light now.


    Ironically, one of the only truly happy people he saw the whole time he was there was the infant count that was kept in the governor¡¯s house. Todd would have expected that a child like that, who¡¯d survived such a terrible massacre, to be permanently stained by it. Instead, the child glowed with an inner light that seemed to defy the darkness that hung over everything else, and to him, that was inexplicable.


    Todd only found out what had happened to Brother Verdenin as they were preparing to leave the city. The man had found a few artisans that were suspected of evil acts and promised to intercede with his superiors on their behalf if only they would help him with his designs as penance. So he had spent the last week slaving away unceasingly with them to better realize his great work.


    The result was a giant set of scrolls displaying delicate linework that made the disturbing designs look somehow beautiful. A normal temple to their God was a bright, sunny affair, and few of the buildings outside of Siddrimar or the capital had much ornamentation. This building was quite ostentatious by comparison, containing fountains on the outside and golden decorations on the inside to demonstrate various important moments in the history of their religion. The entire building somehow managed to become a parable. Though the priest candidate explained that this was necessary to honor both the gold that Siddrim had blessed them with, as well as the river, which was now their burden to bear, it still seemed like an extravagant way to embody those important messages.


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    Todd didn¡¯t really care either way. He was happy enough to pray anywhere. To him, communing with his God under an open sky was just as good as kneeling beside a simple altar, and he was sure such funds could be better used in other places like the beleaguered Fallravea or any number of the dying villages that they¡¯d passed on their way here. To him, it looked like half of the region might wither and die without help.


    Ultimately it didn¡¯t matter what he thought, though. He wouldn¡¯t get a vote. Neither would priest-candidate Verdenin. Only the high priests could decide such things and given the low opinion of the whole county of Greshen right now, he thought they were unlikely to lift a finger to help the people of the area. The following month he would find out how wrong he was.


    <hr>


    The first thing that had to happen when all of them returned to the Courtyard of the Penitent, other than the funerals that were held immediately as large triumphant bonfires, was that all of them were purified. The weapons and armor of every member of the cadre were taken to be cleansed and given plain grey vestments while their clothing was burned. Then all of them stood a midnight vigil and fasted for 48 hours. It was only then that the darkness of everything that they¡¯d slain was said to be shriven from their scarred flesh, and they were permitted to travel deeper into the giant temple city for additional cleansing.


    From there, there were confessions to be made and baths to be taken, and after that things were quiet for the next few weeks. Brother Faerbar was lauded for the bravery of his men, and a feast was held in their honor that Todd had gotten more than a little drunk at.


    They¡¯d been back less than a month when he heard the news. ¡°Your favorite priest-candidate has been promoted,¡± Micah teased after their first round of sparring. ¡°He¡¯s priest Verdinen now, but the next time you see him, I guess you¡¯ll just be calling him your grace, or sir!¡±


    ¡°Why would I be seeing him again?¡± Todd asked, genuinely confused. The other boy gave him no answers, though. He just smiled like he had a secret and used it to tease Todd relentlessly as they fought, using that dread to gain an advantage.


    He hoped that was all it was, of course, but the exchange nibbled at the back of his mind, and it was only when his Master pulled him aside to chat the following evening that he knew it was true.


    ¡°But I don¡¯t want to go with him,¡± Todd protested after Brother Faerbar spent five minutes telling him about everything that was going to happen next.


    Apparently, the priest had not only been successful in petitioning the high council to let the man try to save the Oroza, but he¡¯d been promoted and requested Todd accompany him as part of the team, so Todd would be taking a few years participating in that great project instead of going out into the dark places of the world at his Master¡¯s side.


    ¡°All squires that serve The Order of Purgative Flame must spend some time serving another part of the church before they will be deemed worthy to become a Paladin,¡± Brother Faerbar said, sitting down next to his disappointed squire. ¡°You know this. You¡¯ve known that this day would come for a long while now.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Todd agreed, ¡°but I was hoping I could serve in the guard and stay here.¡±


    ¡°So you don¡¯t have to see the shades?¡± his Master asked.


    Todd nodded at that. ¡°So I don¡¯t have to see the shades,¡± he agreed.


    ¡°Such gifts were not made to hide behind these walls,¡± his Master said, putting his arm around Todd¡¯s shoulder and bringing him closer. ¡°We found nothing in Blackwater, but that doesn¡¯t mean that there was nothing to find.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡± Todd tried to interrupt the older man.


    ¡°And in all the weeks that Priest Verdenin has healed and regained his will to live,¡± Brother Faerbar continued, ¡°He has gained a newfound lust for design, but the darkness in his heart has not diminished.¡±


    They both laughed at that for a moment before Todd hazarded a guess. ¡°So, you¡¯re saying¡­ you want me to keep an eye on them?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m saying that since a full-fledged Templar would never be allowed to loiter in such a place, you might see things that others will not,¡± Brother Faerbar said, ¡°And if there is nothing to be found, then in a few years, you will return to the city and take your place here where you belong in my cadre.¡±


    That mollified Todd, and slowly the conversation turned to other topics. They spent the next couple hours talking about all of the perils and hazards that the Paladin thought the church was facing, both from the outside as well as from within and by the time Todd went to bed his heart was heavy with worry. Though he never would have refused his Master¡¯s order in the first place, now that he had a better sense of perspective, he could see the wisdom in the older man¡¯s actions. Though it was obvious he hadn¡¯t told his apprentice everything, it was equally obvious that even the Holy City wasn¡¯t quite so safe as he imagined.


    The next week they set out on the long trek back, and Todd thought it was quite telling that, unlike his former Master, his new one had chosen to return to Blackwater by boat. It was equally telling that the voyage was uneventful, apart from the stink of corruption from the still-fetid waters. Todd was untroubled, though, toward the end of the voyage, he did start to develop strange dreams.

 Ch. 67 - The Shadow of Dishonor

    It was on the night of winter¡¯s first full moon while he was bathing deep in the pits of warm mud in the place of honor he¡¯d earned that Tsson¡¯vek saw what the darkness had done to the drake he¡¯d killed years before. Its once-mottled scales of emerald and olive green had been transformed into a shimmering coat of inky blackness, and its wings had multiplied, but he was still sure of what he saw.


    The fearsome hunter that had been a living embodiment of grace and death was gone. In its place was a strange mockery of those characteristics. It flew neither as fast nor as far as the original drake had, and that saddened the lizardman.


    He thought about it often for weeks and then months, both when he lay with his kin and when he went off to hunt for food. There was no joy anymore when he looked to the top of their totem and saw the image of the drake¡¯s head that had been carved in his honor.


    For years Tsson¡¯vek had endured the secret shame of knowing that it was the poison gifts the darkness had given him that had killed the monster and not his own spear, but he¡¯d lived with that decision. Seeing it alive once more, though, was too far, and day by day, it ate at him.


    His only joy was in looking at his mate and his own hatchlings and seeing that they were perfectly happy and healthy. He was glad that the darkness was not something that passed in the blood or through touch and contact. It was a choice, and Tsson¡¯vek had chosen poorly.


    He was preoccupied with these thoughts for a long time, but it was only when he saw the abomination once more on another spring night that he flew into an inconsolable rage. There were no greater creatures left to prove to himself that he was strong enough to merit his undeserved honor, and he gnashed his teeth and howled at the sky. That was when he decided he would have to start killing if he wanted to cut this cancer out.


    Tsson¡¯vek waited until the light of day so that the darkness that dwelled within him all the time now was at its weakest, and then, during a hunt, he challenged Tsgrun and Vz¡¯lasst each in turn. The two of them were the next largest and most tainted hunters of the tribe, and Tsson¡¯vek could no longer bear to look at their black, mottled scales that were so similar to his own. They might not have had the crooked bones or as many of jagged scars, but they still stank of the unnatural corruption that he was surrounded by.


    The hunter fought his first rival with spears and parried the deadly blow that aimed for his heart before he impaled Tsgrun through the throat. He left him there choking on his own blood even though he knew that probably wouldn¡¯t be enough to kill him in the face of the dark gifts that they all had, but he had no time to finish the job properly as he was suddenly matched claw for claw and bite for bite with Vz¡¯lasst.


    Fights for dominance within the tribe were not uncommon, though they were rarely fatal. This was not about dominance, though. This was about fixing a terrible mistake. Even as he used his unnatural strength to rip the head off of his opponent while the smaller lizardman struggled feebly, he felt nothing but revulsion about what he¡¯d become. They¡¯d conquered this land and made it their own, but at what cost?


    Lost in thought for a moment, Tsson¡¯vek was brought back to reality as his other opponent recovered enough to stab Tsson¡¯vek in the side with an obsidian dagger. He quickly broke it off inside the wound, which would make healing harder, but it wouldn¡¯t be enough to turn the tide here.


    Staggering, Tsson¡¯vek turned back to the mortally wounded Tsgrun and yanked the spear in the other lizardman¡¯s throat out before he ripped it out with his teeth. Even then, the strength that the darkness had lent them was still strong enough that Tsgrun struggled weakly until Tsson¡¯vek¡¯s spear was lodged in his heart.


    Wounded, Tsson¡¯vek turned to fight other members of the tribe that were showing signs of the corruption he now hated. The juveniles from last year¡¯s hatching had seemed particularly vulnerable, and Tsson¡¯vek knew that if he didn¡¯t expunge such a stain now, then soon it would envelop the whole tribe.


    He would never get the chance to complete that task, though. Partway through his bloody purge, the darkness woke and turned its eye on him long enough to understand that this wasn¡¯t about bloodlust or ambition but about rejection. As soon as it discovered that fact, Tsson¡¯vek found himself unable to move. He collapsed bonelessly by the main firepit and lay there looking up at the totem pole he hated so much while the remaining members of the tribe restrained him.


    He didn¡¯t live in fear of what was going to happen to him. After all, Tsson¡¯vek was happy to die in exchange for the cleansing he¡¯d unleashed for the good of the tribe. In time he hoped that they would heal completely. After all, now their valley was largely safe. What need did any of them really have for the gifts of their dark master?


    He didn¡¯t have to wait long to find out what was going to happen to him. It was only just after sunset that he was bundled to the shore of their lake by four strong warriors and set upon the ferry that he¡¯d seen so often after they¡¯d brought down a particularly large creature that the darkness wished to feast upon.


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    This time the juggernaut was not here, but there was no need for it. Even without the vines that bound him hand and foot, Tsson¡¯vek could not move. All he could do was watch as the skeletal hooded bargeman poled out into the deeper waters.


    This part of the journey had always confused the lizardman, for there seemed to be no navigable waters between their high mountain valley and the swamp they¡¯d left below. There were streams that connected the two, it was true, but they were full of rapids and waterfalls that would make a vessel of this size dangerously impractical.


    Still, it didn¡¯t seem to matter. They spent the next hour going deeper and deeper into a fog bank, and then suddenly, the mist had cleared, and they were somewhere else entirely. They were now poling down a small canal toward a dark tunnel entrance, though there seemed to be no sign of the swamp he remembered. Instead, there were only tilled fields and distant mountains. It didn¡¯t seem possible that they¡¯d come so far from the place he¡¯d called home so quickly, but he wasn¡¯t aware of any other mountains in the area, so surely magic was at work here as well.


    The canal continued underground for a few minutes, and when it finally came to dock at its tiny stygian port, the ferryman waved his hands over the vines, and they shriveled into dust as it gestured for its passenger to proceed through a large verdigrised door.


    The inky darkness of that place was almost absolute when the ferry docked. The whole area was lit by a single brazier that burned with blue fire. As soon as Tsson¡¯vek walked toward that light, it began to dim, and another one further down the hall proceeded to light in its place, guiding him ever deeper into a labyrinth of twisted stone hallways from which it knew it would never escape.


    The lizardman followed the light as it moved, unable to resist the compulsion. His limbs were no longer his own, and all he could do was walk helplessly toward his ultimate fate; he did not know what that would be, but he still felt no fear. The only sensation left was the painful feeling of the knife twisting in his guts with every step, but there was nothing for it.


    The walk took longer than the ferry ride had, and the twisting path that he was led through seemed almost impossible to map or even traverse without a guide. It was only after almost half an hour of walking that he found a ramp that descended to a lower level. Here the tunnels were just as twisted and claustrophobic, of course, but they were also bustling with activity. In every room it passed, something was being done. Strange surgeons were splicing corpses together in one, and forges were being worked by dead men in another. Here was a room full of golden treasures, and there was a storage room full of nothing but rank upon rank of dead warriors who¡¯d been riveted inside their armor.


    Tsson¡¯vek couldn¡¯t understand many of the details or purposes behind them, but he didn¡¯t care. All of this only reinforced his view: he¡¯d made the correct decision. None of the zombies that crossed his path carrying this or that tried to stop him, and it was only when he reached a small, quiet room with a strange golden idol that he felt he could finally stop.


    Here the walls were gold, in strange patterns that reeked of magic to him, but that wasn¡¯t what caught Tsson¡¯vek¡¯s interest. In front of those odd walls were fellow lizardmen. Or rather, corpses of them. They were so old and so still that they had a layer of dust on them. Tsson¡¯vek knew that they were no mere trophies or decorations, though. They were warriors with cruel bronze blades that could easily hack him to pieces.


    Was this how he was to die, Tsson¡¯vek wondered. That was when he heard the deathless voice in his mind.


    ¡°You disappointed me, Tsson¡¯vek,¡± the darkness whispered. ¡°You were such a diligent warrior until today, but now you will be made to suffer for your betrayal.¡±


    Tsson¡¯vek growled, casting his gaze around before he looked again at the strange golden lump in the center of the room. Was that the darkness? Was that what he¡¯d feared all this time? It was nothing but a screaming corpse drizzled in molten metal. There was nothing to fear here, he realized, and he tensed his muscles, trying to break free of the control that had been placed on him so that he could rip the heart out of the thing that was polluting his people and save them once and for all.


    ¡°You will get the chance to save them,¡± the darkness whispered. ¡°After all, I¡¯ve finally figured out where your confused ferocity can be put to the best use in my plans.¡±


    The words came with an electric jolt of pain that brought the lizardman to his knees, but with that pain came clarity, and he slowly pushed himself back to his feet as he reached his clawed hand down to his wound.


    ¡°Impressive,¡± the darkness crooned in his ear, ¡°Even after all that, you think a traitor like you could ever hope to strike me down?¡±


    As the darkness spoke, Tsson¡¯vek pulled the jagged piece of obsidian from his side and raised it high. He would end this. Even as the pain blossomed into agony and those agonies multiplied until every single one of his scales was on fire, he fought it and took another step forward.


    He never got the chance to strike, though. While he dragged himself toward his goal an inch at a time, one of the lizardmen behind him that had stood there for uncounted years strode forward, and with two quick strokes, it severed Tsson¡¯vek¡¯s head from his body and then split that body in half from neck to tail, leaving its corpse a bloody ruin on the ground.


    No death came for him, though. Not even unconsciousness came to grant him mercy. Instead, the darkness let his severed head sit there and watch as the blood pooled before it finally whispered. ¡°Soon, you will serve me as loyally and as long as your forebearer who just ended your miserable life, for at last, I have found my shadow dragon.¡±

 Ch. 68 - Mournden

    Though he did not know whether the Lich left him for a week or a year, his screams echoed through the dead city for a long time as Krulm¡¯venor suffered in the same way he¡¯d made his own victims suffer. He¡¯d always enjoyed the brief screams that his victims would make until their lungs were too charred to breathe anymore, but the fire god was given no such relief. Instead, he screamed for an eternity in the dark, and the goblins trapped in his body with him feasted on his pain.


    By the time the Lich came back, he¡¯d bathed for so long in those guttural, chanting voices that he could no longer block them out, and only the touch of darkness as the Lich entered his mind was enough to cool the flames that had heated his metal bones until they¡¯d glowed a dull red-orange. When the question followed, the fire god had no more resistance to give, and could only lay there in defeat while the Lich asked his terrible question again.


    ¡°Are you ready to tell me where the dwarves take their honored dead?¡± it hissed in his mind, obviously enjoying the terrible pain he¡¯d endured for so long.


    ¡°Mournden,¡± Krulm¡¯venor said, trying not to whimper as he struggled to get control of his spasming body. ¡°It is a city built for the dead. It is a clanless fortress monastery, where the best of us from all the great cities of the region are interred. Even in the midst of war it lies forever at peace.¡±


    ¡°Then this is a place you must visit for me,¡± the Lich whispered, obviously pleased with the idea that it had found more souls to devour. ¡°If I am to defeat your All-Father one day, then I must know more about the dwarven soul. Proceed there at once, hound!¡±


    This terrible utterance was almost enough to put the steel back in Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s spine, but at soon as he opened his mouth to speak, a jolt of fear at the memory of all he¡¯d endured shot through him. Instead, all he could bring himself to say was, ¡°Yes¡­ master.¡± For years he¡¯d fought this thing inside him, and every attempt at resistance had made it worse. Now he couldn¡¯t imagine anything that would make him say no to the Lich again.


    The darkness vanished along with his self-respect, leaving him only with shame, both at what he¡¯d just done, and what he was about to do. Krulm¡¯venor stood immediately lest laying on the cold stone be interpreted as defiance by all the spirits that dwelled within him now. There would be no delaying this. Now that he knew he was in Ghen¡¯tal, he was no longer lost, he was home.


    He was at the heart of everything that had been lost because of his pride and his folly. He¡¯d attempted to usher in a golden age of perfection, but instead he¡¯d ended up here, with no one left to worship a city god, or to offer their prayers in the form of regular blows on the anvil. It was a tragedy, but it was going to get worse soon. Even the fact that the Lich had finally done what he¡¯d long thought impossible didn¡¯t help. It had evicted the shadows that had stolen this city for decades, but even that did not cheer him, because Krulm¡¯venor knew better than anyone in the world what that monster would do with the souls of his kin, and it disgusted him.


    As Krulm¡¯venor started walking a step at a time toward that hallowed place where he himself had once been interred, he would have wept if such a thing was possible. Instead, all he could do was listen to the voices in his head that feasted on his despair.


    ¡®Murderer! Traitor!¡¯ one whined particularly loudly, accusing him of doing terrible things he knew to be true.


    ¡®Bring us to the darkness. Let it help them as it has helped us and helps you¡­¡¯ another whispered, sending a shiver of revulsion up the fire god¡¯s spine. The darkness had done nothing to help him, and the fact that he could understand the goblins that had burrowed deep inside his soul was revolting enough. He hoped to die before they finally started making sense to him.


    They went on and on like that for hours. Even after he left the city and got his emotions under control they still whispered to him.


    ¡®Find us more to fight and to kill,¡¯ a feverish voice demanded. ¡®We want to kill and maim!¡¯


    Krulm¡¯venor had to grudgingly agree with that one. The only thing that would make him feel better was finding a nice kobold warren to exterminate or fungoid patch to burn down. That would slow the inevitable at least and give him a few hours.


    No matter how far he walked though, he found no victims to fight. That wasn¡¯t unusual. At this depth, monsters were few and clustered near the underground rivers. The rest of the deeps were a desert of cold, dark stone. If one went a few hundred feet further down then the world was full of shadows, and if they instead went a few hundred feet up, there was only a maze of goblin dens and kobold warrens. That was why dwarven settlements that were higher up were fortresses, and why there was basically nothing below them. Well, nothing but Mournden, but it was protected by the eternal flame, and no matter how the shadows circled, they could not hope to taste the souls that dwelled there.


    So, other than the occasional shadow that Krulm¡¯venor turned to ash, it was an uneventful journey for the most part, and though he did his very best to walk as slowly as possible, he eventually saw a light in the distance. Only then did the Lich rejoin him.


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    ¡°Is that your city of the dead?¡± the Lich asked.


    ¡°I thought it was, but it is moving, so it might yet be a procession leading there,¡± Krulm¡¯venor answered, hoping he was wrong.


    ¡°Show me,¡± the Lich rasped.


    A funeral procession to the sacred city was supposed to be the pinnacle of a long life well lived and the last thing Krulm''venor wanted to do was disrupt that. Still, he couldn¡¯t disobey, and he sped up so he could get a better look.


    He¡¯d been wrong. It was both a procession, and the city of the dead that he¡¯d seen. The thing was built as a tower that practically held up the earth in a giant cavern, but the thousand tiny windows radiated holy light into the darkness to keep everything that lingered there at bay. His heart sank as he realized he was already where he least wanted to be. Even as he got close enough that he could start to make out the familiar details of the ritual, he saw the gilded gates beyond them slowly swinging open. Still, as the Lich asked questions, Krulm¡¯venor explained.


    He told the darkness in his head about the lantern bearers that were as much tradition as protection at the beginning and end of the procession. A King¡¯s procession might have three or four of the giant many-lensed oil lamps, but this group only had two, and each was carried on long poles between two stout dwarves. They couldn¡¯t fight much while they were holding the delicate things, but this deep, light was the most powerful weapon of all.


    Not that it would have stopped Krulm¡¯venor from turning the lot of them into charred meat at the Lich¡¯s command, but then, something like him shouldn¡¯t even exist. He should have died with the forge fires of Ghen¡¯tal. If he didn¡¯t exist then the Lich would never have dug this deep. Arguably it might not have ever left the swamp without his help with the goblin armies. No - it was his desire to survive no matter the cost that had caused all this pain, and it was about to get so much worse, unless there was a miracle.


    By the time they reached the doors, Krulm¡¯venor was thankful that they¡¯d shut once more, and even as he approached crossbow bolts began to rain down on him from hidden arrow slits, but such toys were useless and those that did not sail cleanly through his ribs, bounced harmlessly off his steel skeleton. Deep down, he hoped that one of the warriors here would have the temerity to pick up one of the hallowed mithril weapons that were interred here along with their wielders and finally put him out of his misery, but he doubted that he would be so lucky.


    Instead, at the Lich¡¯s command he flared outward, and bathed the arrow slits in waves of unnatural blue flame, blinding and burning the dwarves that hid on the other side of the stone. He could hear bellows of shock and pain, but he could do little besides feel guilty about them before he turned the true power of his fire onto the near door.


    The gates of Mournden were giant 30-foot-tall doors of bronze covered in almost an inch of gold, so they were resistant to heat, but not immune to it, and by this point the Lich¡¯s magical reserves were practically limitless, so minute after minute he poured out the cold fire from his soul. It slowly intensified, as it shifted from blue to violet and finally an eye-searing white cyan. The cooler colors only splashed harmlessly off the doors, but the white flame was much more powerful. Not only was it bright enough to weaken the Lich¡¯s hold on him for a moment, but it drilled right through the metal, letting him slowly cut his own entrance through the foot-thick doors.


    After the better part of an hour of cutting, he finally stepped onto the consecrated ground of dwarven kings and smith-saints, and he could feel the change immediately as the holy power flared around him and arced painfully from his body to his limbs, but the Lich didn¡¯t care. It feasted on his suffering even as it stared out his eyes in wonder at the scene before it.


    Mournden was a thirty-story rotunda, with nothing more than a simple dais and a brazier glowing bright white in the center of the room. On the ground floor near the walls were the tombs of the region''s greatest heroes, and plaques marking their deeds for all to see, even though only the dead came here. Most of those tombs were decorated with the weapons they¡¯d used to achieve them, and axes of adamantine and mithril could be seen just as often as rune-scribed forging hammers.


    For those dwarves who¡¯d lived good, long lives, but failed to achieve such a pinnacle, their skulls were placed in positions of honor in one of ten thousand thousand cubbies that lined the wall in row after countless row of crystalline skulls. That was why only the old dead came here. It took centuries for dwarven bones to crystalize completely, and by the time a dwarf died of old age after almost four centuries of life, the skin and soft tissue practically dissolved on death, leaving only the mana-dense bones of centuries as a testament to that life, and all of that energy was given to the All-Father for generation after generation.


    What the Lich hadn¡¯t understood when it glimpsed the mosaic of the All-Father was that the art was not metaphorical. In a very real sense, their god was literally made up by the dead here, and in other places like Mournden. The All-Father was a fortress of dwarven spirituality, but even the mightiest fortress could be torn down brick by brick.


    Here at least though, there were defenders, ready to fight to the last dwarf to hold off the attack they didn¡¯t understand. Including the already injured monks, there were perhaps 50 dwarves ready to bring him down. Krulm¡¯venor prayed that would be enough and continued to move forward despite the pain of the smoldering ground beneath his feet and the coruscating holy fire that arced between his ribs. The light weakened him, but he knew it would not be enough. The Lich¡¯s flesh crafters and artisans had done their work too well.


    There was only one thing left to do, and though he knew not what the Lich would do to him if it failed, he still had to try. ¡°Kill me!¡± he yelled out, speaking in dwarven for the first time in a very long time. ¡°Kill me or the thing that did this will poison the All-Father and¡ª-¡±


    Krulm¡¯venor was interrupted by a cold agony, and not the burning sensation he¡¯d expected after such an act of defiance, as he felt the Lich putting him back into the little cage he¡¯d been kept in for years.


    ¡°You are always such a disappointment, my impotent godling,¡± the Lich whispered in his mind. ¡°Did you really think you could just endure the pain for a few minutes while you let them kill one of my servants. Just like I control every drudge and abomination, I control you, down to your fingers and toes. If you¡¯d prefer to watch as I slaughter your kin, rather than help, then so be it. I¡¯ll do this myself.¡±

 Ch. 69 - The Eternal Flame

    Even as the first waves of dwarves charged at him, the Lich began to flex and move in the unfamiliar body. It had only been the last few months that it had begun using drudges to practice walking and moving for the day when it finally had a body again. Not that it saw a need for such things normally. It was more efficient for it to sit there on its throne as the nerve center for the vast web of activity than to focus all its attention on a single place like this, but this was too important to let Krulm¡¯venor deny him such a prize. So, the Lich would tear its enemies apart itself.


    It was clumsy and slow as it moved but not as slow as the creatures of flesh that surrounded it. Krulm¡¯venor could have burned them all to ashes, but it lacked the flames of the other spirit, and its shadows would not be effective until the infernal light was doused, so it would do this the hard way.


    The Lich tapped his vast magical reserve to dampen the effect on him, as the infinite well of shadows in his soul counteracted the light. It would not make for an offensive weapon just now, but it would ablate the damage that the searing radiance inflicted on it so casually.


    The first warrior to attack it with a heavy war hammer managed to actually hit the Lich because it was too distracted with adjusting mana flows and trying to stay upright as it integrated with the metal skeleton. The blow was hard enough to crush a normal man¡¯s skull, but it just made the Lich take half a step back as it threatened to fall over before it lashed out in rage, taking his attacker¡¯s head clean off with a casual backhand.


    ¡°You will not touch me!¡± the Lich shouted loudly enough to echo.


    This was another reason that it didn¡¯t care for bodies. Safe in its throne room, it could never be harmed, but here? Now? One of these filthy creatures might actually damage it, and that was intolerable. It had touched tens of thousands of lives, but none of them were permitted to do the same to it. The thought was completely unacceptable, and the Lich would not stand for it.


    When the next dwarf swung his axe at it, the Lich was ready and stepped to the side before he snapped the presumptuous warrior¡¯s neck. Looking around the room, it grew weary just thinking about just how many times it would have to do something so demeaning. There were dozens of warriors still alive, and except for a few priests praying at an altar near the far wall, they were all bent on chopping the Lich into pieces if they could. If it only had full access to its shadow magic, it could have already ripped everyone¡¯s souls from their bodies.


    The Lich grabbed the nearest warrior by his arm and swung him about like a club, knocking the others out of its way as it continued toward the center of the room. It had made its decision. It would destroy the light first and then fight the dwarves in the dark. They tried to stop it, of course, but their attacks, though well coordinated, were far less threatening than the intensity of the light as it got closer and closer to the man-sized brazier in the center of the room.


    The Lich left a trail of corpses in its wake as it climbed the dais, and by the time it stood at the very threshold of the eternal flame, its steel bones were smoldering and sparking, while the annihilation of opposite elements of dark and light that was occurring, emitted a foul black smoke from the parts of it that were steadily burning away. This forced the Lich to pour out even more power just to keep its hands from disintegrating as it grasped the lip and flipped the thing over. As it did so, it could hear Krulm¡¯venor screaming in its mind, which was a welcome sound. But the Lich was so focused on gloating to the godling that it almost missed the sound of the warhammer flying towards it.


    The Lich saw the danger at the last moment, but it was too late to dodge. That was just as well because it was too late for whomever had thrown the glowing weapon to stop the Lich. At the moment of impact, the incandescent object was the only light it could see, but as it slammed into the Lich¡¯s chest, knocking it off the dais and sending it twenty feet across the room, it could see a second source of light, too: the thing that had thrown the weapon.


    ¡°Begone, foul demon!¡± the glowing dwarf roared. ¡°My light is not yours to dampen!¡±


    The Lich forced itself to stand, noting that several of its ribs had been cracked as it felt its own pain for the first time since the day that it died. It didn¡¯t like the sensation, though it did feel a flash of fear. Was a god itself confronting it? That wasn¡¯t supposed to happen yet. It wasn¡¯t the plan, and the Lich wasn¡¯t sure it would be able to handle such a thing. However, when it looked more closely, it saw what had happened. This was not a god. This was a mortal that had been infused with the powers of their deity in the same way it channeled its shadows through Krulm¡¯venor and Oroza so often.


    That was a more manageable threat, it decided as the glowing dwarf walked towards it.


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    ¡°You stand on the bones of heroes, and you shall die for desecrating them!¡± it called out, slamming the butt of its warhammer on the ground.


    That was no mere gesture. The Lich could feel the wave of energy that rippled outward in all directions. Then, seconds later, the ghosts of the very heroes that were buried in the ornamental tombs around the edge of the temple began to rise from their graves and pick up their weapons.


    ¡°You cannot kill me,¡± the Lich said as it walked towards its enemy, noticing that it was now limping slightly from the mighty blow. ¡°You cannot kill death, nor can you use the dead against it!¡±


    The Lich reached out and began to vie for control of the legion of translucent warriors advancing on it. If nothing else, it was a good gauge for the power of the thing that opposed it. It wasn¡¯t impressed, though. Standing there in the nearly dark room, it couldn¡¯t quite usurp that power because of the consecrated ground that weakened it, but its dwarvish enemy couldn¡¯t seem to fight it off either, and one by one, the ghostly warriors froze in place as the two of them tugged at the souls in a contest of control in which they were for the moment fairly evenly matched.


    ¡°Impertinent dog!¡± the avatar of the All-Father yelled. "You dare to touch the souls of my heroes!¡±


    ¡°You imperious buffoon,¡± the Lich responded. ¡°Dare you fight me in a place so dark?¡±


    The avatar realized its mistake and flared its aura all the brighter for it, but the Lich was already planning a terrible attack. It opened its mouth, and instead of screaming, a thousand of the shadows it had devoured in Ghen¡¯tal vomited forth. The shadowy warriors flickered to life and charged at the glowing avatar, each wearing the face of a dwarf they¡¯d devoured.


    Warriors of pure shadow would never reach their goal with that much light pouring off the dwarf. They weren¡¯t supposed to, though. They were just a distraction to weaken the light¡¯s hold on the ghosts it had raised. While they swarmed the avatar, it cast its gaze around the room until it found one of the ghosts with a crossbow. The weakness of the avatar was not in the god that puppeted it but the fragile vessel that held so much power.


    So, the Lich poured its indomitable will into that single spirit, crushing its ability to resist. Then, in a single instant, it turned and shot its bolt not at the metal skeleton on the dais but at the servant of its own god. The Lich would have smiled then if it had possessed lips. It watched the bolt fly through the air just as the heavenly avatar was finishing off the last of its shadowy horde penetrating the protective bubble of light, piercing the mortal beneath just above the sternum.


    ¡°You monster!¡± the thing cried out. ¡°You think this can stop a god with healing powers that you¡¯ll never understand? You¡ª¡±


    The bolt had just been one more distraction. It had seen the healing magics of Siddrim in great detail now, and it knew such a blow was nowhere near mortal, but every wound and distraction further weakened its hold on its own ghostly minions, and as the avatar paused to pull out the bolt and heal the wound the Lich was turning one ghostly warrior after another to its side.


    By the time the avatar of light was aware of what had happened, it was badly outnumbered, and the Lich¡¯s new forces were advancing. What happened next was not a battle but a slaughter. The living could not hope to face the dead, and some wouldn¡¯t even raise a weapon against a hero they had such a high opinion of, but that would not save them, and one by one, life was massacred in the room until the only person still breathing was the dwarven avatar.


    He¡¯d done everything he could to save himself, and his skin was now bronze, and the healing magics kept a dozen fatal wounds from overpowering him, but he no longer had a chance. Even as the Lich closed in on him with an utterly normal battle axe, the dying avatar tried to overwhelm him with blasts of holy light and forge fires. The latter was useless, and the former was painful, though hardly dangerous.


    ¡°The All-Father will hunt you down, you monster!¡± the avatar of the divine said while the cruel, twisted skeleton stood above him. "He will find you, and you¡¯ll¡ª¡±


    Those were its last words, and the Lich clumsily brought the axe down on the man¡¯s head, splitting it in two.


    ¡°I hope he does,¡± the Lich rasped, ¡°You can tell your All-Father that I¡¯m coming for him next.¡±


    As the avatar died and the Lich devoured the last of the glowing spirits, it was finally once more alone in the dark with only the tiny guttering flame of Krulm¡¯venor to provide any light at all.


    The godling had mentioned that the shadows were only kept away by the light that the Lich had now extinguished, so it had expected that something might happen next, but the scale surprised even it. As the lights went out, suddenly, a tide of shadows swept into the building. Windows shattered, and some of the crystal skulls were knocked from their places of honor onto the catwalks in front of them as an umbric tide swept into the building like a physical thing.


    These creatures had no idea what it had done to their kind in the last place it had found them, as there had been no survivors, but here the things were much more numerous. How many centuries had they stirred and paced at the edge of the light, waiting for their chance to devour the dwarven souls laid to rest here, the Lich wondered.


    It didn¡¯t know, but it knew that they would not have a chance to steal its feast, and just like last time, it opened up the yawning whirlpool of power in its soul and devoured the endless tide before it even understood what was happening. After the first few seconds, the furthest shadows started to flee. They would be the only ones to escape because even as the Lich was enveloped in hoarfrost and ice, its hunger grew, and its reach expanded. It hadn¡¯t even touched the dwarven souls, but it would once it had finished dealing with these delicious creatures.

 Ch. 70 - Foundations

    The first several months Todd spent with Priest Verdenin was a dull and lonely time that made him miss the brothers he¡¯d spent the last couple of years fighting beside. There was nothing wrong with the man that Todd could put his finger on precisely, but his presence and the way that his superior did things chafed at him.


    It wasn¡¯t even the imperious way he used to treat Todd because he no longer seemed to value ordering him around to do menial things. Instead, the priest practically lived in his own world. He was constantly designing strange new plumbing fixtures or deciding what parable would be the most uplifting in the south-facing stained glass windows. If Todd hadn¡¯t known better, he would have been certain that Brother Verdenin had died and been replaced by someone else during their trips into the depths of Fallravea.


    From the riverboat trip to Blackwater to the way he organized things once he¡¯d arrived, he had Todd perpetually on edge. When he started unilaterally razing buildings for the site of Siddrim¡¯s future temple without so much as discussing it with the head of the city guard or the mayor of the burgeoning town, he¡¯d thought there would be a riot. Instead, people just accepted it, which struck Todd as odd.


    He¡¯d known that Brother Faerbar and his fellow templars had put the fear in this town, but he hadn¡¯t expected it to last for months in their absence. Todd and a few of his fellows could hardly be expected to stand against dozens or hundreds of angry men, but they never materialized.


    Instead, Priest Verdenin began to hire the excess riffraff as laborers to clear the area and install new brick streets to replace the crude rotted boards that were the current standard throughout the town. Todd wanted no part of that, of course, though he did take two trips up the canal in the following weeks to escort the one-armed priest while they looked at likely sandstone quarries near the banks of the waterway.


    It was a tense time for Todd, as he was made the leader of the small band of warriors assigned to protect the priest and his artisans. Every night he went to bed in his armor, fearing there¡¯d be an ambush from the dark, and every morning he woke up unharmed. It was a mystery, but one he eventually chalked up to his childhood fear of the monsters that called the Red Hills home.


    According to other members of the church that he¡¯d spoken with, the stones of Siddrim¡¯s temples were usually brought down from the mountains to the north, where there was a quarry with marble of the purest white. For the structure they were going to start building soon, though, the priest had received special dispensation to use sunrise colored sandstone found in the area.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see, it¡¯s not just about cost, but the beauty!¡± the priest said, setting several of the rock samples they¡¯d retrieved on the way back to the city. ¡°The only way we''ll ever inspire those ne¡¯er-do-wells is to give them a taste of Siddrim¡¯s grace they can¡¯t help but look at every day!¡±


    While Todd did have to admit that the shades of orange, pink, and red sandstone that the priest had chosen did look lovely together, and that they might create a very sunrise-like effect, he still harbored private reservations that he didn¡¯t know how to express. The importance wasn¡¯t just the color white, after all; it was the purity of the stone that came from such a high and distant field. It was the opposite of the red hills.


    If you¡¯d told him that the red color of the stone came from centuries of goblins murdering anyone that happened through there, Todd would have believed it. Centuries of mindless slaughter were pretty much the opposite of purity as far as he was concerned, but the only time Todd brought it up, the priest had laughed at him. ¡°There¡¯s one crucial fact your theory forgets, young man. Goblin blood is green. If it was really tainted by the cycle of death you describe, then the stones we¡¯ve spent the last week looking at would be olive, emerald, and forest, not orange, salmon, and coral.¡±


    Chagrined, Todd hadn¡¯t brought it up again, but the point festered. Eventually, he started to think he was going crazy. After all - they¡¯d been out in the red hills for more than a week all together but they hadn¡¯t suffered a single goblin attack. That seemed very unlikely to him. The Gift was still attacked almost every month, and the few villages left in the region also reported occasional attacks, but the small group of humans traveling alone in the wilderness had received almost no attention at all. It was almost as if the goblins had been ordered to leave their group alone, but that was impossible, wasn¡¯t it?


    While the first stones were being cut to lay the foundations, Todd spent those weeks consecrating and reconsecrating the ground upon which the temple would rest. Each time he finished, he felt his god¡¯s peace, but each morning he felt as if it had somehow faded a bit overnight. And the faint light he saw no longer shined as brightly as it once had. It was a conundrum, but one that he was forced, ultimately, to associate with the low quality of people that were doing the work of clearing the space and bringing in the stone.


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    Until the day that they held the ceremony for the laying of the cornerstone, Todd tried to stay away from his superior as much as possible, though he wouldn¡¯t have admitted it. He cleaned Siddrim¡¯s shrine, patrolled the back alleys looking for signs of villains, and took long rides through the countryside just to get away from the smell of the river, but the priest never seemed to care. Now that he had those artists he¡¯d found in Fallravea, he no longer needed Todd to write his letters, which frustrated him to no end since that was the reason he¡¯d come with the priest in the first place.


    Lately, he¡¯d been lost in the minutia of setting up a small workshop for the production of plaster casts and molds for all the ornate decorations that he¡¯d planned. Todd would have thought that they should focus on having walls to decorate first, but the priest obviously disagreed. This was on top of the stone carvers he¡¯d brought in from the capital to begin carving likenesses of the saints that the temple would be dedicated to.


    To Todd, all of this was putting the cart before the horse, but in the end, it wasn¡¯t his problem. His duty was to keep Brother Verdenin safe and to keep his eyes open for any hints that the evil inside the man might be growing. The priest was in no danger as long as he kept spending such vast sums of money to build his vision, though. Todd was sure of that. The residents of Blackwater were wealthier than they¡¯d ever been, thanks to the church¡¯s spending. At this point, perhaps a third of the growing town was connected to the project in one way or another.


    Todd never really appreciated that until he saw all of them at once, gathered on the prepared ground in front of the cornerstone where the priest gave his invocation for the dedication. There were hundreds of people in attendance, and though many of them were dull-eyed laborers that were obviously being forced to attend as they stared at their feet, the rest of them seemed to ardently believe in Brother Verdenin¡¯s great project. Todd found that shocking, but not as shocking as the blood he found on the cornerstone the next day.


    ¡°Brother Verdenin, you must come at once,¡± Todd said, waking his superior.


    ¡°Wha-what¡¯s happened?¡± he asked, still drowsing in his bed when he should have already been awake.


    Priests of Siddrim were required to wake with the sun, but due to Brother Verdenin¡¯s injury and the pain and weakness it caused him, he was permitted to sleep in as necessary, which turned out to be almost every day, much to Todd¡¯s dismay.


    ¡°Someone has desecrated the cornerstone!¡± Todd said breathlessly. ¡°You must come at once!¡±


    That at least got Brother Verdenin out of bed, and as he quickly dressed, Todd relayed to him what he¡¯d seen. ¡°Despite the drizzle of light rain, I¡¯d gone to the building site to say my prayers. When I got there though, I saw the sun rose over the water. That was when I noticed the cornerstone drenched in blood. There were footprints in the wet sand too, along with an aura of evil. I fear that last night some cult conducted some dark ritual there to taint our work.¡±


    They arrived only a few minutes later, but it had already begun to pour, and by the time they reached the stone, most of the blood he¡¯d seen just ten minutes before had washed away.


    ¡°Are you sure that what you saw wasn¡¯t just red stone dust?¡± the priest asked him skeptically. ¡°Because after carving in the words of¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know what I saw,¡± Todd shot back angrily, hurt that the priest would ever doubt him.


    ¡°Acolyte, I¡¯ve been very lax with you and your assignments, but this behavior is completely unacceptable,¡± the priest admonished him. ¡°Once you are dry, you are to copy the Psalms of Sorrow until you¡ª¡±


    ¡°But Brother Verdenin¡ª¡± Todd tried to interrupt, but he was cut off immediately.


    ¡°You will copy the Psalms of Sorrow, in seclusion, until you regret the way that you have treated a priest of your god!¡± he repeated himself in a way that would brook no argument before he stormed off, leaving Todd alone with no evidence but his own gut instincts that something was amiss and that somehow the priest that was admonishing him was in on it.


    Todd spent the next three days in his small room copying the same few pages over and over as he tried to find some amount of regret for his actions. He couldn¡¯t, though. In the end, the only thing he regretted was that he hadn¡¯t thought to somehow take the evidence with him or shelter it from the elements.


    Once he¡¯d decided that collusion was the only possible way he could explain what had happened, he managed to create the mien of compliance and contrition. He felt like a fraud for lying to his superior so, but he could no longer trust the man enough to tell him the truth.


    So instead of working with him, he began to spy on him. Instead of wandering around the town in search of some hidden conspiracy, he began to look for one in the construction site he¡¯d sworn to protect. Each day he got up and helped the workmen with their tasks or simply supervised them as they brought the stones in from the barge while the walls steadily grew, and though he saw nothing untoward, he was sure that he was on the right trail because the longer he persisted in helping, the more Brother Verdenin found excuses to send him away.


    ¡°Todd, please fetch these manifests from the tax clerk¡¯s office.¡±


    ¡°Todd, please ride upriver to see if my next shipment is on its way.¡±


    Every week it was something new, and almost always toward dusk. Even on the nights Todd doubled back and observed the masons hard at work on their ever-growing project, he still couldn¡¯t see anything obviously wrong, but his certainty only increased. Something was deeply wrong in Blackwater, and he needed to find out what, just like Brother Faerbar had tasked him.

 Ch. 71 - Brick by Brick

    From less than a hundred feet away, the Lich watched the structure rising just above its lair with great interest. Even though it should have hated the idea of a rival god building a grand temple on its very doorstep, it was fascinated by the process. This fascination wasn¡¯t limited to the physical either. It included the way the structure and the devotion of its builders resonated into the ether, trying to change the entire landscape. Anywhere else, it would have already dominated the region, but not here. Here, no matter how powerful the beacon, it was the Lich that held sway.


    Every day, something about it changed, and a new course of stones was set into place, or another pillar was erected. It couldn¡¯t look away because if it focused on something else, even for one night, opportunities would be lost. Compared to its usual efforts, the construction proceeded quite quickly, and day after day, the temple grew. That was only during daylight hours, though. Once the builders went home, its servants desecrated in a thousand little ways night after night. The remains of the minor sacrifice that young acolyte had found were the least of those efforts. The fools shouldn''t have trusted the rain to clean up their mess for them, but no real damage was done in the end.


    The boy''s investigations had hardly slowed it down, and everyone continued to do their part the moment the busybody walked away. Of course, some of the people who worked on fitting the stones together with great care knew they were accomplishing something greater than the goals of the church, but most did not. None of them knew they were working for it exactly. They just felt the need to obey and carry out their little acts of defiance. It was a game of shadows, and the darkness had been getting better about manipulating people without being too heavy-handed. When one was attempting to undermine the holy without making the entire work seem profane and tarnished enough for the foolish humans to start anew, one had to proceed slowly and carefully.


    An animal sacrifice here. A curse etched into the underside of a block there. Every piece of work was marred and blighted in ways that no one might ever notice. It would, though. It could see the abomination that was being erected, as every part of The Sunset Temple was turned into a house of cards so that it would be the perfect vessel for what came next.


    It knew how thin the layer of consecrated earth was and how little energy it would have to use to burn that flimsy barrier away to nothing. Gone were the days when the Lich needed to fear the might of a single temple. The priests might feel like they were building a fortress of faith, but there were already rats in the walls, and they had gnawed out most of the strength that should have been there, replacing it with nothing but darkness.


    Violating the new temple wasn¡¯t the only project the Lich was working on, of course. In the time since it had returned from the depths weeks ago, it had been very busy. It would have been content to leave the traitorous Krulm¡¯venor in a block of ice for decades as punishment for his latest slights, but the Lich found it difficult to stay angry at one of its favorite and most useful toys. Krulm¡¯venor might not be loyal or obedient, but he did have a knack for bringing new and interesting toys into the Lich¡¯s possession, and the anguish that the godling felt over the desecration it had been forced to play a part in was utterly exquisite to behold.


    After the Lich had killed the dwarvish avatar of the All-Father with Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s hands, devoured every last shadow, and shattered the ice that had restrained it while it devoured the darkness, the Lich had used the broken limbs of its enemies as paintbrushes to open a portal of shadows from Mournden to the depths of his own lair. Then it sent a small army of drudges in to loot that hallowed place until there was nothing left. It would never forget the way that the army of the dead poured into that distant place from so far away, grasping and clawing for every sacred dwarven relic that they could get their decaying fingers on.


    The dwarves had thought that an infinite distance from the surface would grant their dead eternal peace. They¡¯d been wrong.


    It had felt Krulm¡¯venor quailing in the back of its mind as The Lich dug up the bodies of heroes and their weapons and stole the bones of ten thousand elder dwarves. It had taken only a few days, and in the end, when the temple was nothing more than a dark and empty room with nothing but a few profane bloodstains to hint at what had happened, the Lich relinquished control of the godling and left it there with the commandment to go ever deeper into the dark.


    Krulm¡¯venor would venture deeper and deeper still. Even the dwarves had no idea what to expect beyond a certain point, but the Lich hungered to better understand the element of earth and the creatures that dwelled within it. It was certain that past the layer of darkness, where there were no more souls to steal, it would find something even stranger that it could use. Maybe even something that could finally unlock the secrets of aetheride.


    The Lich still only had two anti-elements in the form of stygium and cholerium, and it would need more information if it ever hoped to complete the equation and distill aetheride and strangulite. Sadly, without a proper example to study, the Lich had made little progress. It doubted that it would have ever figured out the complex nature of the other two substances without spirits of both elements to study. That made sense, though. You could only ever understand unlife by watching what happened to a human when it died, and everything inside it that existed to keep its heart beating slowly came to a stop.


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    The magic of the portal was only viable in two locations of perfect darkness, sadly, and even a hint of starlight without at least a dozen feet of bedrock to block out the irritating light would be enough to disrupt it. Still, it would be effective when it came time to confront the All-father and the cities that worshiped him directly. For now, that could wait, though, as the Lich focused on its inevitable showdown with the lord of light.


    Tsson¡¯vek had been growing used to his new body, too, though he was filled with nothing but hate and revulsion at the idea. The Lich¡¯s instincts, in this case, had been correct: it needed the spirit of a hunter to occupy the fearsome body of the dragon, and since it had no powerful air spirits to chain to it the way it had melded its river dragon and swamp dragon together, the mind of a reptile hunter was the next best choice.


    Of course, none of these minor projects were as important as the artifact it had focused most of its attention on for the last several months: its own body. Though the Lich generally saw no need for movement, it knew that when it came time to do battle with Siddrim, such things would be required in the same way that a mortal might don armor. The core of the Lich was a fragile mummified shell of a dead wizard, and it wouldn¡¯t be able to stand up to an armed mortal, let alone an angry god. Its encounter with a shard of the All-Father had made that very clear.


    Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s body had been built to take a surprising amount of abuse from the goblin souls that ran amuck inside it, and even so, two blows overflowing with divine might had been almost enough to shatter it. And those were just the physical attacks, the Lich reminded itself. Even worse than those hammer blows was the memory of the holy fire itself. It tried to burn away its steel fingers to nothing and would have succeeded, too, if the Lich hadn¡¯t had an ocean of darkness to draw upon.


    It had been a harrowing thing, but only a taste of the crucible that was now on the horizon. It was an inevitable conflict, of course. The Lich might have hidden away from it if it could, but it had already taken all of the lands and the souls that no one was likely to notice. Anything beyond the bounds it currently controlled would have to be fought for.


    So, it wielded its fleshcrafters as one, and they all stopped what they were doing and turned to the special section of its mortuary that was set aside for the bones of holy men that it had dared not touch for so long. Men like Kaligos had taught it to fear the light, but now it would use them to snuff it out for all time.


    The project the Lich envisioned was a complex one, all centered around the slowly beating heart of the Templar that he¡¯d never let die. The man¡¯s comrades might have burned the body and scattered the ashes, but they had no idea that the person they inflicted that torment on was still alive. It had been a delicious moment of accidental betrayal, and the Lich had feasted on it for days both during and after.


    What it needed now, though, wasn¡¯t betrayal but raw materials. A body built from ingredients enured to the light would be painful, but not so painful as being burned to dust in a conflagration of blinding incandescence. The Lich would happily wear an iron maiden into battle if it was enough to ensure victory.


    So, it would start with the heart of a hero and the bones of devout and holy men, and then it would layer those in steel and gold before covering the entire abomination in a layer of mithril armor. The result would be the mockery of the Templars that fought it at every turn, but that only added appeal for the Lich.


    It would need more than a body and armor that could hold back the light, though. It would need a weapon capable of penetrating its opponent without being annihilated by the forces of creation, too. That had been the most important lesson in its proxy duel with the All-Father. If the thing hadn¡¯t foolishly attempted to use ghosts to fight a lord of death, then the Lich would have struggled to land a clean blow.


    Even as its flesh crafters began to select the best bones for the task and bring them to the forges so they could be dipped in molten metal and then polished, the shape was already forming in its mind. It wasn¡¯t the clumsy armored form it had seen so many times on the heroes that had tried to invade its swamp, though. No, this would take more inspiration from the exquisite efficiency of insects that made up its most numerous branch of followers. The Lich would give its body three legs and four arms so that it could better defend itself in the fight ahead.


    Two eyes were likely too limiting as well, and it would have to decide how to cope with that after a few more experiments. Even the eyes would have to be tested lest it be blinded mid-duel. Even sapphires were likely too weak, so faceted onyx or obsidian would make a better choice. Of course, if its helmet had louvered blinders that it could manipulate to avoid the worst of it¡­ The Lich¡¯s mind trailed off as each improvement spawned ten more ideas, and each of those had iterative improvements of their own that might be implemented.


    The Lich passed those ideas off to be further explored by its library. It might not need such a creation for years yet, and there was no need to rush things. The head could wait until the body had been built and battle-tested. It might only ever be needed for a single fight, but that was a fight that the Lich could not afford to lose.

 Ch. 72 - True Form

    It wasn¡¯t until Todd had finally found the coven of cultists amongst the workers that he realized that his sight had somehow dulled in the last few months of being here. The workmen were from different regions and on various shifts. Still, following a hunch, he entered their camp late at night and found them worshiping a queer idol by firelight. He was, of course, outraged that these men were using their dirty hands to help build Brother Verdenin¡¯s great work, but he was more baffled that he could barely detect any evil in their dull eyes and wicked hearts.


    The next day when they reported for work, Todd had the guards arrest them. As much as he hated torture, he looked forward to putting them to the question so that they might tell him more about what other vipers lay in their midst. Priest Verdenin had other ideas, though, and ordered their execution almost immediately.


    ¡°But sir¡­ I¡ª¡± Todd protested.


    ¡°Silence,¡± Verdenin said in a voice filled with uncharacteristic authority. ¡°These currs have tainted our holy site, and all of their work must be cleansed. They deserve no mercy.¡±


    Though Todd largely agreed, he watched in disappointment as the guards carried out the priest¡¯s order. He understood how personally the priest took this project, but he felt certain that they¡¯d made an error here, but now he could do nothing to fix it.


    Todd spent much of the rest of the day trying to understand why he hadn¡¯t seen more darkness on them as he watched the river go by. There was less taint there than there had ever been, or at least that¡¯s how it seemed. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m just going blind,¡± he said to himself as he sat there. Maybe the water was as toxic as ever, but he just couldn¡¯t see it.


    That was when he decided he had to fast and purify himself if he wanted any answers. It was only once that decision was made that he went back to the Temple of Dawn to consult with the priest where it was impossible not to notice how much the building was taking shape now. In the six months since they¡¯d started work, a great deal had been done.


    The floor was in place now, save for a few mosaics where the strange plumbing needed to be connected first, and the fountain basins were all assembled on the outside of the growing walls. When all of this was done, the round building would practically be surrounded by its own moat, and the spray of crystal waters would be constant. Todd still thought that those details were utter folly; he had to admit that it would be a sight.


    The walls, too, were growing higher, and the effect of the vivid colors of sandstone was very striking, though perhaps a little darker than Brother Verdenin had intended. Though during the day, the waist-high walls looked like an especially vivid sunset, at dusk, it looked more like the sight of a bloody massacre to him. Only the central columns were complete now so that they could start to build the scaffolding for the dome, but in another year or two, the exterior would be complete, and not so long after that, the inside would be finished as well.


    And all it would cost was a small fortune, he thought ruefully.


    In the midst of the temple, in a tent that sat where the altar would eventually go, sat Brother Verdenin. For the last two months, it had slowly become his office, and these days it was rare for him to leave the site for more than a few minutes at a time. His work had become an obsession, and though Todd would have liked to believe that this was an act of sincere devotion, he secretly believed it was about vanity more than anything at this point.


    When Todd said he wanted to take a leave of absence to commune with Siddrim, the priest practically insisted. He told him that he should take as long as he needed. Brother Verdenin blew off his concerns about his sight with general aphorisms about how ¡°the powers and gifts of their Lord ebbed and flowed as needed, and near such a holy site, you obviously have no need for such things.¡±


    Todd thought that answer was especially self-serving for a man with so much darkness in his heart, but right now, Todd could barely see it, so he was hardly one to judge. He also worried that the priest so obviously wanted him away from this spot, though he still had no good answer as to why. Neither of these things stopped Todd from gathering his meager possessions and taking a ferry across the river. There was a monastery only a three-day ride from here, and Todd would pray on those questions there after he¡¯d been shriven and purified.


    . . .


    The order of St Thedocious was a penitent order, and they welcomed him. Though many of the brothers had taken vows of silence, the Abbot took the time to hear his confession and listen to his doubts.


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    ¡°Many are the follies of the holy city,¡± he agreed after Todd finished explaining the extravagant nature of the new temple and his misgivings about it. The Abbott did not elaborate further but put Todd to work weeding vegetable beds and shearing sheep. It was pointless, menial labor, but Todd found it infinitely more satisfying than anything he¡¯d done in Blackwater. The old brick building of the monastery would never hold a candle to the Temple of Sunset, of course, but that didn¡¯t matter. There was a holiness coming from its whitewashed exterior that no amount of gilding could ever hope to improve upon.


    Every day he worked hard, and every day he prayed for guidance, and slowly but surely, his senses began to sharpen and improve again. As soon as he noticed that he could see the holy light radiating from the Abbot, he was tempted to go right back to the Blackwater and test his vision, but he forced himself to wait. He¡¯d told Brother Verdenin that he would be gone for a full moon, and he aimed to do just that.


    So, day by day, he cleansed himself of whatever the taint was that clung to him during his time at Blackwater. These purges took the form of a series of bouts with an illness and increasingly strange dreams. Though he still worked in the fields with a fever, only prayer kept the sickness at bay. Between the vomiting and the sweating, it was as if his body was trying to remove some terrible poison.


    Eventually, after three weeks of suffering, the Abbott decided that he had been purified, and any further labors would only exacerbate his worsening condition. ¡°There was a shadow on you when you arrived, acolyte, but you have purged it. Now you must rest your body lest the Siddrim take you before it is time.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Todd insisted, ¡°I can do more. I must do¡­¡±


    As he stood to make his point, he very nearly collapsed. The Abbot said nothing beyond a knowing smile when Todd added, ¡°Well, perhaps I should rest more.¡±


    Ultimately Todd bowed to the older man¡¯s wisdom and rested for two full days before he made his long journey back. Though he hadn¡¯t enjoyed being treated like a child at the time, eventually, he was grateful that the man had stopped him because his rising fever made it quite apparent that he might not have survived another week of hard work like this. Neither healing magic nor bleeding had done much good, though sometimes that was the way with sickness. A wound was easy to heal with Siddrim¡¯s light, even if Todd wasn¡¯t particularly talented there, but sickness - well, that could indicate deeper problems in the body.


    Two days from the monastery and more than a day from the river, he began to hallucinate. If he was well, he would have been sure that the sight was showing him how evil and twisted the world around him had become, but because he¡¯d just ridden this way only a month ago, he knew that was impossible. There was no way that the trees had turned to bone or that the shadows danced at the signposts and crossroads. For that many unquiet dead to exist in this area, there would have to be untold numbers of mass graves, which simply wasn¡¯t possible.


    His mind would play tricks on him at random, and that was most noticeable when he passed groups of people on the road back to Blackwater. Some of the men he passed would look perfectly normal, and a few even flickered with the light of a life well lived, but others were stained so black by evil or were so withered by sin that they looked as grey as the zombies he¡¯d fought not long ago. In one case, Todd almost pulled his sword from his sheath to run someone through, but when he blinked and shook his head, he could see that it was not a gang of monsters but a man and his family. That moment terrified him, and he prayed for forgiveness that night before he drifted off into a dreamless slumber.


    The next day he reached the river, but he knew it was coming long before he arrived. He could see the beam of light from the heavens illuminating the area around the Temple of Dawn in pinks and reds, which were a stark contrast to the grey and beige that the rest of the world had become. Todd was so weak and feverish at this point that he was having trouble staying on his steed and clung weakly to its neck while he gazed off at the horizon.


    Where the shaft of light met the earth sat the walls of the temple, and there, the ground was so red it looked like a bloody war had been fought in his absence. He stared at that spot, and for a moment, he glimpsed something truly terrifying. Though the light radiated up into the heavens and across the plains holding back the evil of this fallen world, the darkness beneath the temple only festered and grew, and the light merely contrasted against it to make the darkness even darker. For a moment, Todd thought he could see something in that darkness. A dark, dread master pulling strings from the depths of its pit¡­ Then he fell off his saddle, vomiting blood.


    Todd lay there until nightfall, certain he was dying, when a trader found him and rushed him across to Blackwater. Todd was only awake intermittently during all this, but he was as weak as an infant. During the short ride and ferry trip before he was rushed to Brother Verdinen, Todd tried to warn them about what he had seen, but he lacked the words to announce his fears properly. Instead, he just babbled while the priest sought to heal him with the power of herbs and magic.


    The whole time he did, though, Todd could only see a monster wearing the priest¡¯s skin. He tried to pull away from his treatments as one vile concoction after another was forced down his throat, but between the leeches and the fever, he lacked the strength to do so. Todd imagined that he could see the one-armed priest as a man with two arms. That was impossible, of course, especially considering that one of the arms was made of pure shadow and coruscated with a poisonous violet sheen. While he was standing at the death¡¯s door, he saw many strange things.


    Brother Verdinen was by his side for days, ¡°Don¡¯t die on us, Todd, that¡¯s an order!¡± the priest said at one moment when Todd was at his weakest. Todd would have felt better about such a statement if it hadn¡¯t been said by someone with a dark, almost hungry look in their eyes.

 Ch. 73 - Anointed

    The next few weeks were among the worst of Todd¡¯s life as he tossed and turned feverishly in his sick bed. Sometimes he felt like he was receiving divine wisdom in the strange things he saw, and other times he was sure he was going quite mad as his mind turned inside out. One day he was being taken care of by a demon in the guise of a man, and then next, it was by the priest he¡¯d once nursed back to health in a similar way. Todd didn¡¯t know what to believe, but he was in no shape to take any action, regardless.


    When he was through the worst of it, Todd could no longer remember half of the things he¡¯d seen nor most of what he¡¯d said. They were the ravings of a mad man though, of that he was certain, and he¡¯d said things worth being ashamed of. He knew that he¡¯d condemned everyone for being tainted by the darkness, though, from the priest down to the doctor that treated him and the washerwoman that took care of him while the priest was busy elsewhere.


    It was only when his fever went down that the world started to return to normal. Instead of seeing everything as radiating light and darkness, the world slowly returned to the relative normalcy he¡¯d seen for so long: A little darkness clung to most of the residents of Blackwater, along with the river and the priest, but it was nothing like the apocalyptic visions he¡¯d seen when he was on death¡¯s door, and he regretted his accusations.


    Even though he had large gaps in his memories, a few images still haunted his dreams. He remembered the dread black hand of the priest extending from his stump like a creature that was made of shadows that lived inside the holy man and only crawled out when no one was looking. He also remembered the Temple of Dawn bleeding from its walls as the infinite darkness extended beneath it. He had no idea what to make of those things, but they filled his nightmares for the next few months while he recovered.


    He took it easy for a long time, letting even his practice slip as he focused on getting better, and even after his deathly pallor lessened, he still spent most days in the shade, watching the construction while he looked for details that might give him insight into why something still felt so wrong.


    It was during this time, too, that he realized that the town had grown into a small city in its own right. For months Todd had been so focused on rooting out imagined evils that he¡¯d still pictured Blackwater as the town he¡¯d first visited over a year ago with Brother Faerber. It was so much more than that now. For every brothel or shrine to the Oroza that they¡¯d destroyed between now and then, five new artisan workshops had sprung up. Of course, each of those provided Brother Verdenin with the complicated fixtures and decorations that were needed for every stage of construction, and of course, for every new group of artisans, another bakery or bathhouse opened up to accommodate the needs of so many wealthy clients. Todd couldn¡¯t walk down Brackenwald Street on the way to his boarding house each night without tripping over a barber or a bookseller.


    ¡°It¡¯s amazing how much growth happens just by spreading a little gold around,¡± he muttered in surprise one day when he¡¯d watched a fancy carriage rattle over the brick streets for the first time, unsure of who it belonged to.


    ¡°Gold is the seed corn of civilization,¡± Brother Verdenin said smoothly like he was reciting a proverb. ¡°Every spring, the farmer plants a crop and watches it multiply, and every fall, he saves part of that miracle to do the same the following year. Cities are grown in much the same way, and we will harvest their souls. For Siddrim, of course.¡±


    That last part sounded almost like an afterthought, and Todd thought that it was just one more sign of the priest¡¯s growing hubris, but he thought about it for days afterward for reasons he couldn¡¯t quite say, even after Brother Verdenin had mentioned that an important visitor would be arriving soon. If one wasn¡¯t harvesting souls for Siddrim after all, who would they be harvesting them for?


    Even though he still hadn¡¯t completely recovered from recent events, a few days after Todd celebrated his nineteenth name day, he was anointed and finally became a full-fledged Brother of the Light. This wasn¡¯t because of any achievement of his own, though. Sadly, it was because the Archbishop that was visiting Blackwater to check on the Temple of Dawn¡¯s progress wanted to conduct a ceremony worth recording for the sake of bragging rights.


    ¡°Henceforth, my boy, you shall be known as Brother Graff, and when the history of this beautiful place is written, it will say that Archbishop Dobriven was the first one to invoke the divine here on your behalf. Isn¡¯t that exciting?¡± the portly man asked as if that was supposed to mean something. ¡°You¡¯ll forever be a part of this place!¡±


    That Brother Faerbar hadn¡¯t been here made the whole thing almost meaningless in Todd¡¯s eyes, but the quality of the priest that had recited the words had somehow managed to make them completely worthless. It didn¡¯t matter what he said to men such as this. He didn¡¯t need his sight to see the corruption blossoming off of him.


    The Archbishop was a lifelong ladder climber in the holy city. He was so banal that he made Brother Verdenin look contrite and humble by comparison, which was a hard thing to do, Todd thought wryly.


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    In the end, Todd felt no different, and even though he thought he might feel cleaner or lighter once he¡¯d finally achieved the ranks of the elect. He was still the same old Todd, though, just with a little fragrant oil smeared on his forehead.


    Still, he¡¯d obeyed because that was the place of a warrior of light, but he hadn¡¯t been happy about it, nor about escorting the two of them around the room as the Priest and Archbishop discussed the motif for the stained glass windows, which were still half a year from installation.


    ¡°You think that Saint Etroven¡¯s temptation would be best here?¡± the Archbishop asked skeptically. ¡°He¡¯s a bit of an odd choice. Why not Saint Frank or the sisters of Karavar?¡±


    ¡°Well, - that¡¯s easy,¡± Priest Verdinen said with a smile. ¡°Because his temptation was said to start at sunset and last all through the night. What better symmetry of symbolism could you ask for?¡±


    They both laughed at that, but Todd stood there quietly. He didn¡¯t know all of the stories that the two of them discussed that afternoon as he stood there in his polished armor as an unnecessary honor guard, but he did know that one. It was an evil, libidinous tale, and though the moral was restraint and resistance, he had no idea why Brother Verdenin thought that was an appropriate tale to plaster on the front of his masterpiece.


    The question was answered that evening, at least in part when Todd was summoned to Brother Verdenin¡¯s tent. It was funny to Todd that the priest still slept in such a place given that the forms that would support the building of the dome made the whole thing more of a house than many of the buildings in town, but habits were habits, he supposed.


    ¡°The Archbishop asked if you will be returning with him to Siddrimar, you know, Brother Graff,¡± Brother Verdenin said casually, feeling him out. ¡°I¡¯m inclined to agree. You could finally be reunited with your old Master, but this time as an equal.¡±


    Todd¡¯s last name still sounded foreign to his ears. He¡¯d been called toad, Todd, acolyte, or squire for so long that it was practically another language.


    ¡°I thought he might,¡± Todd answered cryptically, ¡°But just the same, I would prefer to stay here. At least until this Temple is complete.¡±


    ¡°You would?¡± the priest asked, folding up his papers as he looked at Todd directly. ¡°I would have thought that you¡¯d want to go back to the light as soon as possible, so you could use your strength to fight against the darkness where you are most needed.¡±


    Todd gritted his teeth, annoyed by how transparently the older man was trying to manipulate him. Brother Verdenin might address him with the title of an equal, but it was clear that the priest still thought of Todd as a child and someone to be kept away from whatever secrets he was still keeping about this project.


    ¡°As much as I¡¯d love to fight the dark elsewhere, I have to see this project complete as I¡¯ve sworn I would,¡± Todd answered curtly. ¡°No one can release me from a vow like that once sworn. Still, it shouldn¡¯t be too much longer, right? Another year? Two?¡±


    ¡°Closer to two,¡± Brother Verdenin sighed. ¡°If you¡¯ve made up your mind, I won¡¯t force you, but I think you¡¯d be happier if you were back fighting alongside the rest of your cadre.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Todd said curtly before leaving.


    The exchange only further reaffirmed for him that there was still something here. Though Todd might owe the priest for saving his life when he¡¯d returned to Blackwater a few months ago on death¡¯s door, that didn¡¯t mean he was going to turn a blind eye to whatever Brother Verdenin was trying to accomplish here.


    It was unnatural, and Todd would sniff it out; somehow, he swore to himself with frustration. All he ended up with for his efforts, though, were sleepless nights as he stalked among the construction site looking for miscreants and jumping at shadows.


    He never found anything, though, except for the growing collection of statues that were populating the shrines and fountains. On this, at least, he thought that Brother Verdenin was doing some good. Some of them were so realistic that it was like they were people trapped under layers of plaster, stone, and gold.


    That was impossible, of course, but still, the effect was startling. Those works of art were lovelier than any of the marble statues he¡¯d seen in Siddrimar. They could look disturbing by the flickering light of a torch, but by the light of day, those same expressions were almost beatific.


    In the end, Todd was forced to conclude that perhaps the priest¡¯s sins were limited to the merely mundane. Perhaps he acted so strangely because he was embezzling some small part of his enormous funds for his own gain when all this was done. After all, if one gold piece out of every twenty or thirty went missing during such a costly project, who would know?


    Todd was even less interested in those sorts of crimes than he was in the games of status that determined rank in Siddrimar¡¯s pecking order, and he had no interest in going through the man¡¯s account books to try to catch him in a lie. In the end, despite his ardent desire to stay here and unwind some grand conspiracy, he was forced to conclude that he was the one that had clearly been imagining things, and spent more and more time to the west of Blackwater hunting down small goblin dens and destroying them.


    That, at least, was satisfying work, and though he earned himself a few new scars over the months that followed, he never did manage to shake the feeling that he¡¯d missed something, and though he wrote several letters to Brother Faerbar in that time, he was never able to share anything beyond progress reports because Todd¡¯s doubts were far too flimsy for the light of day.

 Ch. 74 - Heart of Darkness

    Krulm¡¯venor was a wretched, broken thing in mind, body, and soul. He¡¯d stood up to the Lich that held his leash for as long as he could, but after the last abomination, he was empty. His ribs were cracked, his pelvis was bent, and he walked with a perpetual limp that didn¡¯t hurt, though the endless echoing sounds of his step-drag, step-drag gait did eventually start to grate on him.


    That annoying, repetitive sound was a sweet melody compared to the sound of the goblins running rampant in his head. They hadn¡¯t stopped their incessant screaming and whispering, and there were times when Krulm¡¯venor bellowed in rage just to shut them out for a few seconds.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± one hissed.


    ¡°When will we get there?¡± another one rasped.


    Then they would argue and rage about how close they were to whatever was next and when they would next be able to rip something limb from limb. There were times when they discussed more visceral topics like that, that his hands would twitch, and he found himself throttling the neck of something that didn¡¯t exist.


    He¡¯d long since lost control of his body, but day by day, and trauma by trauma, Krulm¡¯venor was losing control of his mind as well.


    That it hadn¡¯t even punished him for trying to warn his people galled him more than anything. The Lich never forgot to punish the disobedient. That it hadn¡¯t bothered to do so yet meant only that it was biding its time and letting that axe hang above Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s neck for as long as the undead monster wished.


    He still walked though, ever deeper into the bowels of the earth, because he had no say in the matter anymore. He was deep in the eternal dead zone where nothing with a soul could survive for long against the vast darkness that dwelled there. He might have been deeper than any dwarf had gone before, but he took no pride in it. For all he knew this was his punishment: to walk forever into the darkness until he stopped existing.


    ¡°Feed us or we will feast on you instead,¡± a voice repeated over and over frantically in his mind, but he swatted it away.


    Schools of the empty swarmed around him sometimes, and occasionally large things moved in the darkness like unseen leviathans, but in both cases the Lich would assume control and devour them with Krulm¡¯venor''s mouth before leaving him to wander again. After a time, the denizens of this strange world learned to steer clear of the pale blue light that accompanied him as he wandered deeper into the cold dark tunnels.


    Truthfully, he didn¡¯t expect to ever find anything again. He expected that he would just limp for an eternity, gnashing his teeth at the idea of what the monster that owned him must be doing to the sacred dwarven dead. Then he saw the glow.


    Krulm¡¯venor was miles underground and knew for certain that there should be neither light nor life here, and yet, there, far in the distance of the titanic cavern he¡¯d found, was a speck of light. He found it strange, but he didn¡¯t let his shock stop him. The only thing that would await him for stopping without reason was pain.


    The light turned out to be a luminous fungus that glowed white-blue. It was incredibly faint, but in the absolute darkness he¡¯d just endured for weeks or months it might as well have been a beacon fire. First it was only here and there in small patches, but eventually the whole tunnel was full of the stuff, pushing back against the dark, and preventing the shadows from passing this way, he realized.


    For the first time in a long time that raised the specter that he wasn¡¯t alone, though he had no idea what could possibly live this deep. Though he didn¡¯t discover what was down here, he did see movement several times amongst the rocks and stalagmites of the tunnels he explored, but he could never quite see what it was. Slowly Krulm¡¯venor grew certain that he wasn¡¯t alone down here; that¡¯s when he discovered a sign.


    ¡°What is this language?¡± the Lich whispered in his head.


    ¡°Yessss¡­ tell us. Read it. Read it!¡± a voice in his mind sprang up, to repeat the Lich¡¯s order.


    Krulm¡¯venor could not give either of them a good answer though. ¡°It looks vaguely like dwarvish,¡± Krulm¡¯venor said hesitantly, though, that could have just been because it was carved into stone, or that he was losing his mind. ¡°It¡¯s not though. Too many curves. Too many spirals. Each of these is almost a dwarven letter but they don¡¯t add up to form any words.¡±


    ¡°If you cannot read it, then find me who wrote it!¡± the Lich commanded, and then it was gone again, leaving Krulm¡¯venor alone to wonder what he was supposed to do next.


    Though the sign was unreadable, it had two vaguely arrow-like shapes pointing two different ways at the fork in the road where he now stood, so he went left, following the path of the larger word. The result was more walking down dimly lit corridors. Though sometimes the color of the moss would shift from icy blue to an almost white or an aqua color, the intensity of dull, uniform light never changed, lending the entire place an air of surreality.


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    ¡°Why should there be so much light down this far,¡± he grumbled to himself.


    ¡°So we can find our prey,¡± a goblin hissed.


    ¡°Yes, find it, kill it!¡± more screamed. Krulm¡¯venor was horrified to find that he¡¯d mouthed those words, but before he could react to that, he noticed a small movement in one of the stones up ahead. The sounds he¡¯d made had started something, but he was quite sure the stone itself had moved not something behind it.


    Krulm¡¯venor approached the small stalagmite near the left wall of the winding tunnel, and when he got within a few feet, it took off running. It wasn¡¯t a stone at all, but a tiny little person, dressed as one.


    With all the bloodlust in his system, Krulm¡¯venor couldn¡¯t help but give chase like a hungry predator.


    His body couldn¡¯t hope to keep up though. Not with his foot dragging. So, grudgingly he bent forward and starting scrambling on all fours after the thing in giant, loping strides as his twisted form ate the ground. The Lich had always designed this skeleton with the proportions of goblins in mind, so its arms were a bit too long, and its legs were a bit too short to be comfortable for a dwarf, but the result was something perfectly suited to the monster he was slowly becoming as the goblins muddied his once clear mind and made him thirst for the blood of his tiny little prey.


    Even running as fast as he was, Krulm¡¯venor did not catch the tiny little dwarf-like creature until after it had reached a small hidden passage in the stone and sealed it behind it. The fire god was not about to let it get away though, and the secret door only intrigued the Lich that was now watching him all the more.


    Krulm¡¯venor pried the door open with his steel fingers and shattered the small entrance. He then pounded against the walls to widen it slightly, before he crawled through the gap. What he saw next would have taken his breath away, if he still had lungs to breathe.


    The strange cavern was a tiny little world, with fields and houses. There was even a river, and a fortress that the inhabitants were streaming toward. All of it was lit up by a large glowing crystal, mounted in the ceiling. The whole cavern had been molded into a tiny work of art, and the stone had been bent and melded with magic to create flowing, organic shapes which the small parts of his mind that were still wholly dwarven found beautiful in their simplicity. The rest of him simply wanted to destroy it all.


    The strange little things which he¡¯d decided were almost certainly gnomes, were screaming as they ran. The dwarves had legends of the tiny creatures, but Krulm¡¯venor had never seen any evidence that they were real, in life or death. He¡¯d assumed that they¡¯d existed at some point before the goblins had hunted them to extinction, but somehow, a few of them at least must have journeyed so deep into the depths that no one could ever find them or hurt them.


    Most of them were running anyway. Some were on the walls of their completely ineffective fortress that were a little taller than he was, readying their tiny little ballistas while he stomped through their tiny little world. Some of the small things were charging toward him too with weapons not much longer than his fingers. Their bravery didn¡¯t last long though, and all of them died within seconds without him even having to resort to flames as he crushed their little bodies in an orgy of bloody violence.


    They wouldn¡¯t have stood a chance against him at all, without unleashing their golem. Well - maybe it wasn¡¯t a golem, he thought as the creature began to congeal from the debris in front of him. One second, he was tearing down the curtain wall of the tiny fortress with his bare hands, and the next all the shattered stone and the bodies of the gnomish dead were congealing into a giant man shaped thing that was almost as large as he was.


    Krulm¡¯venor rose to his full height, and looked at it, unsure of what was going to happen next, when it suddenly lashed out with a solid upper-cut that lifted his several hundred-pound body of steel and bone off the ground and sent him sprawling. It hadn¡¯t hit him quite as hard as the All-Father¡¯s avatar had, but it had hit hard enough to hurt, and Krulm¡¯venor rolled out of the way before the thing could stomp him.


    He was fighting like a filthy goblin now he realized, scrambling to his hands and feet as he maneuvered out of the way. Their battle carried on across the cavern, and everywhere they went they left wreckage and death in their wake as the two-foot-tall inhabitants tried to find shelter. There was none though. Not once Krulm¡¯venor started to breathe fire.


    It did less than nothing to the golem or elemental or whatever it was, but it seemed to pain the thing to watch the gnomes die, and fire reached into the tiny nooks and crannies they were hiding in quite well.


    As the fight went on, the thing congealed from a thousand tiny rocks, into a single creature made of a single slab of stone, and it got stronger as that happened.


    ¡°Fascinating,¡± the Lich whispered.


    ¡°Murder! Death! Fire!¡± the goblins screamed.


    Krulm¡¯venor didn¡¯t listen to either of those voices though. All he did was try to shatter its opponent. For several minutes that was a fruitless endeavor, but finally it struck some weak spot in the things exterior, and it cracked like an egg, creating a long thin rift that revealed the hollow, geode-like interior of the thing.


    After that weakness was exposed, Krulm¡¯venor dodged the thing¡¯s blows, getting in close and grappling with the thing until he could pull it apart at the seams. Even if his mind was no longer truly dwarven, he understood how weak spots affected even the most complex creation, and now that he had an opening, the creature soon splintered into a hundred pieces, and all that was left was the thing¡¯s head in its hand.


    Krulm¡¯venor looked around at the holocaust it had created. Everything was death and smoke, which it gloried in enough for the goblins that burrowed into its mind to finally be still for a while. Only then did the fire spirit move to crush the quietly whimpering thing in his hands to dust, but the Lich stayed his hands.


    ¡°No, you fool,¡± it shouted. ¡°Carry that back to Mournden and I shall bring you home. Be careful not to let it touch stone the whole way, lest the earth spirits trapped inside of it escape! If you fail me in this, I will make your next body out of goblin shit. You¡¯ll need one since you¡¯ve ruined the one I built especially for you.¡±

 Ch. 75 - A One Armed Priest

    As he made his way down the mountains that spring, Paulus gave the city he once lived in a wide berth. He hadn¡¯t skipped Fallravea because he feared that he¡¯d be recognized but because he could see from a great distance that the place was even more fouled than the waters of the Oroza itself even after the Templars'' supposed purges.


    It didn¡¯t matter to him that he still had bags of gold and silver coins tucked away there, in places that were unlikely to ever be found. That wealth was nothing but bait for a trap as far as he was concerned. It was impossible for such things to stay pure in the face of so much death. Instead of marching through that cursed town, he journeyed from hamlet to village as he slowly worked his way around it before continuing south.


    ¡°They said the place had been purged, but I told Sister Annise that was no longer possible,¡± he muttered to himself as he went. ¡°If she¡¯d just read the figures and done the math herself, she would have seen that!¡±


    His trip had not been comfortable, but his life at the small temple he¡¯d stayed at for the last half year had hardly been better. Now that his health had improved enough that he could sleep in a barn without being taken by a fever, he needed to move on. There was so much to do but so little time left for him to do it.


    ¡°Doom is coming for us,¡± he muttered.


    He muttered that all the time now, often without realizing it. It was one of the reasons Priest Mallen''s encouragements for him to leave had been so vociferous of late. Well - that and the priest was jealous of Paulus¡¯s exalted rank.


    He might wear the simple brown robes of a penitent, but that was just a disguise. He knew that as thanks for all his efforts, Siddrim had made him a secret high priest of his flock. The Lord of Light had told him so in a vision the night he¡¯d lost his arm. Though it would never be common knowledge, it was an honor he¡¯d been forced to accept, even if his health was no longer the best.


    Despite his elevated rank, Paulus didn¡¯t let things go to his head. He carried nothing with him on this trek but a walking stick which he leaned on heavily, and a begging bowl which he used to share the wealth of the land with the generous people who worked it.


    Despite the hard times, the people were kind. Paulus had yet to go hungry. Instead, he¡¯d blessed infants, healed the sick with his one good hand, and feasted on the finest leftover food as he made his long slow journey south.


    He was going to the one place where a tragedy of unimaginable proportions might be stopped: Blackwater. It was an inauspicious name for a place where he hoped to save the world. It sounded more like the place where river pirates might spend their time between raids or where lizardmen might lie in wait to ambush unwary travelers, but all his notes had pointed to this critical crossroads, and if nothing was done, he feared that was where the world would soon end.


    ¡°My poor books,¡± he sighed. ¡°They must be so lonely without me.¡±


    He¡¯d left them in Sister Annise¡¯s care, but only because Paulus knew that if he left them with the priest, they would be burned as heresy.


    ¡°Not heresy,¡± Paulus had corrected the other men of the temple regularly, ¡°Historic. This is why Siddrim saved me, to help you understand how the calamity about to befall the world might yet be avoided!¡±


    No matter how many times Paulus had explained it to them, no one had ever been convinced enough to join him on his quest, so he would do it himself. Well, he would find the one who must do it himself, he corrected himself mentally. Even in his prime, Paulus had not been a fighter. He¡¯d wielded thugs and secrets like a lesser man might wield a sword.


    This time he wasn¡¯t going to have to pay anyone, though, because Siddrim was a generous God and had given him a champion. He just needed to find the lad. From the sketch he¡¯d made, the boy couldn¡¯t properly be called a boy anymore, but he still had a childish, virtuous heart. More importantly, he had a strong sword arm, and if someone like Paulus could succeed in removing the blindfold that had been tied around his bright hazel eyes, then they might yet avert the catastrophe that Paulus had seen so many times in his sleep.


    He tried not to think about it, but the very word ¡®catastrophe¡¯ brought terrible images to his mind. A shattered sun, temples on fire, monstrosities boiling out from the depths, and corpses rising from their own graves all flickered briefly through his imagination. It might have been the end of the world, but Paulus was going to stop it from ever happening. He had to, because no one else was going to.


    So, day after day, he continued south, and eventually, he found the fabled city itself. Well - it wasn¡¯t really a city - not like Fallravea. It was a large town on the verge of becoming something more, but it lacked the taint that the hoary old city he¡¯d grown up in always had. There were newer buildings along the waterfront, but even so, most of the town seemed to be made of hastily built shacks.


    It didn¡¯t even have walls or a gate, he scoffed as he slowly approached the one small watch tower that passed for security in the backwater.


    ¡°I¡¯m looking for the chosen one,¡± Paulus said to the first guard he laid eyes on. ¡°Do you know where I can find him?¡±


    ¡°Ummm¡­ I don¡¯t know who you mean, sir. If you could be more specific¡­¡± the young man with a spear answered nervously.


    ¡°Well, he¡¯s about your height,¡± Paulus sighed. ¡°He¡¯s either fair-haired or has hair the color of dun. He might have a secret birthmark, and he¡¯s a holy warrior whose mother was born on an auspicious day that was strongly in tune with the element of air. He has¡ª¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re looking for a holy warrior, there¡¯s only one in these parts that I know of,¡± the guard said, cutting Paulus off just when he was getting going. ¡°His name is Brother Graff, and you might be able to find him at the temple.¡±


    ¡°Might? Might?!¡± Paulus shouted, annoyed that he¡¯d been interrupted when he had so much more to say on the subject. ¡°And if he¡¯s not, what then? I¡¯m on urgent business for the temple, and the fate of the very world hangs in the balance, and the best you can do for me is might¡­¡±


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    Paulus would have continued that rant a good deal longer as well, but this time it was coughing that laid him low, and he spent the next minute hacking up a lung. That could happen sometimes when he got too excited.


    ¡°I suppose I could send a messenger around to find him for you if you like, sir, since it¡¯s temple business¡­¡± the guard answered uncertainly as he looked at Paulus like he was about to keel over at any moment.


    ¡°You do that, boy,¡± the old man said, patting him on the shoulder. ¡°You do that. I¡¯ll be at the temple. I¡¯m eager to see what you all have been building so hard down here.¡±


    He took the last leg of his long trip extra slowly while he recovered, which gave him a chance to appreciate the squat domed building as he slowly approached it. Though it was still obscured by a great deal of scaffolding, its sunset-colored walls and its gold dome were impossible to miss.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he said to himself with disappointment. From the way people had been going on about this magnificent work of art, he¡¯d honestly expected more. Honestly, the whole thing had a strange aura about it he couldn¡¯t quite put his finger on, at least not until he got inside and noticed the way the gazes of the statues lined up and he¡¯d cross-referenced them by the number of pillars and the contours of the light beams. This place was cursed.


    ¡°Can I help you,¡± a man said, walking up to him as he stood there, taking in all the strange new information that was pouring into his brain.


    Paulus spared the new voice a glance and was surprised to see another holy man addressing him. ¡°Well, look at that,¡± he mused, ¡°another one-armed priest. We find a couple more, and we can have ourselves a convocation.¡±


    ¡°Very amusing,¡± the stranger said, gesturing widely with his sole hand. ¡°I¡¯m Brother Verdenin, the priest of this temple; how may I address you, sir?¡±


    ¡°I am the secret grand high priest of the Order of the Ever-Present Watchers, but you may address me as Paulus on account of our shared disfigurement,¡± Paulus said glibly, returning his gaze to the walls as he started to notice something odd.


    ¡°The Order of the Ever-Present Watchers?¡± Brother Verdenin asked. ¡°I don¡¯t believe I¡¯ve ever heard of such a thing. Do you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, I see now,¡± Paulus interrupted as his eyes widened in horror. ¡°This is where it will begin. I see the blood on the walls and the fire from the sky¡ª¡±


    ¡°Leave us,¡± Brother Verdenin ordered the few craftsmen in the room. They¡¯d stopped working anyway, so their absence would be no loss. ¡°I will handle this. My poor brother has just lost his way. There¡¯s no blood here, Brother, only beautiful pink stones and brilliant red glass to light the way to those who still dwell in the dark.¡±


    ¡°Blood,¡± Paulus insisted, pointing around the room. Everywhere he looked, he saw blood. It was on the stones that made the walls, the pillars that held up the ceiling, and it was even on the gilded decorations.


    Paulus walked over to where the men had been getting ready to hang an angelic figure from the wall near the door and looked at it as blood started to seep out from under the plaster and the gilding. That was when he finally understood.


    ¡°Oh - these have bodies inside them to perfect their forms, don¡¯t they? They have¡ª Acchhhkkk¡­¡± As Paulus spoke, wheeling about the room and looking at the terrible depravity of the place they were in, the other priest suddenly attacked him, wrapping both his hands around Paulus¡¯ neck.


    Both hands? Paulus asked, struck by the strange thought, even in this moment of peril. He momentarily stopped his struggles even as the life was being wrung from him to stare at the other priest¡¯s newly grown arm. It was an abomination made entirely of shadow, and Paulus knew if he could just drag the other man a few feet into the light streaming down from the oculus, it would vanish like morning dew.


    He couldn¡¯t, though. He was too weak and getting weaker with every passing second. His salvation lay only a few feet away, but it might as well have been waiting for him in the temple with his papers and Sister Annise.


    ¡°Why,¡± Paulus gasped with his final breath. ¡°We both serve the light¡­¡±


    ¡°My master has plans for you and your devious mind,¡± Brother Verdenin answered without malice or regret. The other priest''s flat expression was the last thing that Paulus ever saw before the lights went out for good for poor old Paulus.


    <hr>


    It was only a few minutes later after the priest dragged the lifeless body of the madman from where it lay in the shadow of the pillar that Brother Verdenin had pinned him against into the pavilion he used as his personal chambers, that Brother Graff showed up. His spiritual arm had faded only seconds before the other man had entered the room, and Priest Verdenin was grateful for that. Such a thing would have been even more impossible to explain than the body.


    Todd didn¡¯t say anything at first. He just looked around the room expectantly before he asked.


    ¡°Is there¡­ was there someone here waiting for me?¡± he asked sheepishly.


    ¡°Should there be?¡± the priest asked, feigning disinterest.


    ¡°Well, a messenger from the city guard came to me while I was studying the scriptures at the book seller¡¯s and told me that a¡­ a one-armed priest wished to speak with me,¡± Todd said, trying and failing not to look at Brother Verdenin¡¯s missing arm.


    ¡°Do you know any other one-armed priests?¡± Brother Verdenin said with a laugh.


    ¡°Well, no, but the messenger described someone older and said¡ª¡± Todd started to answer.


    ¡°He was almost certainly confused,¡± Brother Verdenin said, letting his tent flap fall into place behind him. ¡°I was the one who sent for you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, okay,¡± Todd agreed uncertainly, ¡°What is it you need?¡±


    ¡°A number of tools have gone missing from the stone masons'' tents, and I fear there might be something darker afoot,¡± the priest lied. ¡°As you know - we are only weeks away from holding our first service, and it would be a shame if that were disrupted because we weren¡¯t vigilant enough.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t let that happen, sir,¡± Todd said, saluting before he rushed off to find the culprits that existed only in his imagination.


    That wasn¡¯t unusual. Brother Graff had spent the better part of the last two years chasing ghosts, Brother Verdenin thought with a smile. The man was hopeless. He couldn¡¯t even find a dead body a few feet from the corpse itself. Of course, all of the terrible medicines he¡¯d given the lad while he was dying, along with the terrible symptoms of his cholirum withdrawal had muted any supernatural gifts he might have once possessed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why I have to let him live,¡± the priest muttered to himself as he went inside to hide the body a little better. ¡°But the lord works in mysterious ways, and if he says that Todd is needed, then who am I to second guess such things.¡±


    Brother Verdenin doubted that Todd would come into his tent, but regardless, it wouldn¡¯t do for the corpse of the raving lunatic to be found so close to the completion of the temple. That would raise too many questions which would be impossible to answer. Regardless, the priest was sure that sometime tonight, it would simply disappear all on its own anyway.

 Ch. 76 - Saint Erdins Day

    Even though he spared a little time trying to locate the mysterious priest that the young guard was quite certain he saw, in the days following his meeting with Brother Verdenin, he never did find anything else. It was as if the strange one-armed man had appeared, spoken to exactly one guard, and then disappeared. Todd never did find the culprit behind the rash of thefts, either, which was frustrating. He was sure that his extra scrutiny prevented the thievery from metastasizing into something worse, though, and that was all he could do.


    In the weeks leading up to Saint Erdin''s Day, he did everything he could, not just to look for signs of evil that would seek to disrupt the temple¡¯s first service but to make sure it was a success. He worked tirelessly in Siddrim¡¯s name. He helped the workmen when they were short-handed, booked the rooms at the local inns for the visiting dignitaries, and even helped with the strange plumbing that was required to finally show off the temple in its full glory.


    Todd had known that plumbing existed, of course. The city of Siddrimar had lead pipes to bring in fresh water and sewers to remove the waste, as well. The capital city did, too, at least according to rumors. This far out in the country, though, very few buildings had such features. Though the Greshen palace had running water in the kitchens and to the fountains, even it had relied on chamber pots, and even though it was right next to the river, only the old city had even an open sewer, and it was a stinking cesspool in the summer.


    Blackwater, at least, didn¡¯t have that problem. Surrounded by water on two sides, it mostly just smelled of damp and mud year-round. Even if Brother Verdenin¡¯s fountain project would do nothing practical, Todd did have to admit to himself that it looked pretty once he¡¯d seen it turned on for the first time.


    The Temple of Sunrise was almost 80 feet in diameter. It was actually seventy-seven and seven-tenths across, and it was ringed by thirteen fountains, evenly spaced along the outside, along with four smaller ones on the gilded dome of the roof. He¡¯d never seen all of them active at once, but Todd had to admit that they were striking works of marble and alabaster and that the statues that had been chosen to depict different mythological scenes were incredibly detailed.


    None of the fountains that were built into the red- and orange-colored walls were as lovely as those on the roof. They didn¡¯t shoot streams of water like the lower fountains but instead depicted the handmaidens of light releasing a mist that cascaded over the dome¡¯s oculus in a way that could fill the whole temple with a prismatic spray of rainbow light, depending on the time of day.


    The first time Todd had seen that effect, it had taken his breath away, and he thought that perhaps he¡¯d misjudged the priest he¡¯d spent the last few years doubting. Brother Verdenin¡¯s tent was finally removed from the temple last week when the altar had been moved into place. Now Siddrim¡¯s light would fall onto it squarely at noon during the midsummer solstice, and even though that effect wouldn¡¯t be quite so pronounced during Saint Erdin¡¯s day, it would still make for a striking first service.


    ¡°This is a true masterwork,¡± Todd had confessed to the older man one day while he looked on in awe.


    ¡°And it¡¯s not even completed yet. After this, we still have to build the pews, carve the pillars, and paint the ceilings with the story of creation,¡± he said in a tone that was exhausted but satisfied. ¡°Only then will we have built a tiny slice of heaven here on earth that we might use to purify the Oroza and restore order to the region.¡±


    As far as Todd was concerned, the river was getting close to purified as it was, but once these festivities were over, he planned to travel to the northwest with a few men and go on another goblin hunt. There were rumors that they were getting bolder in the red hills, as well as along the coast, and Todd wouldn¡¯t stand for that. Not with what had happened with his village. He was going to purge them from this world if it was the last thing he did.


    Still, for now, he had to focus on the task at hand and as the final day got closer and closer, the scaffolding was removed, and everyone¡¯s focus turned to cleaning. It was a mundane task for a blooded warrior like Todd, but he didn¡¯t mind. He¡¯d spent more years cleaning under the supervision of priests and acolytes than he had swinging a mace or sword, and in Siddrim¡¯s eyes, cleanliness was almost as important as light. So they scrubbed and washed and made the main chamber ready, and once that was done, they hung the maroon banners, and all took a well-earned rest for the day before the ceremony.


    On that last day, Todd lingered in the temple after everyone else had gone to bathe and change for the feast to welcome Bishop Runsslow and his entourage into the city. It was the first time he¡¯d ever been alone in the building, and as he let himself take in all of the majesty of the nearly completed structure, he couldn¡¯t help but feel empty. It was odd.


    The light that he expected to radiate off such a masterwork simply wasn¡¯t there, and no matter how much he groped for it, the most he could find was a few thin trickles of holy fire flickering from the altar. The ground didn¡¯t even feel consecrated to him anymore. That at least he understood. There was something about this old swampy ground that drank in the light and had since before the first cornerstone was laid, but he could only assume that in time the light would drive all of that darkness out of the land and then the river.


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    At least, Todd hoped so. He walked away from the temple that night feeling empty, though he couldn¡¯t quite understand why. He kept a smile on his face during the feast that followed in the pavilion that had been set up for the occasion, but he felt hollow the whole night.


    Even when Priest Verdenin raised a toast to the assembled guests of priests from Siddrimar and important people from as far away as Fallravea, the words did not move him. ¡°Thank you all for coming. Please, eat and drink the fruits of the land so that you might better understand our great work. We have come a long way, as you will see tomorrow, but there is still much further to go if we wish to claim this whole world for our god!¡±


    There were cheers at that and a few chants of ¡®down with Oroza¡¯ and a few other gods that it was not considered bad luck to speak the names of aloud. Todd got drunk enough as he sought to fill the growing void inside him with something and briefly got into an argument with one of the elder priests about the nature of gods and spirits, even though he didn¡¯t mean to.


    ¡°The small gods thrive and multiply from Siddrim¡¯s light, my child,¡± Priest Karrick insisted. ¡°Do you not see? Once we have built temples across this great continent of ours, and even across the sea, his light will shine across the world, and evil will be eradicated forever after!¡±


    Todd insisted there would always be darkness and that it would just find smaller corners to hide in and cleverer tactics to worm its way into the minds of men. The priest used Fallravea as an example of the good work they were doing, and Todd was about to rebut that before Brother Verdenin wisely changed topics. He was more familiar than anyone with Todd¡¯s feelings on that cursed city and did not wish to see a drunken argument foul the evening.


    After that, Todd made his apologies and spent the rest of the evening speaking with his peers that guarded the Bishop¡¯s entourage about how Brother Faerbar was doing and how frequent the goblin attacks were becoming. He found solace in that at least, and in the fact that the rest of his martial brothers would also rather be doing anything but watching the Bishop christen yet another temple.


    ¡°Even fighting bandits, waste of time that that would be, would still be better than dealing with all this pageantry,¡± one of them swore toward the end of the night. ¡°I joined the church to fight evil, not polish statues!¡±


    Todd would blame that comment for the dreams he had that night. Between the wine he¡¯d had too much of and his foul mood, he dreamt that he spent his entire life doing nothing but cleaning floors and polishing statues until he, too, became one. Then another young man came and started to polish him for decades until he was so old that he, too, became a statue. The process continued, even as he struggled to wake up until the whole world was nothing but people worshiping statues of those that had spent their life worshiping statues.


    It was not the right mindset to have when he woke at dawn for prayers and found Brother Verdenin there to join them for the first time in a long time. ¡°Today¡¯s an important day, Brother Graff,¡± he said as he greeted the sun with Todd. ¡°We must start it off right.¡±


    Though the ceremonies that followed were long and involved, Todd didn¡¯t have to do much during them. Mostly he stood at attention in his freshly polished chainmail against the wall in neat ranks with the rest of the warriors while the priests made various invocations and gave speech after speech once all the guests had arrived.


    By the time the bell was rung and everyone was in their places, there were almost 300 people crowded into the large temple. About twenty of them were guards, and another twenty or so were priests, but the rest was made up of the luminaries of Blackwater as well as some of the commoners that Brother Verdenin had taken a liking to during his time in the city. Some were here to receive the light¡¯s blessing and be purified, and others were here because they¡¯d just spent the last several years building some part of the temple or another. At a glance, Todd could see masons, stone carvers, painters, and metal workers, and he idly wondered what all these people would do once the temple was finally complete and there was no more call for their services.


    Those thoughts faded as soon as the service started, though. First, they turned on the fountains and gave a demonstration of the beautiful lighting they could create, then they sacrificed a pure white lamb as they invoked the east and a goat that was as black as night when they honored sunset in the west. Then they drew that sacred arc that the sun traveled every day with the mixed blood of the two animals on the heads of all the worshipers in attendance before they finally proceeded to give a lengthy sermon about the importance of patience and how mountains could be torn down and rebuilt into fortresses by someone with enough time and devotion.


    Todd had heard Brother Verdenin give this speech a dozen times in preparation for today, so he wasn¡¯t paying much attention to the words, but then the priest suddenly ended the monologue with an unfamiliar phrase before the altar started moving.


    ¡°That is why we must all journey deeper into the darkness, so we better understand not just ourselves but our role in the great plan that awaits us all,¡± he said as he depressed a hidden switch that Todd hadn¡¯t noticed before, and the altar started to sink downward.


    When it reached the level of the floor, Brother Verdenin stepped onto it and said, ¡°Follow me, everyone, and I will show you the path to true salvation.¡±


    The altar was a large, round block of basalt that had been imported for its contrast with all the whites, reds, and pinks that otherwise dominated the chapel. It was precisely as big as the oculus that stood above it, and now it was disappearing into the darkness, which was not a mechanism that he¡¯d seen anyone work on at any point in the last few years. The wedge-shaped stones that radiated out from it quickly followed suit, though they stopped at different levels.


    Todd quickly realized that the thing was forming a spiral staircase that was slowly getting wider and deeper as Brother Verdenin disappeared from sight.

 Ch. 77 - Well of Darkness

    What had just happened was impossible. Even stranger than the fact that the altar had suddenly vanished to some secret basement beneath the temple or that Brother Verdenin had vanished with it was that everyone seemed to listen to the priest¡¯s words. For the better part of the last hour, they¡¯d all stood there raptly, hanging on every word of the ceremony.


    No sooner had Brother Verdenin spoken, though, than everyone started to crowd forward, eager to follow the man into the unknown. It was a surreal sight, and for a few seconds, Todd was certain he was still dreaming. It was the only possible reason why everyone wasn¡¯t freaking out as much as he was.


    Everyone was laughing and smiling like this was just another part of the normal ceremony as they slowly descended into the earth in a casual, single-file line. It wasn¡¯t just the townspeople either. Everyone descended into the depths, including the visiting priests and the Bishop.


    It was only when the room was almost empty that Todd finally figured out what they¡¯d all had in common: every person who¡¯d been anointed by ram¡¯s blood. By the time he¡¯d figured that out, though, only the guards were left, while a few stragglers waited for the stairs to clear enough that they could follow their peers below.


    Todd shifted uncomfortably, gripping the hilt of his sword though he did not yet draw it. For reasons he could not fully understand, the widening hole reminded him of the bizarre hole they¡¯d found in the basement of Count Garvin¡¯s palace all those years ago. It was a chilling thought, and even though that distant memory was a rough-hewn hole drenched in blood instead of a neatly carved set of stone stairs, once he made the connection, he couldn¡¯t unsee it.


    He looked from his left to his right and saw that despite sharing his growing apprehension, no one seemed willing to do anything to stop what was happening, so finally, Todd stepped forward and grabbed the closest person by the shoulder.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to follow them, you know,¡± he said, ¡°I don¡¯t think going down there is a good idea.¡±


    ¡°But without me, how will they push back the darkness?¡± the man said with an empty look in his eyes. He struggled for a moment in Todd¡¯s grip. Todd was just about to grab him more forcefully and fling him to the ground when the main doors opened, and other people started walking into the room.


    At some unseen signal, the people of Blackwater began to stream through the doors and started to descend below just as everyone else had. They even had the same blank look in their eyes despite the fact that they hadn¡¯t been anointed by the ceremony.


    ¡°What in the name of the light is going on,¡± Todd said, abandoning his effort to stop the surge of townspeople from descending two stories into that well of darkness to go talk to the group of now visibly nervous soldiers.


    No one knew. No one even had an idea. Suggestions ranged from mass hysteria to some sort of demonic attack to ruin their holy day. Some said they should wait for it to stop on their own, and others said they should send a messenger to Siddrimar, and the more people disappeared without a sound, the more worried Todd became.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to bar the doors,¡± he said finally. ¡°I¡¯m going to keep any more people from giving in to whatever is affecting them, and then I¡¯m going down there to get some answers.¡±


    ¡°But if this is part of the ceremony, won¡¯t we¡­ I mean, get in trouble for interrupting it?¡± one of the younger warriors asked.


    Todd ignored the question and moved to the door. Not because it was stupid but because the lad was probably right. He ignored it because he didn¡¯t care. He¡¯d been here for years. If a second temple had been built underneath the first, that might explain where all the extra expenses had gone, but it wouldn¡¯t explain why Brother Verdenin had never told him about it or why he¡¯d never seen any work taking place there.


    As Todd started pushing the heavy wooden doors into place, the people trying to get in pushed back. ¡°Please, let us in!¡± a man cried out.


    ¡°We need to be saved!¡± a woman pleaded, ¡°Let us push back the darkness!¡±


    Todd had no idea how or why they had all gone berserk, but he ignored all of them though. After a brief struggle, he overpowered them and barred the door. They continued to pound on the thing and wail after that, but he ignored them.


    He was sure that nothing good awaited anyone that went into the darkness, and he would have bodily restrained everyone in there to keep them from moving on if he could. Sadly he lacked rope, but as he wished for some, he suddenly realized that the banners and the bunting would do just as well.


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    ¡°Help me with this,¡± he shouted as he moved to the walls and began to rip down the decorations that he¡¯d just spent hours hanging the other day.


    ¡°Have you gone mad,¡± the captain of the Bishop''s guard asked. ¡°They¡¯ll flog you for defacing a temple, especially on today of all days.¡±


    ¡°I sincerely hope they do,¡± Todd said, moving to the next banner before he started to shred it with his bare hands. ¡°I truly hope that today ends normally, that this was all some terrible misunderstanding, and that when the Bishop returns to the surface, I am flogged for my insolence.¡±


    ¡°Right now, I am giving you an order, though,¡± he said as he tackled the closest person to the mysterious stairs. ¡°Help me restrain these people for their own good before it¡¯s too late.¡±


    They moved slowly as they looked at each other uncertainly, but eventually, whether it was the urgency of his tone that convinced the rest of the men or the certainty that they could blame whatever happened next on him, they all complied and working together they trussed up the last eight people that hadn¡¯t quite made it down to the stairs.


    Once that was done, Todd walked to the edge of the hole in the temple¡¯s floor. It was almost two stories down, and from where he stood, he could see the last person that had made the trip down exiting through a single arched doorway. Because of the angle of the sun, everything else was lost in shadow, and he could make out no details. Still, there was something about it, even from this distance, that was unnatural. He tried to focus on it, but just as he was resolving it, someone addressed him, breaking his concentration.


    ¡°Well, what do we do now?" The captain of the Bishop¡¯s guard asked, forcing Todd to look away from the darkness.


    ¡°There¡¯s only one thing we can do,¡± Todd said, looking around the group, disappointed to see just how few of them had steel left in their spine, considering the fight hadn¡¯t even started yet.


    ¡°Well, maybe we should send for help first,¡± one of the men said nervously. Todd noted that it was the same man who¡¯d been complaining about how he wanted to get back into the fray instead of babysitting dignitaries between important events and rolled his eyes.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you understand? We are the help. The only ones that are coming to save those people are us. The question you need to ask yourself is, is that armor just for show?¡± Todd asked, drawing his sword, ¡°Or are you coming with me?¡±


    Todd focused hard for a minute, offering a silent prayer to Siddrim as he squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again, he was pleased to find his sword was gently glowing as it became an undeniable symbol of righteous power. He still didn¡¯t have a tenth of the power that Brother Faerbar did, but even if his sight had weakened, the strength of his devotion was growing, and though he could not yet heal the sick or wounded with Siddrim¡¯s love, he was now trusted to wield his god¡¯s light as he charged into battle.


    ¡°While we are servants of the church, this is really beginning to look like a job for The Order of Purgative Flame; I think that perhaps we should seal this building and wait for¡­¡± The warrior¡¯s words died in his throat as Todd¡¯s sword began to glow with the deep white light of the divine.


    ¡°We are the light,¡± Todd said with one last look before he turned and went down the stairs. ¡°And the light reveals all traces of cowardice and despair. We will send your youngest warrior back to Siddrimar to warn the powers that be of what happened should the worst befall us, but everyone else fights. Do you understand?¡±


    Shamed by his example, they all agreed. Some were more enthusiastic than others, but every man that stood there eventually nodded or said some word of assent.


    After that, they faced the challenge of opening the door wide enough to let young Mardem out without letting the manic townspeople back in the temple, but with twelve strong warriors, they managed easily enough.


    ¡°You understand,¡± Todd said to their messenger. ¡°To Siddrimar straight away. If you keep a good pace, you should be able to reach it in five days. Go straight to the Templars if none of the priests will see you, and tell them everything you saw.¡±


    He promised that he would, and with that, they slammed the door shut again and then turned and descended into the depths. Even though Todd went first, and his sword lit the way, most of those that accompanied him were afraid, and none of them were certain of what they would find in the dark.


    The stairs circled the rim of the well completely twice before they reached the bottom. Todd had imagined he would find a slaughterhouse down here on par with the scene from the Garvin Palace ballroom, but instead, he found the ritual implements of the altar sitting just where they¡¯d been left, the undisturbed bowl of blood, and an empty doorway leading further into the dark.


    ¡°Are you sure this isn¡¯t just more of the temple?¡± the Bishop¡¯s guard captain asked as his men formed up with Todd at the bottom of the well. ¡°It looks like someone has put a lot of work into this place.¡±


    ¡°They have,¡± Todd agreed, eyeing the walls with concern. These were not the same rough-hewn walls that he¡¯d found beneath Fallravea. Someone has spent a great deal of time and care creating whatever this was. These were polished smooth, and inlaid with gold and precious stones. Beyond the doorway, he could see the hints of murals painted on both of the walls.


    It was clear this had been a project that had been worked on for at least as long as the temple that loomed above them, but it had one more thing that would never be found in a temple of Siddrim: darkness.


    Not the sort that made it hard to see. The kind that radiated in evil places. It flowed like a river down this unknown hallway, and Todd was so desperately afraid of what he would find at the end of that torrent of evil that, for a moment, he went weak in the knees.

 Ch. 78 - The Fourth Horseman

    Passing through the shadows back to the Lich¡¯s lair was a miserable experience for Krulm¡¯venor. During that brief trip into the dark, he felt like every bone in his metal body had its marrow replaced with ice. The process was almost instant, but he felt deeply disoriented by the lingering feeling that he¡¯d been lost in the darkness between Mournden and the summoning circle the Lich had built on the fourth floor of its ever-expanding lair for weeks not seconds.


    As bad as that little jaunt was, though, it wasn¡¯t as miserable as spending weeks walking back to the surface while he held the severed head of the rock creature he¡¯d slain. The defeated monster couldn¡¯t, or wouldn¡¯t die, and it looked at him with such sad eyes whenever his fires flared to life to fight off anything that thought to cross his path.


    The thing tried to speak, but no matter how many times its mouth moved, there were no words. Krulm¡¯venor didn¡¯t envy it, but it lacked the motivation to disobey the Lich. Not anymore, and certainly not for this. Maybe if it had been a dwarven construct, he could have found some flicker of defiance, but now all he could do was use the last vestiges of his willpower to try to block out the worst of the voices that echoed in its skull.


    They didn¡¯t even sound like goblins anymore. That was the worst part. Every deranged, half-broken soul in his mind sounded like his own voice now. Like he was talking to himself, or maybe that he sounded like a goblin now. It was hard to say, and that was a subject that didn¡¯t bear too much thinking about.


    It was only when he finally reached the Lich¡¯s experimental laboratory that he could set down his burden in a dish of lead prepared for this purpose. The Lich did not trust that even that formidable layer would be enough to imprison the earth spirit until it understood its nature better, so it was held separated from the ground by three drudges that would hold that burden uncomplainingly for all eternity if necessary.


    As Krulm¡¯venor watched, the thing¡¯s face began to twist into an expression of agony, and its voiceless mouth opened in a silent scream. That was a moment that the fire spirit understood only too well. The Lich had torn him to pieces and then picked through the ashes for enough of a spark to rekindle him a hundred times as it pried the secrets out of his soul.


    All any of them could hope for was that the Lich killed it on accident in the course of its experiments. That was unlikely, with such a durable specimen.


    Krulm¡¯venor stood there blankly, waiting for new orders. He worried that if he turned away too soon, the Lich might force him to watch the whole thing, but that was not to be, for he was quickly ordered to another room, and the dancing blue flames showed the way.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been busy while you¡¯ve been gone, Krulm¡¯venor,¡± it whispered darkly in his ear. ¡°All these months, I¡¯ve been thinking about how I could best reward you for all the loyalty you showed me on your recent mission to the dwarven kingdoms.¡±


    Krulm¡¯venor shuddered at those words, certain nothing pleasant was going to follow them. The only thing he¡¯d been loyal to was his own kin, and that would cost him now.


    ¡°It¡¯s been such a lonely time for you, and I must confess that your body has held up poorly under the strain. I thought it would do better, but then I thought that about you too,¡± the darkness in his mind gloated, momentarily quieting the chorus of other voices. ¡°So I¡¯ve decided to make sure you¡¯re never lonely again.¡±


    As Krulm¡¯venor opened the door that was indicated with numb fingers, he beheld a series of goblin skeletons cast in metal. There had to be at least fifty of them, and each was more twisted than the last. Krulm¡¯venor realized that the Lich must have gone through many iterations to find something truly terrible to repay him for his resistance, and that sent a shiver of fear down his spine as he looked at the ugly bronze things and tried to figure out which one he was going to be trapped inside.


    For a moment, as the fire spirit looked at the slumped and twisted metal figures, he considered apologizing and swearing that he would do better. Only his pride stopped him from pleading. Well, his pride and his certainty that it wouldn¡¯t do any good.


    Instead, he asked, ¡°Which is to be mine, then,¡± flatly.


    The only answer came in the form of a drudge that moved out of the shadows and opened the lantern. Krulm¡¯venor tensed, and he almost ripped the thing¡¯s head off rather than letting it do what it had been ordered to, but before he built up the rage necessary to defy the shadow that was smothering him, it was done. With a single crude motion, the monstrosity plucked the glowing blue coal from his skull and rendering him nothing but a helpless disembodied spirit once more.


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    Then he was carried over to the largest of the goblin bodies and forced inside of it. A head shorter than his old body, but a head taller than the rest of the bodies in the room, it felt somehow claustrophobic compared to his old body. It was like his fire wasn¡¯t getting the air it needed to truly breathe, and he started to hyperventilate, despite the fact that he had no lungs.


    ¡°Yes, it will be a tight fit,¡± the Lich whispered. ¡°I had to make room for a lot more than you in there, after all.¡±


    ¡°What¡­ what did you do?¡± Krulm¡¯venor asked as the fire began to spread to his bones, and the goblin souls hidden away inside slowly came to life to feel his heat. In his last body, they had been processed, and so they were incomplete and fragmented, but here every one of them was whole, and it hungered for him.


    ¡°I¡¯ve made sure that you¡¯ll never be alone again,¡± the Lich responded. ¡°Now that you¡¯ve had a chance to bathe in the souls of your old tribe, I trust you¡¯ll have no problem integrating this much strength into you for the dark days that lie ahead.¡±


    Krulm¡¯venor wanted to answer, but he couldn¡¯t. The first goblin had already latched its teeth into his throat and was trying to murder it. The fire spirit fought back with every ounce of strength he had as an all-out melee quickly developed in his soul between the part of him that was still mostly dwarven and the dozens of tainted goblins that were trying to devour those parts.


    Physically he only stood there trembling as his violent and inhuman screams echoed down the hallways of the labyrinthine lair. As he struggled, the fire in his eyes and in his chest began to burn brighter and brighter, and soon he erupted into a nova of flame that filled the room with a blue fire and burned away everything flammable into ash.


    The shadow of the Lich retreated briefly from the brightness, but even as Krulm¡¯venor started to get a handle on the unruly parts of his soul, he noticed something strange. All of the other goblin skeletons came slowly and shudderingly to life as their eyes filled with fire and their limbs began to spasm and jerk.


    A few seconds after the first one came to life, it charged Krulm¡¯venor, leaping into the air to pounce. He raised his arms to defend himself, but it vanished almost as soon as it touched him, filling up part of the empty space inside of this strange body that he¡¯d found so constricting until now.


    While he struggled to understand what had just happened and why his soul was being flooded with even more goblins bent on devouring him, another one of the smaller goblin bodies merged with him, followed by another and another.


    Less than a minute later, the fire spirit was lost in a sea of screams and pain inside his own head. He¡¯d been able to subdue a dozen of these creatures, but there were a hundred now, and they were all trying to murder him. The only shame was that none of them could die, not on the battlefield of his mind. They could only keep killing each other over and over as he endured both the agony his tormentors inflicted on him as well as the pain he inflicted on them in return.


    All he could do was fall to his knees and scream as the Lich left him to get acquainted with his new body.


    <hr>


    Once that little game was over with, the Lich turned his full attention from the tormented godling and back to the interesting specimen he¡¯d brought with him from the deeps. The Lich could easily explain the purpose of Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s new body another day, but the dwarf wasn¡¯t completely stupid, and it was confident that he would figure it out in time.


    The whole thing had been created using tricks it had discovered as it studied the strange shadow entities that Krulm¡¯venor had been kind enough to feed it. The 66 bodies were one, but thanks to the divisible nature of fire, they were also many. The godling would become a terrifying army unto himself. At least, he would if the process of integrating so many other souls that were needed to operate and drive so many other hands and feet didn¡¯t drive him completely mad first.


    The Lich believed that the experiment would be a success, though, and if it wasn¡¯t, he had many other dwarf souls stockpiled now. It could just keep trying until it found someone strong enough to endure the unendurable, and then it would have its third horseman of the apocalypse complete.


    Now it needed to figure out how to yoke this earth elemental to a body of lead and stone, and it would have a fourth, which would give it the weapons it needed to battle with any champion of any god that might oppose it.


    The Lich studied its trembling soul and noted that it, itself contained many smaller pieces that might have been the souls of its gnomish summoners or ancestors, locking it into place. It would start there, in its examination, and expand outward. After all, when unraveling an intractable knot, one needed only to find a single loose end, and eventually, all would be made clear.


    Clear was a harder concept when working with stone than with fire or water. It couldn¡¯t even chain the thing to a body until it understood the creature¡¯s true name for the binding spells. There was a monstrous strength, hidden in that pathetic, half-shattered head, and the Lich desperately wanted to add yet another element to its dark collection.


    No, it didn¡¯t just want to. It needed to. The storm clouds of war darkened the horizon now, and as soon as the first battle was fought, all the other gods that were in league with the lord of light would send their followers to strike against it. The Lich needed to be ready for anything because hiding would never be possible again in a few more days.


    After that, it would consume the world, or it would be struck down in the attempt. There was no third option.

 Ch. 79 - Cautious Descent

    The hallway that left the well they¡¯d descended quickly split again and again, branching in all directions. There was no danger of getting lost just yet, though. This wasn¡¯t just because of the river of darkness Todd followed as his heart pounded in his chest. It was also because all of the side passages quickly developed an unfinished and irregular look to them. Only this main passage had been carefully fitted with red tiles and gold trim.


    Before they¡¯d decided to go deeper, Todd had ordered some of the men bringing up the rear to grab red candles from the altar so that they could mark the path in case they needed to beat a hasty retreat. That seemed almost unnecessary, though, as their procession cautiously made its way down a passage that really did seem to belong to The Temple of the Dawn.


    Todd wanted to believe that was true. He wanted to turn the corner and find Brother Verdenin and all of the other visiting priests delivering some sacrament in a second chapel. To remind the people of the importance of pushing back the darkness or some such. Other men were whispering about such things behind him as they moved forward, but Todd couldn¡¯t, though. He could see evil bleeding from the walls here, held back by a thin veneer of artistry. Sometimes the black clouds were so thick he felt it might choke him, and when he considered just how much his powers had waned in the last year or two, he knew that meant something terrible awaited them.


    Ironically, if he¡¯d possessed the power of sight he¡¯d had as a boy, he¡¯d likely be unable to even set foot down here, he thought darkly. Still, Siddrim¡¯s gifts had not deserted him. They had merely transformed. He could wield the light better every year, and healing himself with it was also possible. That hadn¡¯t been true even a year ago, but still, he worried that it wouldn¡¯t be enough.


    They¡¯d passed perhaps thirty side passages and walked for several hundred feet in an almost straight line before their gilded walkway came to an end in a chapel that mocked the one above. It was there they found the first bodies, and Todd¡¯s heart sank.


    The Temple of the Dawn was a bright room dominated by the color white and accented with red, pink, orange, and gilded statues. This large round room was similar in many ways but inverted. The white pillars were black, the gold statues were tarnished bronze, and the sunset color scheme was replaced with dark indigo and violets. It was a complete inversion, and though they hadn¡¯t yet found the parishioners, it was decorated with the bodies of the missing priests.


    Above the altar, the Bishop had been crucified, and his red robes were stained almost to black by arterial blood. Strangely, though, he¡¯d died with a smile on his face. He wasn¡¯t the only one that had been murdered here, though. All the other priests had been hung by their feet on each of the pillars and bled like cattle with their throats slit. Only Brother Verdenin was absent.


    ¡°What in the name of sweet merciful light is this!¡± one guard wailed. Todd looked over to see if he¡¯d cracked and saw tears in the eyes of the guard captain as he looked up at his now-dead charge.


    Sadly, Todd realized the warrior was at least as upset by how bad this would make him look as he was by the man¡¯s death, and he shook his head in disgust. He looked around the room at the men with him and the growing certainty that none of them except for perhaps him was ready to fight whatever it was they might find down here.


    ¡°Alright, everyone,¡± Todd said, ¡°I think this is officially more than we can handle on our own. We¡¯ll cut the bodies down, bring them to the surface and then post sentries on the stairs until¡­¡±


    Todd¡¯s words trailed off as bells somewhere above him began to ring in the dark, and the bodies that were apparently strung up to the clappers of them began to sway like morbid wind chimes. He couldn¡¯t feel a breeze, but he could feel something coming. Something dark.


    ¡°Brace yourself, men! Its¡ª¡± his words were lost as a torrent of darkness filled the room, extinguishing every source of light except for the dimmest glow of his sword. That was barely enough to see his hands, though. It was the barest ribbon of light, but Todd held firm and resolved to use it like a compass needle to find his way back.


    ¡°Steady, everyone. It¡¯s some kind of illusion,¡± Todd cried out, trying to overpower both the flow noise of whatever this was as well as the panics, screams, and shouts of his own people. ¡°If we just stick together, we can make our way back out, and we¡¯ll come back for help.¡±


    That seemed to calm a few of the men down, and as he walked back the way they came, he heard a few people yelling for others to join them, and the clatter of mail and booted feet quickly followed him.


    Todd was petrified. He hadn¡¯t even seen a single zombie, and he was already more frightened than he¡¯d been while his templar brothers were fighting the tentacled beast in Oroza¡¯s undertemple. How could he have missed this, he wondered? How could anyone?


    The image from his sickness about the open wound in the earth overflowing with evil came back to him then. Had Siddrim been trying to tell him something? Had his own mind? Surely if the god of light had known that something this dark lurked beneath the surface, he would have warned the church.


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    That meant he didn¡¯t know, Todd realized. Perhaps the depth that it was buried, and the pollution of the nearby river had been enough to hide it even from the eyes of the divine. Todd was no theologian and could not speak on such things, but it seemed to be the only answer. They¡¯d stumbled onto something terrible, though, and they had to warn someone, even if that someone was only the Lord of Light himself.


    That meant that Brother Verdenin had to be part of this, though, didn¡¯t it? He¡¯d built the temple. He¡¯d chosen every specification. He¡¯d hidden the altar area beneath his tent for months while this strange underground mechanism was installed. He¡¯d done everything, and the person that was supposed to be watching him the whole time had missed it somehow.


    Todd sighed in frustration as the pieces only fell together too late, but after a moment of self-pity, he forced himself to refocus. He¡¯d led these men in here thinking he could be the hero, and he had to lead them out of here.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got to be getting close,¡± one of the men called out, ¡°Right?¡±


    ¡°We need to get out of here before whatever is down here finds us!¡± another called out.


    ¡°I feel like there¡¯s something in here with us,¡± a third warrior called out with a voice that sounded like his spirit was about to break.


    ¡°Strength, brothers!¡± Todd called out, trying to rally them. ¡°We¡¯re almost out of this pit. I see a light up ahead, and if we¡­¡± his voice trailed off as he realized the color of the light was wrong. Was something waiting there for them, or had he led them astray?


    The gloom slowly faded, receding like a tide, and Todd entered a room so large he couldn¡¯t see the walls with the dim light coming from the blue fire of the brazier that sat there balefully. Todd had been sure that he was following the same richly decorated passage they¡¯d come in through. He¡¯d been able to glimpse the glimmer of its gilding from his sword, but as he looked to his side, he saw that illusion was fading, revealing nothing but the rough-hewn walls of a tunnel that looked shockingly similar to those he¡¯d once delved into beneath Fallravea.


    ¡°Something strange is here. I think we need to turn around and¡­¡± Todd spoke as he turned all the way around the face of his men.


    They weren¡¯t there when he turned around. Rather, there were only pieces of them. Something dark and sinuous, made of tentacles of shadows, was holding the heads and feet of several men.


    ¡°Oh no, Brother Graff - we¡¯ve been sliced to pieces; whatever shall we do?¡± the headless guard captain asked in a voice that was a perfect mimicry of the man¡¯s voice that he¡¯d spoken with when he¡¯d been alive.


    ¡°You killed us all, sir!¡± another head shouted in mockery, ¡°Whatever shall become of you now?!¡±


    Todd gritted his teeth and ignored their words as he lashed out with his glowing sword in a fierce lunge. The thing that was holding the objects didn¡¯t drop a single one as it deftly wove to the side of Todd¡¯s sizzling blade. He followed up with a powerful slash, hoping to catch at least a few stray tentacles, but the monstrosity danced out of reach with ease.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not fight among ourselves,¡± the guard commander¡¯s head begged. ¡°I am, but a simple messenger who''s come to deliver you the good news.¡±


    ¡°You are an unclean spirit, and I shall purge you by fire and light!¡± Todd roared, taking two steps forward as he tried hard to bring this monstrosity down. How many men had left that awful chapel alive with him? How many had died while he led them in the wrong direction? Todd did his best to ignore these questions, but they ate at him with every swing and every miss.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been chosen to see what no living eyes have ever glimpsed before, Todd Graff,¡± the abomination said from all three mouths at once, creating a horrible chorus. ¡°Behold - the true power of what is about to be unleashed on the unsuspecting world of light.¡±


    ¡°I need to see no more than you to know¡­¡± The words died in Todd¡¯s throat as suddenly the lit brazier near him and several further back flared violently to life.


    Blue flames leapt ten feet in the air, and Todd could feel the chill radiating off of them from here. That alone would have been enough to give him pause, but the things that they revealed made him stare slack-jawed at the abominable sights.


    The room was massive. It was larger than the largest warehouse in Blackwater, and it was filled with rank after rank of the living dead. There were hundreds of the monstrosities, or perhaps thousands standing there at perfect attention like they were in hibernation. They weren¡¯t, though.


    Todd could see the evil magic that animated them and knew that with a single word from their master, they would all swarm him. Even with Siddrim¡¯s light, he would last only seconds. These were not the simple reanimated corpses he¡¯d fought previously. These were made for war, and no two were made identically.


    Some had extra arms, or extra legs, most had weapons lashed to their hands so they could never be disarmed, and all of them had heavy armor riveted to their body. Each one of these would be hard to kill, and as soon as they did, they¡¯d be replaced by another.


    It was a terrifying sight.


    ¡°What in the name of the light,¡± Todd gasped. As he spoke, every head in the room swiveled to face him in a single motion.


    ¡°And that starts the timer,¡± the mocking monstrosity told him on all three voices as it produced an hourglass full of gold dust from somewhere. ¡°You now have one hour left to live. After that, my master will scourge your soul from your flesh. Do try to enjoy it.¡±


    Todd swallowed hard, not sure of what to make of such a strange threat. If he was going to die, why not just strike him down on the spot like it had all of the other men that had come down here?


    Todd didn¡¯t have the answer, but that didn¡¯t stop him from coming back the way he¡¯d come, ignoring his tormentor as he desperately searched for the way out.

 Ch. 80 - Kingdom of the Dead

    The next few minutes of Todd¡¯s life were stark terror, and he remembered nothing of them beyond his surprise that he didn¡¯t hear that massive legion of the dead mobilizing to follow him. Instead, the silence was almost deafening as he raced back to the chapel and from there to the surface.


    At least, that was the plan. The chapel wasn¡¯t there, though. Even though he was sure he¡¯d walked here in a straight line, the way back was anything but, and eventually, he had to pause and breathe as he forced himself to calm down.


    ¡°Running blindly will only get you more lost,¡± he chastised himself. ¡°Think. How can you find your way back to where you were?¡±


    Todd pictured the blasphemous room in his mind¡¯s eye, studying every detail for something that might help him, but the only thing he could think of was that river of dark energy, and it was much too muddled here to be much help. Then he remembered the bells. Perhaps if he listened carefully, he could hear their gentle swaying and find his way back.


    Todd stood there for several minutes, barely breathing, as he closed his eyes and tried to pick up the sound of anything in the darkness. There was nothing clear, but eventually, he thought he heard the sound of something metallic and made his way toward it.


    Progress was slow, though. Each time he found a new intersection, he would have to stop and strain his hearing to decide which way he should go, and the intersections were constant.


    Fortunately, as he walked, the sound he was listening to slowly got louder. Eventually, he realized it was not the bells he was looking for, though, but the sound of a smithy. Still, he kept going. He was committed now, and perhaps he could find a way out through the chimney they vented their forges through or something.


    He wasn¡¯t sure exactly what he was expecting when he made it into a room that was lit by the dull red glow of half a dozen forges along with the light of his sword, but whatever it was, it wasn¡¯t what he found.


    Each forge was hard at work, and each smith that worked them was different and terrifying in their own way. The only thing more terrifying than the flickering, bizarre shadows they cast while they worked was the creatures themselves. Three were dwarven skeletons hammering in perfect sync while the spirits that were chained to their bodies struggled visibly to escape. They were in the midst of creating beautiful weapons that Todd could admire even from here, which was in sharp contrast to the other abominations.


    The other three smiths were misshapen entities that had been burned time and again. Each had a different number of limbs, hands, and hammers, and one of the abominations bent the red hot metal with iron hands rather than use any tools at all.


    A few of them looked up at him briefly as he entered the room but then went back to what they were doing. The zombies that were bringing them pieces of metal and taking away finished pieces paid him no mind either.


    It was surreal. To Todd, this almost had to be a nightmare because if it wasn¡¯t, then he¡¯d managed to descend into the underworld that he¡¯d read about in the scriptures.


    There was simply no third choice.


    Todd walked quickly and quietly across the room to the far exit because it seemed larger than the way he¡¯d come, which was as good a reason as any to think he was going in the right direction. He wasn¡¯t, though.


    He found that out quickly as he followed the zombies carrying away freshly forged pieces of armor. Even if they paid him no mind, the places in this area were just a labyrinthine series of storerooms that appeared increasingly insane until he turned around and went back the other way.


    The whole area seemed less like a fortress and more like a wasp''s nest or a beehive. The rooms rarely had just four sides, the ground was almost but not quite flat, and the walls were never flush nor square. It was a madhouse, and every detail he noticed proudly displayed that it was inimical to human life, and yet so far, nothing had struck him down.


    Todd¡¯s thoughts turned to that strange mocking monstrosity as he wandered blind. How many minutes did he have until that hourglass ticked down, he wondered. How much longer until they released the hounds and unleashed a tide of death that he could never hope to fight against?


    It was in that moment of reflection that Todd made his peace with the fact that he was going to die. There was nothing that could stop it, no matter how hard he fought. All he could do was hope that he died well and took a few of these things down with him.


    It was a nice thought, and he almost believed it. Then he saw the thing lumbering through the shadows. Todd froze for a moment but reminded himself that he needed to at least die well. That was enough to get him to lift his sword as the thing strode toward him across the large room.


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    As it got closer, Todd could see that its skin had been replaced with some sort of bronze scale mail and that its eyes burned with a dull hatred. It might have been an ogre or a troll in life. Todd couldn¡¯t say.


    Too many of its features were gone. Something had carved this monster to pieces and then put a siege engine back together with them, and no human could have a chance against it. Still, Todd stood there, ready to strike.


    And then it just walked by him like he wasn¡¯t even a threat that merited its grim attention. Todd hated himself for the relief he felt at that moment and began running in the other direction as fast as he could. He¡¯d been brave enough to stand his ground, but the moment was gone, and bravery was quickly becoming a scarce resource down here.


    After that, he found more rooms. Most were filled with more legions of zombies, or maybe it was the same room he was crossing at different points. Todd couldn¡¯t be sure. This much darkness was making him feel claustrophobic and short of breath. It was becoming hard to think, and for the first time since the chapel, he started to pray.


    ¡°Lord of Light, hear me now and know that your world is in jeopardy. Know that even in this pit, I speak your name and remember your words,¡± he said to himself, first haltingly and then with confidence as he began to push away the evil that pervaded everything, and his sword started to glow a bit brighter. ¡°You have not abandoned me, and I will not abandon my duty. We will shine in the darkest of places and burn away the shadows¡­¡±


    Todd¡¯s words trailed off as he noticed the darkness flowing around him again. Until now, the whole complex he walked through had been so suffused with evil he could barely see it, but now that his devotion had pushed it back, there was an island of stillness in the midst of the dark, and it was that stillness that finally allowed him to see how it was flowing once more, so he decided to follow it.


    Trying to go upstream to find a way out might not work, but all of this evil was slowing to a single point, and he would slay whatever it was he found there. He would do at least that much.


    ¡°In your name Siddrim,¡± he whispered as he started to walk forward.


    The darkness was almost flowing around him now. Like a tide. Like a force of nature. Slowly it led him through twists and turns into what he imagined would lead him to the very center of the earth. He doubted he¡¯d survive the experience, but then, he¡¯d already decided he was going to die. Now it was just a question of where and how.


    If he was going to die, then he would at least spend his life destroying whatever foul creature he could. Step by step and turn by turn, his body began to feel a dread that was almost paralyzing. Every part of Todd¡¯s body screamed for him to turn back, but he pushed through it until he finally found what he was looking for.


    In a small, dark room, there was a strange sort of shrine. Against both walls stood the mummified corpses of lizardmen that had been there a very long time, judging by the coating of dust on them. Was this some sort of an ancient temple to a forgotten god, he wondered? Was that why no one had known it was here?


    That certainly made at least some sense, judging by the details. Behind those vigilant corpses were carefully crafted strands and sheets of precious metals that decorated the walls and ceiling, and every part of the rough-hewn walls they did not cover was covered in splotches of mold and decay. None of that tore his eyes away from the strange metal sculpture in the center of the room, though.


    It was a man or at least something like a man made of gold. Todd gripped his sword tighter with both hands as he forced himself to advance one more step against some impossible force that made the very air freeze solid.


    If this had been one of his nightmares, right now would have been the part where you couldn¡¯t escape no matter how fast you ran. He was determined not to let that happen, though. No matter how slowly he moved, he would move, and step by step, he approached the unnatural idol as he raised his sword so he could cleave the gaudy thing in two.


    Todd took a deep breath and then exploded downward, letting out all of the tension and panic that had built up inside him into a single powerful blow that might have been enough to strike a blacksmith¡¯s anvil in two.


    Only the blow never landed. As his sword blade arced down toward the idol, suddenly, two of its arms flashed outwards and caught the strike effortlessly between its palms before twisting slightly and snapping the blade off just above the halfway point. Where the glowing blade met the profane metal, it smoldered briefly, and then after the blade was snapped, the light went out in the portion, darkening the room as the metal clattered to the floor.


    Todd stood there in disbelief at what had just happened. Lit by only half his sword, the room was darker than it had been, and when the idol suddenly stood, he stumbled back, falling on his ass in the process. Though he¡¯d thought that the Lizards might spring to life at any moment, he¡¯d never suspected that the statue itself would move. But it did, and as it stepped toward him, he felt a level of malice that made it hard to think.


    ¡°Yes, you¡¯ll do nicely,¡± the thing rattled in a dry, metallic voice. ¡°You are the last man that shall ever touch me, and I would cleave your soul from your flesh if I did not have another use for you. I¡­¡±


    Todd didn¡¯t stay to listen. He couldn¡¯t. Every word made his mind ache. It was worse than fingernails on a chalkboard. So he fled, gripping onto his last shard of light as he sought to find some escape from this madness.


    As he ran, zombies started to appear, coming from this way and that, like they had him surrounded. Fortunately, though, there was always at least one way free of the noose that the abominations were attempting to draw tightly, and he was able to break free.


    Eventually, his random path managed to lead back to the under temple, and from there, he knew the way. He darted back toward the surface and the hint of light that was promised at the far end of the tunnel. He could hear the monsters behind him, though. Their terrible moans and groans overwhelmed almost everything now, and the only sounds he could hear above that was the hammering of his own heart and the metallic footsteps of the evil incarnate that was slowly walking toward him.

 Ch. 81 - Incarnated

    Even as he ran up the stairs, Todd was sure that something would grab him and drag him back down into the darkness. It was inevitable. This had all just been a game, somehow. Monsters like this would never let him free. They would just torment him, and all he could think about was the mocking creature with the tentacles he¡¯d seen earlier and how easily it could grab him and rip him to pieces just like it had done to everyone else.


    That¡¯s not what happened, though. Somehow, some way, thanks to divine providence, he managed to break free into the light of the Sunrise Temple once more. It was a miracle, and almost certainly due to how high the sun still hung in the sky, but he didn¡¯t stop to thank lord Siddrim. Instead, since the altar was still sunk 30 feet into the ground, he ran to the nearest shrine and began to pray as fervently as he ever had in his life.


    One miracle wasn¡¯t going to be enough for today. Not if he and every other soul in this town was going to survive come nightfall when the pit began to vomit forth abominations that should never have been created, and certainly shouldn¡¯t be allowed to exist.


    At first, those prayers were silent affairs as he tried to hide the fear that made his voice quaver like a coward. Soon enough, those whispers became mumbles, and then after a few minutes, he was shouting and begging to be heard by his divine lord.


    ¡°Lord of Light, hear me, even if you never have before nor ever will again. They are coming,¡± he pleaded. ¡°They have murdered your priests, killed your men at arms, and soon they will rise up to the surface and take the life of every soul in this thriving town that we have sworn to safeguard. You are the only one who can prevent this. You are¡ª¡±


    The shrine to Saint Kellerus, the benighted, that Todd was praying at, was a simple affair. It was a statue of the blind old man gazing out sightlessly into the world from where he sat in the shade near the wall, but something caused the sun to shift, and slowly its rays climbed toward Todd, where he knelt and wept. When they reached him, touching just the heel of his right boot, suddenly he felt a peace that he had never known before as Lord Siddrim personally intervened in his life.


    ¡®Peace, my child, for I am with you,¡¯ the deep voice thrummed through Todd. ¡®Show me this dire threat, and we shall see what must be done to stop it.¡¯


    Todd wanted to answer. He wanted to explain. He couldn¡¯t, though. Instead, he knelt there transfixed as the Lord of Light began to sift through his memories. The process was slow at first, as he was forced to relive all those terrible moments he¡¯d suffered through in the dark.


    The mocking under temple. The martyred priests. The beheaded guards. Room after room after room of godless monstrosities. Moment by moment, those visions sped up as Siddrim looked deeper and deeper into the darkness for a true understanding of what it was he would need to purge.


    It was an awful experience for Todd. Even with his devotion and his own gifts of the light, he was experiencing too much of Siddrim¡¯s might at the same time as he was being forced to remember too many awful things, and inevitably, he began to retch. He simply didn¡¯t have a choice.


    When he was done, he felt better, then his god spoke to him again. ¡®This is a task befitting of a crusade, but we lack time for such an undertaking.¡¯


    ¡°What should I¡­ I mean, we do, then?¡± Todd asked.


    ''Even at times when an army would be better suited to the task, all I truly need is one righteous man so that I may burn away the dark with heavenly fires,'' Siddrim preached, ''But you are frail, my son. Your soul is poisoned, and you may not survive the experience.''


    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± Todd answered calmly as he remembered his terrible sickness and the visions he¡¯d experienced a year ago. ¡°If I am to die, then let it be for this moment and in this cause. We must do everything we can to cauterize this wound before it festers further.¡±


    ¡®Then walk toward the light, my son, and let it embrace you,¡¯ the Lord of Light commanded him.


    Todd did so without hesitation. Even without a weapon and the clear knowledge that this might kill him, he strode toward where the sunbeams streaming through the ceiling¡¯s oculus rested on the floor.


    It was after two now, so it was slanted far from where it had been when it had still touched the altar. Instead, it now rested near the feet of the shrine to St Ruthrin the Executioner. Todd smiled at that irony. For the amount of death that was going to follow whatever happened next, there could be no better choice than an executioner.


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    As Todd stood in the light, breathing deeply to calm himself, he felt a warmth began to creep across his back and around his body as the light suffused him. In his mind, he imagined that it was burning away the darkness within him, but as he watched, his clothing and armor burst into flames and melted off him as ash and slag, leaving him unharmed as the light itself began to harden around him into a full suit of glowing plate mail.


    As this happened, he felt himself starting to fade and diminish as he finally understood. He wasn¡¯t to be strengthened by Siddrim but taken over by the god. Todd didn¡¯t struggle or fight as the deity took possession of him, body and soul, and he faded into the background. It was a strange experience, and it was only when that was completed that the giant wings of molten gold sprang from his back.


    He doubted that even the strongest could have survived this. Siddrim had taken everything and made it his own. When he was gone again, Todd would be nothing but a husk of the man that he¡¯d once been.


    He did not feel angry or cheated, though. He knew that he might be able to slay five of those zombies or perhaps ten. As Lord Siddrim¡¯s avatar, though¡­ Together they would slay every last monster in that accursed hive and purge it with fire before there was nothing left of him, and that was a sacrifice he was willing to accept.


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    As Siddrim¡¯s power coalesced within the flawed vessel, it struggled to focus as it slowly took control. Todd was devout. That was beyond question. However, something about him was off. That troubled Siddrim much less than the struggle it took to come to grips with being so much less than he¡¯d been moments ago.


    He knew that the rest of his glory still lit the world, guided his flock, and protected the world from the darkness, of course, but the fragment of him that was now bound to the body of this mortal thought of itself as Siddrim as well, and that was always a confusing moment.


    Still, it passed, and as soon as it was done, he began to focus on the battle to come. He had not seen a hive with so much death and decay in decades or perhaps a century. Perhaps it had been when his forces had rallied an army and driven north to purge the cursed city of Zackeir¡¯syon from the malignancy that had been growing there for decades and the army of shades it had devoured in all those years of solitude.


    Evil collected in lonely, forgotten places. Siddrim knew that better than anyone. What he didn¡¯t understand was how this place had gotten so bad without anyone noticing. He¡¯d seen the taint in the river growing until his followers had struck down Oroza and her wicked flock, and he had rejoiced as her dark influence slowly left all the places that her river touched, and the world began to heal.


    But not even in all that time had he noted that Blackwater was any more tainted than the rest of the world. If anything, it had been healing for decades longer as its tainted, stagnant waters slowly dried up, and the foul mud became fertile soil.


    In the end, he was forced to agree with the theory of his warrior. This had to be the work of something ancient that had laid dormant for a very long time. If that was the case, though, why would it pick now to strike? What was to be gained by it?


    One thing was certain, though. Whatever the evil was down there, it had managed to get its hooks into the priest that had designed and built this temple. It was still holy ground, but Siddrim could feel the cracks. When the battle which lay ahead was done, he would have the place leveled and built again from scratch with more traditional techniques.


    For now, it was as good a battlefield as any. Would it be enough, though? Would his enemy be stupid enough to try to face off against a God in his place of power, or would he have to descend into the darkness to face his enemy there?


    He¡¯d gone into the depths a hundred times to face other foes, but it wasn¡¯t his preferred strategy. Not only were his powers much more limited in such foul places, but the enemy had likely spent decades to lay any number of terribly lethal traps.


    Though any weapon would have a hard enough time trying to penetrate the armor of righteousness that Siddrim was cloaked in, the magics of the dark were an especially bad choice. He reviewed the dim memories of the leviathan that the templars had fought years before and smiled. His aura alone would be enough to burn away anything made in that image.


    Brother Graff believed that both of these dungeons bore the same fingerprints, and Siddrim was inclined to agree with the man¡¯s assessment. Perhaps it was the evil below him that had somehow managed to taint the small goddess Oroza after all, he mused. Still - these things could be investigated by his priests once the abominations were dead.


    As Siddrim considered all of these things and tried to decide what the correct course of action was, he heard a grinding of stone on stone and knew that his enemy, or at least some messenger on its behalf, was approaching. It used the tainted altar as a sort of lift to raise it slowly back to ground level.


    Given that the sun was still out, it was a strange choice, but Siddrim would not complain. It was probably just a feint to close the door before he could go down there and kill every piece of necromantic scum that had been resurrected by his enemy, but he would wait and see.


    After all, if need be, he could focus the light until it melted the very stone or rip those giant stones out of the earth and forge his own path into the depths.


    As a hunched figure cloaked in black sackcloth began to appear on the dais, Siddrim flared his wings out and summoned a giant broad sword in the form of a semitransparent beam of crepuscular light that was sharp enough to cut through any steel. Then he steeled himself. Whatever was going to happen next, he was ready.

 Ch. 82 - Divine Fury

    The altar glided to a stop, fixing in its original place as the hunched figure began to laugh. It was a rasping, dry sound that sounded utterly forced. That only made it more bizarre, though. Then the thing began to point at Siddrim¡¯s avatar, though it did not hesitate.


    Instantly, the room filled with light as a blazing pillar of holy light descended from the oculus in the roof and consumed the dark creature in a cascade of divine retribution. With so many unknowns, he wasn¡¯t about to take chances. For a moment, everyone was blinded, and it was only when that light faded that the avatar could see the golden skeleton that Todd had seen before rising to his full height. The mantle it had worn to hide its true form from the light had burned away to nothing, but otherwise, the abomination appeared strangely unharmed.


    Skeleton might have been the wrong word, though. Like everything else in this place, it was a bizarre mockery of life with three legs and four arms, and worse, a suit of armor built to match the subtle asymmetry that seemed to twist the whole monstrosity and leave its body and posture slightly off-center.


    Armor might have been the wrong word too. After another moment of examination, he decided that it had much more in common with a crab¡¯s carapace than it did with a suit of well-crafted plate mail. The joints seemed almost organic in the way that the plates rotated and moved around each other rather than covering the gaps with an underlying sheet of chainmail. None of them seemed to stop it from spreading its arms wide in a mocking bow.


    ¡°You fight when you should have run, and you chose this place of all places as your battleground¡­ a very foolish move for a god,¡± it accused him, irritating the avatar further.


    ¡°When I strike you down, I will descend into the depths and slay everything you¡¯ve built before I purge it with holy fire!¡± Siddrim¡¯s avatar shouted before gesturing with his sword and consuming the foul creature in a torrent of flames.


    That was when the pumps started again. The avatar ignored them, but he could feel the building shudder as something large beneath his feet began to stir. For a moment, the room was filled with rainbow as the spray over the oculus filled the afternoon light, but then, that prismatic cascade was replaced with darkness as something darker and opaque began to spray in its place.


    Suddenly, for the first time in centuries, the avatar felt himself cut off entirely from his own godhead. Even though avatars were given enough of a divine spark that they didn¡¯t need that connection, it had always been an ever-present thing until now.


    Instantly his assessment of the danger in this place increased dramatically. No other villain in living memory had been able to cut him off from the light before, but somehow this creature had, and that meant he had to get outside.


    As soon as the avatar¡¯s flames slackened off and he prepared to leap to the main doors and out to the safety that the setting sun would provide, though, the skeleton spoke again. ¡°You should be careful. We are in your sacred place, and such magics will only harm the beautiful decorations I have made for you!¡±


    The avatar looked around and could see the truth in the abominations¡¯ words, but he didn¡¯t care. Let all the statues melt, and all the decorations burn. This place was an abomination on more levels than he could understand, and he would be happy to reduce the place to rubble and ash and build something more proper in its place.


    ¡°Well, for us, really,¡± the golden skeleton continued. ¡°We will be spending a lot of time together going forward. Forever, actually.¡±


    The avatar ignored the grating words, and instead, he spread his wings and bolted across the room. Well, he tried to. Partway across the room, though, one of the melting angels that decorated the pillars in the center of the room reached out unexpectedly and grabbed his wrist.


    The hand broke off immediately as he glided by it, but the very act that something had grabbed him sent him spinning as he landed in a defensive crouch, giving his opponent all the time in the world to interpose itself between the angelic avatar of light and the door.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going anywhere,¡± the skeleton rasped, mockingly. ¡°You can¡¯t. All of this is for you. Decades of effort and planning. All for you, in this moment and at this place.¡±


    Siddrim¡¯s avatar wanted to shout back about how ridiculous this all sounded, but he couldn¡¯t as he watched the horror show unfold all around him. He¡¯d known that this whole temple was corrupted, but once the gold started to come off of the scorched pillars and melted statues, it showed all of the foul corruption that lay under that thin, gilded layer.


    Each man-shaped figure hid an undead construct. Some of them were skeletons made to mock the religious figures they depicted, and others were utterly inhuman. They weren''t the only abominations hidden beneath gold and plaster, either. Under every flaking copy of Siddrim¡¯s holy sign was a defaced copy or a blasphemous symbol waiting to be revealed. As each symbol of his power faded and was replaced by its enemy''s mockery, the avatar could feel the very air turning to poison.


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    A moment ago, this was a temple of light. A strange one that bore all the hallmarks of heresy and sabotage, to be sure, but a home of Siddrim nonetheless. Now it was an abomination. The walls writhed with mocking corpses, and every symbol worth mentioning was degrading into something terrible before his very eyes. Even the oculus on the ceiling that should have let him commune with the rest of his own divinity was blocked by foul water and blood so dark it was almost black.


    It was a trap, and somehow he¡¯d managed to fall into it without ever suspecting its existence. There was only one answer for this, he decided grimly as he lifted his right hand to the bottom of his large hilt. He would have to cut his way out.


    The avatar¡¯s first impulse was to turn to the side and cut through the two-foot-thick sandstone wall that separated him from freedom with his blade of light, but no sooner did he pivot than the mocking abomination lunged toward him, forcing him to parry the shards of darkness that the thing was suddenly wielding in all four of his hands.


    ¡°You cannot hope to best me in combat, you monster,¡± the avatar yelled, beating him back. ¡°No matter what trickery you plan, this is still hallowed ground and¡­¡±


    His sword struck a glancing blow on the silvered carapace but barely left a mark. Since a lance of light could easily pierce steel, he was left wondering what enchantments had been used to fend off his blow. That¡¯s not what distracted him, though. What distracted him was the feeling of the light fading from the earth beneath his feet.


    The avatar had no idea how the monster he was facing had done it. In fact, he was fairly sure it shouldn¡¯t even be possible, but unless it was a foul illusion, he couldn¡¯t deny what was happening. A moment ago, the ground beneath his feet had added to his strength with every beat of his heart, but now it felt like he was wading through polluted mud with every step.


    ¡°Is it?¡± the monstrosity asked. ¡°I confess, I look forward to better understanding that little trick after I have devoured your soul.¡±


    A single shard of fear shot through the avatar at such a vile statement. That was something else that should be impossible, but with everything else that was happening, well - he needed to end this.


    This time he didn¡¯t try to strike out at the wall. He struck out at the vile creature that seemed to be in charge. He rained a series of savage blows that would have been enough to sunder an iron-bound gate or any suit of plate mail he¡¯d ever seen before now, but the construct shrugged off blow after blow. Twice he shattered the short dark blades that continuously moved to parry his opponent''s flashing slashes and deadly thrusts, but each time a new weapon of the same design appeared in the monster¡¯s hand.


    Without a conduit to the sky, striking him down with pure, holy light again wasn¡¯t an option, but then, neither that blast nor the holy fire he¡¯d tried several times since had done much to slow this monster down. All he had done was remove a few of its abominable gilded servants from the battlefield. The ones that were left were still assaulting him, and even though they were little more than a nuisance, their grasping hands and claws were enough to slow him at critical moments in the fight.


    Even so, eventually, his superiority in both weapons and skill became obvious when his four-armed enemy was forced to sacrifice his lower left arm to keep his skull from being cleaved in two. The severed arm clattered loudly to the floor as he raised his sword again to cleave the vile monster in half. He was careful to avoid the spray of dark fluid that came out of the hollows of the ulna and radius bones, though.


    ¡°The only fate that can possibly await darkness when it meets the light is death! You¡ª¡± The angelic Avatar¡¯s fiery wings flickered for a moment as he felt a jolt of cold fire in his back, somewhere near his left kidney, just before the whole area started to go numb.


    Even as he avoided giving the creature the satisfaction of crying out in pain, he instantly knew what had happened. The monstrosity hadn¡¯t lost an arm on accident. It had lost the limb on purpose, and once it had fallen to the ground, one of its other servants had picked it up and thrust it between a joint in his armor.


    The avatar reached down with his left hand to pull the blade out but found that there was nothing there. He instantly worried about where the thing might have gone, but didn¡¯t have too much time to think about it because as soon as he had only one hand on his hilt, the necrotic abomination lurched forward again, attacking with its remaining three weapons to press its newfound advantage.


    Todd¡¯s body was, at this moment, an embodiment of the concept of light. It was a vessel filled to the brim with an avatar of his god, and that powerful radiance spilled out of him everywhere. It took the form of the fiery wings behind him and the glowing armor that encased him. It even made up his giant five-foot-long blade that was a source of solar radiance itself.


    He was also the only light left in the room now that everything else had been polluted and plunged into darkness, and now he was flickering. Even though he continued to fight, cutting stone and bone in his quest to purge his vile opponent, he could feel something twisting and changing. He was the avatar of Siddrim, but increasingly he remembered that he was Todd too. Underneath the divine might was another hero, one that would not waiver and would not fail.


    At least, that is what he would have said a few minutes prior. Now though. As the light faltered, his eyes were playing tricks on him, somehow. The bodies that lay all around him were no longer the shattered mocking corpses he¡¯d dispatched or the last few bound worshipers that he¡¯d tried so hard to save a few hours ago. In the fading light of his wings, they were the fallen templars from years past and all the other people he couldn¡¯t save. To his left was a miner that had gone missing when the goblins came for thieves, and to his right sat his mother holding his father¡¯s mauled body in her arms.


    Todd ignored the obvious trick, continuing to attack his shadowy opponent with a newfound rage. ¡°This will not save you,¡± he shouted, ¡°You toy with my memories at¡­¡±


    His words faded as he brought his sword to a halt inches above the mutilated young boys that stood in front of him. He instantly recognized them as Bradwin and Cole, and even though he knew it was some strange sort of trick, the guilt that he felt over these two deaths, in particular, left him unable to attack them.


    ¡°Go on, Toad,¡± Bradwin said, taking a step forward. ¡°You already killed us once. Doing it again shouldn¡¯t be so hard.¡±

 Ch. 83 - Devoured Whole

    It had taken the Lich more than a decade of planning before the first stone for this complicated building had been laid. Hundreds of souls had labored on the subject until they ceased to be, though. Dozens of bright men and women had set themselves to the impossible task of building this singular work of art, and all of them had perished after moving it only a few steps forward because of the dozens of contradictory goals it had to accomplish.


    It had to be full of darkness but appear untainted. It had to be a perfect trap yet somehow appear inviting. Every part of it had been designed to appear holy, but even the most frivolous decorations had always had an ulterior motive in mind. It wasn¡¯t even built to be a trap primarily.


    That was only ever the first step of the plan. It was also to be the arena where it fought the true might of the God of light and the place of its birth, where It had originally intended to build the whole thing in secret and spring it upon the world as a fully formed temple of Siddrim, but the tainted priest had made a more public plan possible.


    The Lich had only avoided killing him initially to distract the templars that fought beside him, but he¡¯d been glad that he¡¯d let Verdenin live after he¡¯d taken a peek into his grasping, greedy little mind on his death bed. Men that lusted for power were the easiest of all to control, and the Lich had filled his dreams with not only the grandeur of this place but the respect and esteem he would get for being the one to imagine it.


    It was true that his name would live throughout history after this, though perhaps not the way that he¡¯d originally intended. Even now, the one-arm priest was down in the under temple praying for his God to see the truth along with a few dozen of his fellow broken worshipers. The Lich had not yet decided if they would live, but for now, their tainted and discordant prayers were one more weapon in his arsenal that he would need come sunrise.


    The fight between his absurdly lethal body and the wounded avatar would not last all night after all. Indeed, the battle was already more than halfway over as soon as the first blow had been struck. The champion of light was still swinging his sword, of course, but blindly because the Lich had already used the slender shard of darkness that it had worked past the man¡¯s armor to obscure the link between the mortal and the divine.


    This disconnect made conversation all but impossible just now, of course. Not that the Lich had much to say to the Lord of Light. Its initial taunts had only been to keep the man¡¯s interest so he would not immediately try to flee. Now that the two of them were stuck together, conversations could wait until it had burrowed deep inside the other man¡¯s mind.


    That, more than anything else, would be Siddrim¡¯s undoing. It wasn¡¯t that he¡¯d picked a fight in a place where the Lich¡¯s power was absolute, though he had. It wasn¡¯t even that he¡¯d been completely blindsided to find an enemy where none existed. His real mistake was that in his rush to fight that newfound enemy, he¡¯d chosen a deeply flawed vessel, and you could hardly build a bastion of light on a foundation of shadows.


    Todd had been every bit as important to its plan as this formidable structure. The darkness had found several boys in the region with enough of a connection to magic that the templars might have taken an interest in them, but they¡¯d only ever found Todd. It had tormented all of its candidates, of course. As suitable as they might be to join the light, they were useless to the dark without at least a little blood on their hands.


    Even now, Todd was too busy struggling with the souls of the boys he¡¯d killed so many years ago to keep fighting with him in the here and now. That was why he was bleeding both blood and light from half a dozen places now.


    The Lich bore a few wounds, too, of course, but this body was just another tool, and the sooner it could return to the heart of the labyrinth for the final battle, the better. Its mithril shell had not been breached, though it was dented in half a dozen places now. That wasn¡¯t a problem, and neither was the severed arm. Not really. It had served its purpose. The real issue was that it had already used up more than half of the shadows it had loaded this body with.


    Before this fight had ever started, every bone was filled with darkness where its marrow should have been, and every blast of light or fire was offset by boiling some of that away in equal measure. Oh, the Lich could have used some of it for a few abilities of its own, of course. This was an endurance match, though. It might occasionally use the shadows to flicker just out of reach of that terrible blade or to replace a blade of its own when it shattered, but that was all it could afford.


    Even cut off from the rest of his God, the avatar was a powerful thing, and its light tried hard to burn through the layers of mithril and steel in their attempts to blast the Lich away into nothingness. Only the combination of holy bones and the unholy blood that cycled through its inhuman body thanks to the resentful beating of a templar¡¯s heart enabled it to resist the terrible energies.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    The wings were flickering now, and the internal fires were dying, and more and more knives crawled their way inside the flesh that was now only protected by the avatar¡¯s fading armor. Even this much light would have been enough to boil his leviathan in under a minute. Only the Lich¡¯s juggernaut had any hope of withstanding such prolonged exposure, and Siddrim¡¯s avatar would have cut that behemoth to ribbons within a minute or two.


    No, the Lich needed to be the one to bait the hook, and even as its reserves began to drain, it could see its enemy faltering. Moment by moment and blow by corrupting blow, the avatar weakened, and after his wings faded to the barest flickering flames on his shoulder blades, his blade slipped from his fingers and vanished before it even hit the ground.


    After that, the room was plunged into darkness, but the Lich could see just as well as it ever could. More importantly, it could breathe a sigh of relief as it silently ordered its remaining minions to drag the wounded body to the altar and chain it down to the hidden manacles there.


    It was only once all these things had happened that he let the mind of the man inside this shell of a body come back to the surface. By that point, the templar had been reduced to little more than a sobbing child, and the ghosts of his bullies had done more damage to him in there than the Lich had done physically to his body in the real world.


    Forcing the sobbing, sniveling brat to wake up and realize that while he¡¯d been indulging in his weakness, the battle had already been lost would have been enough to make the Lich smile if it was capable of such a thing. It wasn¡¯t, though. All it could do was look down coldly at the man while he realized he was bound and tried to break free.


    ¡°I will never serve you!¡± Todd spat as he realized what was probably about to happen next.


    ¡°You won¡¯t,¡± the Lich agreed. ¡°Your soul and the piece of Siddrim¡¯s essence that you still carry inside you will be irrevocably destroyed by the ritual that happens next.¡±


    Reminded of Siddrim¡¯s avatar, Todd tried to invoke his God briefly, but the only evidence of that was that his eyes glowed briefly while he struggled. Then he lay back, temporarily exhausted.


    ¡°You lost before the cornerstone was ever laid here, boy,¡± the Lich gloated as it tripped the switch, and the altar began to sink back into the earth. ¡°I chose the vessel. I chose the place. I chose the stakes and the weapons. All you ever did was play your part!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not true!¡± Todd yelled, ¡°I would never do what you wanted!¡±


    The Lich ignored him for a moment as he mentally ordered his pet fire godling to begin channeling fire into all the ruined gold up there. It was a slow process, but it needed to come pouring down this shaft to complete the final circle.


    ¡°You fed on my land and drank of my waters,¡± the Lich countered. ¡°I never forced you to do a single thing, and you still did everything I needed you to do. I showed you horrors, and you ran straight to your God for help as I desired. Now I only have one task left for you. To die, as painfully as possible.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re going to kill me, then just do it now and get it over with!¡± Todd screamed from fear as much as bravery. He wouldn¡¯t snivel, even at the end, but then the Lich had already known that.


    As the altar slowly sank into the ground, the Lich looked up and saw the first of the gold just starting to trickle down the shaft. Though it had been impossible to notice the pattern in the grooves of the dark stone up until now, they were one of the most critical parts of the whole design.


    The pit the altar descended into was only forty feet deep because that was the amount of space that had been required to inscribe the spell. It contained the seven secret names of Siddrim as well as all of the more common ones, and though it suspected that none of them were the Lord of Light¡¯s true name, they would be enough to make the circle nigh unbreakable.


    As it descended, so did the molten gold. It drizzled smoothly through the grooves hidden in the rock face and slowly but surely made its way down. They followed the complex paths that were laid out for them, and as the altar finally reached the bottom of the pit, they were nearly halfway down their course.


    When they were complete, the winding circle of binding would be one of the most complex works of applied archaeology to ever have been built according to the voices in its library. No one, not even a god, would be able to see it coming.


    ¡°Why rush?¡± the Lich asked. ¡°We have all night to make you suffer and marinate you in darkness. When the sun next rises, I will unveil you to the light and then force the tainted shard of the divine that you carry back into your God at my leisure. It will be an attack that will be utterly impossible for him to escape and just as fatal as sewing a gangrenous limb back onto the body of an otherwise healthy patient.¡±


    Todd¡¯s eyes widened in horror, though the Lich did not linger to hear what he would say next. It didn¡¯t matter. Nothing did until the next phase of the battle was truly joined. As the Lich¡¯s body left the pit and began the long walk back to the foundry with its severed arm in its remaining left hand so that it could be repaired, the Lich¡¯s soul fled back to his throne room and to Albrecht¡¯s moldering, mummified body. At the same moment, the stone door slid down from above and slammed shut.


    The Lich would have liked to stay to watch the shadows pour into the pit to properly marinate its victim, but there was nowhere else it would rather recuperate until the time of the final battle was at hand. The Lich wouldn¡¯t let him drown in that darkness, of course, but it doubted very much that he would still be sane when the sun rose above the horizon once more in ten hours.

 Ch. 84 - The Circle

    Despite the titanic conflict that was taking place between two inhuman powers, it might have been any other day as far as the world was concerned. Barges passed through the canal, craftsmen plied their trade, and though people still loitered around the temple, of course, wives still served dinner, and men washed off the grime of the day. The only things that were amiss in the last few hours before sunset were the black water fountaining from the top of the temple and the people from the more rural reaches of the region streaming toward the heart of Blackwater.


    The former was certainly obvious enough to draw the attention of everyone, but other than a boat captain and his crew that wasn¡¯t from around here, no one seemed to pay it much more attention than a passing glance would warrant. The Lich was sure that the Gods looking down on the situation had noticed the strange goings on at the temple, even if they hadn¡¯t yet noticed the families dropping whatever they were doing and abandoning their farms to come and worship it properly.


    By morning, there would be thousands gathered there, crowding the square and the streets, and all illusions of normalcy would be gone in favor of the collection of power as every person under the sway of the darkness sought to obey a compulsion they couldn¡¯t understand. They need not understand, though. Understanding was not required.


    It already understood everything. All they needed to do was obey.


    The people of the region had eaten its bread and drunk its waters for so long that they belonged to the darkness completely now. There would never be any escape for them, but the Lich would only seek to save those who truly loved it and the twilight world that was promised in their dreams. Everything and everyone else was expendable.


    So far, the Lich was entirely pleased with the outcome of the unfolding events. Siddrim, as it predicted, had grown so used to winning all of his challenges that the foolhardy God could no longer even imagine a situation that might be too much for it, and though it did not know it yet, it had already paid the price for that.


    After the sunset and the moon started to rise, the pumps that powered the dark fountains finally stopped, and the doors were reopened to allow as many of the waiting people in as possible. Brother Verdenin was there to lead them in strange songs and give speeches about the true ruler of the world, but the altar was still missing.


    Well, not missing. It was still submerged forty feet beneath the ground, and the well that it created was still filled with shadows, but no one that crowded into the large temple paid any more attention to that than they did to the scorched and melted art that had been pristine earlier that day.


    Just like the worshipers of the Oroza, these people could only see what the Lich wanted them to see, and what it wanted them to see was glorious. In that distant future, all were one, and there was no war. Of course, the part where all the peoples of the world were owned by the Lich, and the peace was the peace of the grave were left out of these visions. It would need loyal subjects for a long time. They would be the last ones left breathing on this world.


    They would be the last ones still breathing until all of his enemies had been snuffed out, and so the Lich¡¯s servant, Brother Verdenin, called them forward one at a time throughout the night and took them below so that they could be protected from the carnage that was going to occur next. The disloyal ones, though¡­ the ones that harbored doubts or concerns¡­ they were left there to sing its praises until they were hoarse. The Lich would need all the strength it could muster for what was going to happen next.


    The same might have been true for Todd and the spark of the divine that he still harbored deep within his breast, but he was past that point now. In the hours spent laying there soaking in the toxic nightmares that the Lich had hoarded for decades, he had grown quite mad, and though his screams could not be heard over the singing, they never stopped anymore.


    The singing and the screams weren¡¯t quite enough to cover up the deep and rumbling sound of the pumps when they started back up. This time, they were not powering the delicate fountains that decorated the Lich¡¯s temple. This time, they were filling the great circle with the final catalyst it needed to activate: the polluted and bloodstained water of its river.


    The great circle wasn¡¯t a thing to bind its enemy; that was the small well at the center of the temple. It was an amplifier. It was the only place in the world where the true name of the Lich had been recorded. It had even ordered it stricken from Kelvun¡¯s pages lest someone one day discover such a powerful secret.


    The giant, nearly circular tunnel ran the full length of its oldest territory and would ensure that, unlike the time it fought the Oroza, its power would be unlimited as it tore the Lord of Light to shreds.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    The Lich always felt deeply connected to the land because it was the land itself. It was the water, the soil, and the insects that lived in both. It was the thick, boggy earth and all of the food that came from it to feed the people of the region. This only intensified as the precisely cut channels filled with the foul brew and activated the runes that were carved there one at a time.


    It would take hours and certainly be visible to any Gods or wizards that might investigate, but then it had already tipped its hand by activating the temple and seizing Siddrim¡¯s avatar. All forces would now be arrayed against it now. It would be ready, though. Even if it had not spent decades murdering boat crews, adventurers, and stealing the soul of every person foolish enough to die in its domain, it still had the endless carnage of the goblins and the looted remains of the dwarven crypt to keep it well fed for this moment.


    The Gods thought that challenging them was impossible. It would correct that error.


    All through the night, the Lich made preparations as he moved his pieces into position across the board. A whole army of the dead marched out of the main entrance and into the muddy waters of the Oroza by the thousands. When they reached the bottom of the river, most turned left and began to march north toward Bridigem and the other port cities of Dutton County, while a much smaller number marched south toward Tagel.


    Nothing would stop those cities from burning, and even though all of these battles would be fought in a day or even a week, but the blood and fear they caused would be crucial to replenishing the Lich¡¯s stores after sunrise. No matter how things played out, it expected to use years'' worth of resources that it had painstakingly stored for just such an occasion.


    The undead would take time to move into position, but of course, the goblins had already started their bloodthirsty rampage, even now. They¡¯d been gathering for days in the dark woods along the coast, and though they weren¡¯t as mighty as they¡¯d been last time without fire magic-wielding shamans, it was certain no mere fishing village could stand up to the screaming hordes of death and destruction that had been unleashed at sunset.


    This time, the Lich had not condensed them into a single powerful tribe but instead left them as squabbling siblings competing for its affection and favor. The result was that they were as bloodthirsty as ever, and almost as many goblins died from infighting as from the enemies they battled.


    The Lich did not mind this, though. Death was death, and unlike many of its crafted servants, it did not require that the goblins be effective; it only required that they be eager.


    Effective was a requirement of its four horsemen, of course, which would finally be fielded together, it thought hungrily. It had no way of knowing how well or poorly they would work together, of course, since they were all still willful in their own way, but their target would demand more strength than any one of them could hope to provide. The earth titan was still reluctant to fight no matter how much the darkness tried to enflame its soul, and even now, all these years later, the river dragon continued to resist her bonds.


    In that sense, only Krulm¡¯venor could be called a true success. He had struggled until he¡¯d shattered himself, and now he was a tribe of bloodthirsty monsters more than he was a fire godling. The others could learn from his example, though, or they could be replaced when the Lich found more capable servants. It didn¡¯t care either way.


    Normally, the Lich was content to let everything play out in its own time, but tonight, of all nights, it grew agitated and restless as it watched the stars wheel slowly across the sky. Surely, the church had already suspected something, and even now, an army of templars was moving against it, or perhaps a small, talented band of adventurers would try to employ some hidden magical gambit against it.


    Even at its most paranoid, the Lich found nothing though. There were no unusual deaths among the Red Hills, and no strangers mixed in with all of its loyal subjects on the roads to Blackwater. Though Siddrim had almost certainly relayed the day''s strange events to the elders of the church and his chosen champions, they would certainly be too late to intervene.


    Without the assistance of its magical ferryman, it took days to travel from one city to another, even with spare horses, and what was going to happen next would be decided sometime between sunrise and sunset tomorrow.


    Somehow, it had managed to pull off its grand design in secret, and the surprise was nearly complete. Now, all the Lich needed to do was wait, but that became more challenging with every hour that passed as it looked for more and more things it needed to do to make itself as ready as possible.


    It had never felt this way in the leadup to its revenge on Kelvun. Not even when the night dawned, and the storm broke. It had been calm and amused until the very end.


    It was that understanding that finally made the Lich understand what it was feeling. Fear. Anxiety. Dread. All the emotions it whipped up so frequently in others but never experienced itself.


    The realization was unwelcome. Fear was not something the Lich should have experienced. It was an emotion it had not felt in a long time. Perhaps not since those Lizardmen had begun to worship it all those years ago, but certainly not since its battle with the Ozora.


    It should not have to fear the light, but it still did, somewhere, somehow. Its most recent duel with Siddrim¡¯s avatar had only increased that fear. It might have shrugged off those attacks, but there had been no denying how painful they had been, and it was certain that the worst was yet to come in that regard.


    Yesterday, it had fought a star, and tomorrow, it would fight the sun. The Lich wasn¡¯t worried, though. The night devoured the sun every day. Today, it would just happen earlier.

 Ch. 85 - The End of Days (part 1)

    It was a tense, still twilight, but when dawn first colored the horizon, nothing happened. Not right away. It wasn¡¯t until the upper limb of the sun made its way above the horizon and slowly colored the muddy waters of the Oroza with dawn¡¯s morning light that an errant sunbeam made its way to the temple and searched for the missing piece of itself.


    The light would have expected Siddrim¡¯s champion to be standing outside triumphantly to greet the dawn, but instead, it found dark, empty streets. The light found a temple that was almost unchanged on the outside but filled only with a paradoxical mix of ruin and worshipers on the inside.


    His avatar must have won, he realized, even if the surroundings offered few clues about what it was that had happened. The worshipers sang his hymns welcoming the dawn, but the notes were off-key, and something felt off. He¡¯d taken the strange scene in an instant, but it was only when he found the body of his avatar at the bottom of a well that should not have existed that he knew something terrible had happened.


    Slowly, the errant sunbeam bent, moving ever deeper at an impossible angle so that it could reach the devout young warrior he¡¯d empowered. It was only when Siddrim felt Todd¡¯s weak heartbeat and the information of the last day¡¯s events as it had reached down to touch what appeared to be his slain avatar that the trap was sprung.


    That connection was enough to reclaim the avatar¡¯s spark of divinity. In fact, that was itself a necessary step in accessing the memories of his shard. Even before Siddrim began to make sense of the terrible images that flooded out of that twisted, broken mind, though, it was already too late. The darkness had forged a connection, and that connection was trapped at the center of a series of concentric binding rings that only throbbed with power when he tried to escape.


    The first time that Siddrim tried to pull back, he felt himself unable to do so, and in a panic, he pulled harder, but all that did was cause the runes to flare to violent life and increase their grip. Several things happened at once after that.


    The first was that whatever was controlling these actions behind the scenes allowed water to start flowing into the well. Apparently, it no longer mattered if their bait drowned now that he¡¯d been caught.


    The second was that the sun began to fade where it kissed the horizon. It was a small change, and even if the average person would have been awake, he doubted that most would have noticed it. Still, for a god of light, this was a worrisome moment.


    Third, and finally, the worshippers that had been singing so discordently up until now all fell silent in unison. Then, as one, they said, ¡°I welcome you, Lord of Light, and thank you for christening your new temple personally.¡±


    Siddrim did not respond, nor did he try to pull back again. That was a painful thing that seemed to redirect all the force he used to escape right back at him. He would deal with that in a moment. For now, he turned inwards, ignoring all the other distractions as he tried to understand the darkness that was surging through him so he could bind and purge it.


    It was not an attack. It was an infection.


    Darkness should not be able to exist in the presence of the light, and yet even as it burned away moment by moment, it flowed deeper inside the Lord of Light. Just being able to see darkness made him feel dirty. Such things were normally banished by his very arrival! Whole mountain ranges of shadows were supposed to flee into caves as he rose each day, and it was only when he rested from those exertions that they finally came out to cover the land once more. But now they were inside of him, and no matter how brightly he flared, he could not dispel them completely.


    ¡°I once feared you, you know,¡± the voice inside him whispered even as the water levels in the well continued to rise, and his dying servant started to choke and cough. ¡°I once had reason to, though. A little patch of land blessed in your name was all that was required to destroy me utterly.¡±


    ¡°All of this land is mine!¡± Siddrim roared, bombarding the temple with light so fierce that steam began to rise from the damp rooftop. ¡°I will burn you away, foul spirit! Not even dust will remain to mark your grave!¡±


    For a moment, he did. Light bombarded the whole area. First, it was in the temple, and then the streets of Blackwater, and finally, all the surrounding fields and glens. It burned all the way to the bottom of the Oroza as it made those murky waters translucent and bent to move around curtains and under doors.


    For a few seconds, shadows simply did not exist anymore. That should have been enough, he thought. Nothing evil could survive such intense focus, but still, the darkness flowed in his veins, and as soon as he relented so as not to catch the people and the homes of this town on fire, it surged with a vengeance.


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


    ¡°Light is strong,¡± the darkness whispered once more. ¡°Strong enough to burn away everything, but it is a slender, fragile thing, and even if it is everywhere, it is a shallow ocean. Darkness, on the other hand - it descends for hundreds of miles. It goes to the roots of the mountains and the bottom of the sea.¡±


    There was a pause, just long enough for the god to consider the words that were being hissed so insistently in his ear, and then he felt something shift inside him. Until now, the darkness that swirled inside him was a hazy mist that was being burned away almost as fast as he flowed in from the damaged soul of his servant, but as the drowning man became a corpse, that trickle became a flood and raced toward his core like a dagger in the night.


    ¡°And that¡¯s enough to swallow even the Lord of Light¡­¡± These last words were said with a sneer, but the tone did nothing to disguise the threat.


    Siddrim shrank back from the attack even as he tried to pull free from the trap that held him here. Both actions caused the light to dim further as it slowed its ascent. A moment ago, it had been sunrise, but now it was twilight once more, and the sun was no brighter than the moon as the stars again became visible in the sky.


    The darkness closed upon the center of the light God¡¯s being, like a fist wrapped around his heart as it began to squeeze. Until a moment ago, he had all the light in the universe at his disposal. Now, he felt like a guttering oil lamp as he strained against his invisible bonds.


    For ten-thousand years, since he had cast off mortal flesh and become the strongest of all the gods, his heart had been a temple, perfect in its purity. Today, that changed. Today, it filled with sludge, and the restless dead inside it grasped and clawed at everything, ruining his peace and sanctity with their touch even as the Lord of Light burned them to ash.


    Then, even that holy of holies was plunged into darkness as the eternal flame at the center of his being was snuffed out. No, not snuffed. Such fires could never be truly extinguished. It burned yet, under layers of filth, where no one would ever see it again.


    Siddrim felt the rage growing inside of him at the very idea. Other divinities and lesser gods would still light the night sky when he was gone, but neither Lunara nor her sisters would be able to keep the ice at bay. The lesser gods and the small gods would do no better. Without him, the whole world would die; he knew that. That was why humanity honored him so. He kept the snows from falling and the dead in the ground.


    It was the certainty that gave Siddrim the strength to dig deep one more time and burn away the sticky, foul substances that continued to pump inside him. It was viscous like tar and lit by his rage, it burned even better than he might have imagined.


    The sun on the horizon flared briefly to life once more, and with it came fire. This time, the Lord of Light didn¡¯t hold back. Siddrim focused his fury on Blackwater, and once more, the light swelled, and one at a time, things started to burst into flames.


    At first, it was the thatched roofs as well as clothing and cloth curtains. Within a minute of enduring the sun¡¯s gaze, most of the buildings were on fire. Those who fled the flaming structures for their lives burst into flames immediately as they reached the outdoors, but those who stayed in their homes only managed to keep breathing a little longer.


    Soon, the whole city was on fire, with the notable exception of the temple. The worshipers'' songs had long since turned to screams, and then silence, and the tattered tapestries and carpets blazed away to ash. The stone structure endured, though. Even when the water in the central well began to boil from the combined heat of the runic binding circle and heaven¡¯s flames, nothing changed.


    The river steamed, the docks burned, and the animals in the fields smoldered, but nothing changed. No matter how much damage the Lord of Light did to the area, he could not cauterize the source of the darkness that poured into him, and when the power of his indignant rage curdled into hopelessness, he was again overpowered by that dark tide and collapsed inward, like a dying star.


    ¡°So much for the vaunted Lord of Light,¡± the darkness murmured. ¡°You control the very heavens but can do nothing to stop the darkness that seeps from the depths. All you can do is murder your own followers and feed me their souls.¡±


    Those words struck Siddrim like a hammer blow. No matter how hard Siddrim fought, he couldn¡¯t escape. The strange trap that held him merely tightened and strengthened as he tried to resist. As his flames guttered, though, and he drifted down into the darkness, he realized that there might be no way out of something that had been created especially for him.


    <hr>


    The sun ceased moving in the sky, lingering at the horizon as the sunrise quickly became a sunset, plunging the world into a suddenly unexpected night.


    The men who had awoken early to begin their work fell to their knees and began to pray. The watchmen and acolytes hurriedly began to wake bishops and pontiffs who routinely slept through the morning prayers to let them know that disaster had befallen the world.


    The Gods saw what was happening, too, of course. There was no hiding it. Siddrim¡¯s cousins and his enemies both gazed at the unthinkable display, wondering what it was that had happened and, of course, what was going to happen next.


    All of them knew one thing, though: the age of light was over. The dark ages had begun.

 Ch. 86 - The End of Days (part 2)

    Their invisible, twisted struggle occurred in an arena spanning dozens of square miles in the physical world. It stretched from the heavens to deep underground as the two entities fought their battle of wills in the ether. No one but the most sensitive could have even glimpsed what had occurred. To mortal eyes, the sun dimmed and set, but to those with vision, the sun was pulled from the sky and tumbled to earth.


    Each time Siddrim had burned away the Lich, it was forced to retreat underground, only to re-emerge when the light faded. It had prepared well for this contest and would not easily be dislodged, no matter how painful the light was. Now, in the darkness, though, the sun was no longer where it should be. Siddrim should have been in his chariot, riding across the sky and spreading his light across the world.


    Instead, his chariot was smashed to flinders, his fiery horses had escaped, and he lay there, sprawled across the leagues of lowlands near the charred ruin of Blackwater as an invisible giant of a man. The God of light would never rise again. Anyone would have been able to see that, but inside the boundary that the Lich had long ago marked as his territory, no one would. Not even the far-sighted Goddess of secrets could penetrate the veil that had been drawn over that portion of the world.


    Even she¡¯d never be able to see the Eidolon of darkness feasting on the blood of a fallen god or the fact that it was growing all the time as it swelled with power. Even as the shrinking, comatose form of Siddrim withered, the Lich rejoiced and thrilled in the strange connections it was able to forge inside the mind of the dying God.


    It could see the kingdoms of the world spread out before it and all the territory that the Lord of Light held sway over. The connections were strongest in holy sites and large cities, but even outside of those, the Lich could see that he held some sway everywhere. Even Blackwater and Fallravea were part of the deity¡¯s domain, and that enraged it.


    That territory was shriveling and receding, though, moment by moment, as Siddrim slowly bled out, and the Lich drained him dry. Some areas would stay under his protection much longer than others, though. The darkness that invaded the dying God¡¯s spirit allowed the Lich to probe these points.


    Each time it reached out to touch a follower or a hallowed relic, that connection was severed, but there were so many terrible things that the Lich could do in that moment. It could shatter sacred five-hundred-year-old stained-glass windows or make the reliquaries of a martyr burst into flames. It could make the devout cry tears of blood or suddenly develop a stigmata and writhe in agony under its terrible scrutiny. The Lich could even corrupt hallowed ground and force whole churchyards to rise from the dead, thirsting for blood.


    It was a tenuous, temporary connection that would vanish entirely in minutes or hours, but the Lich was determined to use it to wreak as much havoc as possible on the living, even as it learned more about the wider world. From here, it could see everything, and in every major city, it forced the crypts and sepulchers open so that they could vomit out their dead on a frightened and confused population.


    These weren¡¯t the powerful, brutally efficient killing machines its fleshcrafters had labored for years to perfect. They were merely moldering corpses and rusting weapons. That would be enough to strike terror into the hearts of every man on the continent. What had once been a refuge was now another danger, and there would be no hiding from the storm that followed.


    As the light died, the Lich¡¯s heart swelled in triumph, and it drank deeply of the mana that made up Siddrim¡¯s dying form. It was an electric sensation, and even though the mana was far outside of its elemental alignments, the nature of the murder, combined with the poison and the agony that tainted it, made it palatable enough to the Lich. It had hungered for godhood since its birth, and it would pay any price to achieve it.


    The vast reserves of dark power that it had hoarded for decades in preparation for this day had almost run dry, and the binding rings that had kept the God from fleeing had all but melted as the torsion caused by the immense power they''d sought to constrain had almost ruined them.


    Once, years ago, the river dragon herself had come almost as close to shattering her binding ring, but it had been a much cruder implement that had only succeeded by accident. The ring that had bound Siddrim was a work of art that had taken years to design, and the Lich had watched in pure fascination and unadulterated greed as the deity had reached down to help his servant, only for the bear trap to hold that appendage fast. After that, it had been child¡¯s play.


    The right move would have been to sever the arm or finger or whatever appropriate appendage the avatar had been, but Siddrim lacked the brains or the courage for such a move. One needed no courage when you could simply smite any real foe you faced from on high. That, combined with the spiritual obesity of his church, had been the defining feature of Siddrim for the last century. He was a god who had defeated all of his enemies, so he had nothing to do but ride his chariot each day and bask in the adoration of his worshipers.


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    That was a mistake, of course. The moment you stopped growing, you started dying, and Siddrim had been a dead man for more than a decade. He just hadn¡¯t known it yet. The Lich would never hesitate to make the right move, though. Even as it plunged the world into endless night, its forces had already begun to ravage the world. Goblins burned coastal cities, and tendrils of its zombie armies erased whole villages. Without the sun to oppose them, it was unstoppable. Even so, though, it gave the command, and its ferrymen set out with two passengers.


    If there was to be any resistance left or any hope of strengthening the dying God of light, it would come from Siddrimar. So, the Lich would send its four horsemen to raze it to the ground. Even as the ferry set off, its shadow dragon took flight, and its swamp dragon swam toward its goal. A single night would not be enough to destroy every last vestige of a god normally, but if that night were to last forever, then it could get a lot done.


    It would need to. History was littered with dark gods and would-be gods that had been discovered by the light before they were ready and ground to dust. The stories it had gleaned from the bards and artists that it had wormed its way into the hearts of over these many years were a series of cautionary tales. The spirit hive of Zackeir¡¯syon, the cults of Gharnehr, and the fallen pantheon of the Malzekeen were all examples where the dark forces that were hiding from the light had been found and burned away until there was nothing left.


    That was why the Lich had struck first. In any normal conflict between darkness and light, the light would always win. It was the nature of things. The Lich was far from normal. It hadn¡¯t even had a name until it had made a bid for its divinity, but it was a name that was unlikely to be written in the history books if it even allowed any of them to be written.


    Tenebroum was a secret name that would not be uttered by the living. It was only meant for the dead and for the magical works it created for its own benefit. Technically, it defined the land more than the shadow that had enveloped it, but the power of that bond made the name inescapable. Even now, the power that it siphoned from Siddrim¡¯s spasming spiritual corpse was flowing into the vast ring that it had carved so long ago in preparation for such a day, and with every moment that passed, the Lich could feel itself growing in power.


    As large and complex as its lair had grown, it was outgrowing it by the moment now. Even as it drank deep of the cosmic energies that were before it, it roused its drudges from their years-long torpor and set them to new, more powerful projects. It already ruled the depths and the waters, but if it added the nearby mountain range to its domain and added a series of towers in key locations, then the very skies would¡­


    Even as Skoeticnomikos struggled to keep up with the words that were pouring out of the Lich¡¯s mind and Kelvun worked tirelessly to document its plans, its theories began to spiral out of control. All of that came to a stop when the corpse that it had been feeding on shuddered violently, pulling Tenebroum¡¯s attention back to the matter at hand.


    The God was still alive. He had been reduced to a single flickering candle of light at the heart of a mountain-sized corpse, but he still lived. Then Siddrim did something entirely unexpected and shattered. His thick bronze armor gave into the corrosion that ate at it, and the ghostly flesh crumbled like overcooked pottery shards. Where once there had been a single sun, which was the immense spirit corpse¡¯s beating heart, now there was only a swirling cloud of embers as it collapsed in on itself. The lights swarmed out of the body in a flurry of shooting stars. Only five of these were of any size, but they sat at the center of a cloud of lesser lights as they drifted away in the night.


    None of them were Siddrim anymore, though, because only the dark husk that they had all escaped from stayed behind when they fled the well of souls that had been created for him without issue. The Lich grasped for these creatures, though it did not know what they were precisely. Were they avatars? Aspects of Siddrim¡¯s power? It did not know, but it knew that it hungered for them just the same as it had for the God that had spawned them.


    The Lich had no luck in trapping them, though. It had not prepared for this eventuality, and though it snuffed a few of the sparks before they managed to cross the river and a few more as they arced over Fallravea, the brighter stars escaped completely, disappearing over the horizon as they burned their way through every net and binding that the Lich thought to cast.


    It simply had no hold on them, but it was no matter. Though it had not yet drunk the dregs, Tenebroum had consumed the lion¡¯s portion of Siddrim¡¯s power, and in time it would have the rest. Truthfully, it realized that it might have been better to stop feasting some time ago, as its mind had started to become distractable, and its senses had grown disconnected.


    It never could have done that, though. The darkness hungered, and it would always gorge itself in the presence of a meal. If it had tried to resist that impulse, then even more of its quarry would have escaped. No, the proper response was not denial. Even with its primary banquet gone, the raging battles that were taking place across the region continued to feed it blood and death.


    They would continue even in its absence, though, the Lich thought drowsily as its humming, now mountain-sized spirit slowly began to drift off and melt into the earth as the need to digest and incorporate all that it devoured became more pressing than any possible danger. It would sleep while its minions rained destruction down on its enemies, and in time, it would arise refreshed and reborn.

 Ch. 87 - A Night of Blood (part 1)

    For a brief moment, there had been hope. Despite the fact that gates were in flames and dead lay in the streets, the sun was rising, and the goblins would not stay once they faced the light of day. Markez had not joined in the cheers when the bloodthirsty raiders had begun to retreat toward the comforting darkness of the thick pine forest. He¡¯d merely offered a silent thanks to his father¡¯s fathers and tossed another javelin into the back of a fleeing monster.


    ¡°Cheer up, old man, we¡¯re saved," Brannon said, sheathing his sword.


    ¡°Until we repair the breaches in the wall and the reinforcements from the Baron arrive, we aren¡¯t saved,¡± Markez countered, feeling even older than his 50 years at that moment. ¡°Without a miracle, tomorrow night¡¯s going to be worse than today.¡±


    Brannon just shrugged. ¡°Maybe with that attitude. The light provides. Anyone can see that.¡±


    ¡°It provides a reprieve, nothing more,¡± the grey-haired man said tiredly.


    He was a fisherman, not a fighter, and though he could use a spear better than most, he¡¯d much rather brave one of the summer squalls that came off the Relict Sea than he would fight an enemy of flesh and blood. He had no choice in the matter, though. Tonight they were all defending their home.


    It was not the men of the Stoney Shores that had started this conflict. The goblins had been growing bolder all year. Last week, they had almost sacked Gerdin¡¯s Cross, and before that, they¡¯d succeeded in burning Olovar to the ground. Now it was their turn, he supposed. Anyone could have seen that they were next if you looked on a map, but everyone had said that goblins didn¡¯t come to the beach and that the sound of the breakers would keep them away.


    Everyone had been wrong.


    Markez could tell he was about to get another lecture from his young oarsman on the importance of the light god when the younger man¡¯s face went slack. Markez turned to follow his gaze, worried that some new monster had emerged from the woods. Instead, he only saw the last few retreating goblins and the sunrise.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± the old fisherman asked, but as soon as he said the words, he could see it himself. The light was dying.


    The sun had only just started to rise, and now it looked like it was starting to set. That was impossible, of course, but just because it was impossible didn¡¯t mean that it wasn¡¯t happening. It was like Siddrim had changed his mind and was going home for the day.


    The cheers died away as more people realized what had just happened. As much as Markez didn¡¯t care for the gods, he prayed that it was just a stray cloud, or a momentary shadow, but he couldn¡¯t help but notice that the goblins had stopped running and were lingering in confusion now at the edge of the woods.


    ¡°Siddrim would never abandon us!¡± Brannon said with a voice full of fear as he rebutted a point that no one had made.


    Markez wanted that to be true, but it didn¡¯t seem likely. The sky was back to full dark now, and the light blue blush of twilight that had been making the stars disappear one by one was gone. There was no longer enough light to see what the goblins might or might not be up to, but he was certain they were out there waiting for whatever came next.


    The dark stillness lasted another few minutes as people talked and worried. Some, like Brannon, were in denial that this could be happening, but others were on the edge of panic even before the terrible screeches of the goblins rang out in the night, indicating that the attack was going to start again.


    Markez doubted very much that the faltering palisade and the handful of men left at their posts would survive another hour the way things had been going before, so when Brannon said, ¡°I¡¯ve got to save my kids!¡± Markez didn¡¯t even try to stop him. Instead, he tossed one of the few remaining javelins at the closest shape he could see, then followed his neighbor down the ladder.


    Brannon was a lousy fisherman, but he had a strong back and a good heart, and that was really all Markez had ever needed from the younger man. Between the two of them, they could manage a few good catches a week in Durgen¡¯s Cove or off the point. Brains and brawn had made a good team until the goblins got out of control.


    Now, they were running down the short street that connected the jetty to the main gate, and from the looks of things, they weren¡¯t the only ones. While Markez waited for Brannon¡¯s wife to unbar the door and then bundle up their youngest, he saw shadows flitting in between the drying racks.


    For want of anything else to do, he picked up the jagged haft of a broken fishing spear he hadn¡¯t yet gotten around to mending and held it to ward off the darkness while he watched other families stream by to make good their own escape.


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    The idea of leaving the stranded behind hurt him as the group rushed toward the water, but not as much as the goblin¡¯s claws did when one leapt at him. The thing only grazed his arm, and as Markez reacted without thinking, he moved the broken shaft into the thing¡¯s path, and it impaled itself. That was enough to make it let go before it could claw out his eyes or rip out his throat with its yellow teeth, but it wasn¡¯t enough to make the thing stop screeching as it writhed in agony on the ground.


    ¡°You see that, Brannon?¡± Markez asked, turning to face the other man. ¡°The bastard tried to get me, but¡­¡±


    It had taken three of them to bring the bigger man down, but even with his sword in his hand, he was still lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Brannon¡¯s wife Karina looked on in mute horror even as she stood between the monsters and her three children, but Markez wasn¡¯t about to give her any time to grieve.


    ¡°Run!¡± he told her as he pulled out his fishing knife. ¡°To my boat. The last one on the left! Hurry!¡±


    Despite being ancient and barely a match for the two goblins that still seemed to be in fighting shape, Markez charged the closest one, making it shrink back in fear. That wasn¡¯t because he thought he could take it with this flimsy little scaling knife, though.


    It was because he wanted Brannon¡¯s longsword. It was much too heavy for Markez. It would have been too heavy for him twenty years ago, but that didn¡¯t stop him from casting aside his knife, picking up the weapon, and swinging it in great scything motions as hard as he could while he roared at the creatures in anger.


    This at least got them to retreat, and he quickly tossed aside the weapon and ran down the pier to join the man¡¯s family without even stopping to see if Brannon was still alive. There wasn¡¯t time for that. With that much blood, there was nothing anyone but a holy man could do to save him, and today wasn¡¯t shaping up to be a good day for the gods.


    The best he could do was apologize to the corpse as he ran away from it. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure your sons remember you,¡± he swore, though not loudly enough to draw attention from the goblins that were obviously swarming the village.


    Screams rang out in the night, though the little bastards seemed to have at least some aversion to the water, and none followed him out onto the pier. There were already two boats leaving, and Markez could see their shapes fading into the distance, but he didn¡¯t call or shout to them. He¡¯d be joining them soon enough with any luck.


    Along the way, he saw Franko¡¯s two sons. That their father wasn¡¯t with them was a bad sign, and he scooped them up. ¡°Come with me, kids - there ain¡¯t no way you two can handle that boat without your dad.¡±


    The sadness they looked at him with said it all, and together, they made their way down to his little skiff. Even though they regularly took it out with two, it was built for four, but eight was asking a lot out of the old girl. Still, it wasn¡¯t like he could just leave any of these kids behind to get gobbled up, so he hopped onto the boat and immediately started pulling everyone down to their places, mindful of the balance. First was Karina. He set her and her baby back by the rudder to keep things steady.


    Little Sarazha started to wail then, and he reflexively looked down at the pier for goblins that would be drawn to the babe like a normal man might respond to the dinner bell, but there was only darkness there, and he breathed a sigh of relief.


    Next, he pulled down her kids on board and sat them down on the appropriate benches one at a time, forcing them back into their spot when they tried to move. With this many people on board, it wouldn¡¯t take much to capsize into the cold water, and he was sure less than half of the people on board knew how to swim.


    While he explained the plan, he undid the mooring line. He would have just cut it because there was no way they were coming back, but he¡¯d lost his knife. So, Markez hurried as fast as he could while he tried to remain calm, and then he pushed off from the low pier with his hands and settled down onto his bench just as he started to hear the sound of claws on the wood of the pier.


    ¡°Come on, kids,¡± he said, unlimbering his own oar. ¡°Get those oars in the water and work together. We need to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I want my daddy¡­¡± one of the girls whined pitiously, breaking Markez¡¯s heart.


    ¡°He¡¯s buying us time right now, but don¡¯t you worry, you¡¯ll see him again later¡­¡± Markez mumbled as he tried to keep everyone where they belonged on his overburdened skiff.


    It wasn¡¯t a lie. Not really. Her daddy, along with almost everyone else in their little hamlet, would certainly be dead within a few hours, but she¡¯d meet him again one day, in the life hereafter. Not that he could explain such things to someone so young. Those hard truths could wait until later. For now, he had to get enough speed to pull free of the breakwater, or they¡¯d all be joining their ancestors a lot sooner rather than later.


    His words quieted the children, though that was likely because he was the only man aboard. He¡¯d put Franko¡¯s boys across from him with the hope that their dads had at least taught them the basics, but there was no way he could pull at full strength, which meant that as soon as they got to sea, they¡¯d be dependant on his small sail until they reached Tagel by the sea.


    Markez did the math in his head and decided that it would be at least two days. He struggled to remember if he even had enough water for so many mouths. He wasn¡¯t sure, but there was no time to fix that. All they could do was clumsily stroke out into the calm morning waters as the tide came in and put as much distance between themselves and the burning houses as they could.


    He would have cried then if not for the children as they went out into the darkness. No, that wasn¡¯t an option, he told himself as he watched one of the other boats tied to the pier not a hundred feet away from him catch fire as shadows moved along the place they¡¯d just pulled away from. The children would need him to be strong.

 Ch. 88 - A Night of Blood (part 2)

    He¡¯d been awake to watch the sunrise stop and transform into sunset, unleashing a wave of apoplexy upon the assembled priests and acolytes. Brother Faerbar had only spent a few seconds taking in the panicking and the disbelief before he left the Courtyard of Retribution and walked to the south gate. He¡¯d known for a long time that the priesthood had largely become a vestigial part of the church. It was rather like a peacock¡¯s tail in that regard.


    It might have once served a purpose, but now it only got in the way of unleashing its talons. And in a moment of crisis like this, they would need to be ready to strike. Though he could still feel the light inside his breast and see it emanating between the stones, he walked quickly across like a bright mist. Their god was not dead, but something was dreadfully wrong, and they needed to be ready for what came next.


    ¡°Sir,¡± the guard on duty snapped to attention as the Templar approached. Brother Faerbar looked past him at the open gate. The drawbridge was down, and the only thing that prevented entry was the steel portcullis. This would not do at all.


    ¡°Raise the drawbridge and close the gates,¡± he demanded. ¡°And send messengers to make sure the same is done on all six of the other gates as well.¡±


    ¡°On whose authority, Sir?¡± the guard asked, taken aback.


    ¡°On my authority!¡± the Templar snapped.


    ¡°But sir, if I don¡¯t have the watch commander¡¯s say so, then he¡¯ll¡ª¡± the guard started to protest as the knuckles on Brother Faerbar¡¯s hand turned white, but he would never get a chance to finish his protests, because that was when the Rose Window exploded.


    Siddrimar was a vast Heptagram on the north bank of the Toleden River before it fed into the Ozora and continued its journey south. Its outer walls were impressive, and they sheltered several small cities worth of servants and craftsmen within their protective walls, but they were dwarfed by the castle-sized inner walls that shielded the grand temple from the fallen world. Even without Siddrim¡¯s blessing, such a building should have been able to stand unflinchingly against a dozen armies.


    But on this wicked, wicked morning, something had already managed to penetrate all their defenses and shatter a vast thirty-foot stained glass window that had stood for almost a thousand years since its completion. Even as both of them watched in awe and horror at the sight of hundreds of pounds of colored glass raining down the city below, Brother Faerbar still barked, ¡°Close the gods¡¯ damned gates and send those messengers on my command before this gets any worse!¡±


    ¡°Y-yes ssir,¡± the guard stammered, obviously shaken.


    The Templar didn¡¯t fault him for that, at least. Who could possibly blame him for fear? The sun had not risen, and the church was under attack. Brother Faerbar was not a particularly deep thinker. He saw evil, he fought evil, and he trained the next generation to do likewise. Right now, the evil he saw was overwhelming, and he and his men would be ready for whatever happened next. Even if the world was ending around them, they would die with their swords in their hands.


    By the time he reached the small training courtyard that led to his cadre¡¯s barracks, the entire city was awake. Everyone seemed to be frantically doing something, even if they didn¡¯t know what it was they were doing. In that sense, Siddrimar reminded him of an anthill that someone had kicked over, but he didn¡¯t let it deter him from what needed to be done.


    Then he opened the door to his barracks, but the orders he¡¯d been about to shout died in his throat as he saw blood everywhere.


    ¡°What in Siddrim¡¯s name?¡± the man cursed, but the scene of carnage gave him few answers until he approached the body kneeling on the floor in a pool of blood and saw Brother Harnin¡¯s bloody hands clasped in prayer.


    ¡°Our god¡­ he has abandoned us and plunged us into darkness¡­¡± the kneeling man cried out as he wept.


    Though it didn¡¯t explain the blood, Brother Faerbar thought that his Brother was talking about the darkness outside and was about to bring him back to his senses with words or a swift slap across the face. That urge died the second his sworn Brother turned his head and was crying tears of blood from empty eye sockets.


    Despite his composure, Brother Faerbar quickly pulled away from the injured man, wondering what could have happened. Even as he pulled his sword free from his scabbard and tried to decide whether he should try to strike the man down or heal him, a low bass rumble passed through the stone walls of the building that was felt more than heard. They were under attack. By something huge, by the sounds of it.


    ¡°Please¡­ please make this stop,¡± Brother Harnin begged, groping blinding toward Brother Faerbar.


    That was when his apprentice and some of the other templars started to enter the room.


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    ¡°Wha-what happened to him?¡± someone asked.


    Brother Faerbar didn¡¯t know what to tell them. Under the circumstances, he might have tried to heal his Brother or at least understand what had happened to him, but he could feel the cloying, oily touch of evil from here. So, he didn¡¯t hesitate. With a single smooth stroke, he brought his sword down at an angle, separating the man¡¯s head from his body and sending it rolling across the floor.


    ¡°We are under attack, both from without and within,¡± Brother Faerbar said as he flicked the blade, spattering the blood on the floor before he resheathed it. ¡°On this dark morning, remember that there isn¡¯t time to save everyone. There might not even be time to save yourself. If you are to die, though, do it defending Siddrim¡¯s holy sanctum.¡±


    ¡°For Siddrim!¡± some of his men shouted while others echoed, ¡°For the light!¡±


    Brother Faerbar could see that they all had questions, but he wasn¡¯t going to answer them right now. Even if he¡¯d known whether they wanted to know about the sun, the battle, or their dead Brother, he wouldn¡¯t have wasted the time. Right now, the only thing that mattered was arming themselves and preparing for the battle that lay ahead.


    With his squire¡¯s help, Brother Faerbar donned plate and chain, and by the time he was striding out the door to see how much worse things had gotten, more than half his cadre was ready. He gave the last few another minute so that the squires could lace each other up and took advantage of that moment to watch the fires spreading on the west side of the city even as the worst sounds of battle came from the south.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± one of his brothers asked finally, forcing a decision.


    ¡°Toward the sound of battle as any warrior of the light should!¡± he commanded, sounding much more confident than he actually felt.


    They started jogging after that, and stride by stride, they made their way toward the sound of rumbling. It wasn¡¯t long before they started to find ruined buildings that had collapsed under their own weight, but there was no clear answer as to what caused the collapse. All he could say for certain was that it was unnatural.


    In places, the finely fitted stones appeared to have melted under intense heat like dragon fire. That wasn¡¯t quite right, though. There was no scorching. Potter''s clay might have been a better metaphor. Brother Faerbar was still struggling to wrap his mind around the damage he was seeing when they finally spotted the first thing that didn¡¯t belong. It was a giant, hulking creature, at least twice as tall as a man.


    The behemoth was made of stone, or perhaps it had the thick grey-brown leathery skin of a zombie. It was impossible to say which from here, but what was unmistakable was the tarnished bronze armor.


    ¡°That must be our quarry,¡± Brother Faerbar said, unsheathing his blade and pointing it at the monster. ¡°Attack as one. Give it no quarter¡ª¡±


    His words were drowned out by a shriek from above. He turned, lighting up his sword to strike whatever was about to attack them just in time to see a dragon soaring only twenty or thirty feet above their heads. It was an ebon monstrosity that radiated evil, but before they had the chance to do much else, it suddenly sprayed a gout of pure darkness down on them. It looked like flame and was hot like fire, but it erased the light.


    For a few seconds, Brother Faerbar was smothered in that dark. It cut off everything. The power to speak, breathe, or even think were all too much for him. In the end, all that remained was his glowing sword. Then, light returned to the world. The dragon was gone, and so was the behemoth. He turned to the closest Templar to see if they knew which way it had gone but found that almost half of his men were in the process of boiling away to nothing.


    ¡°Si-sir¡­¡± his own squire gasped, holding up his hand as it, as well as the mace he¡¯d been holding, crumbled to dust.


    ¡°Be strong, Aeldric,¡± Brother Faerbar said, reaching out to heal the wound even as he looked at the horror around him. The Dragonfire had melted everything, even the stones they trod on. All that had survived were those things that were closest to the warriors wielding holy light.


    It was an insight he would have shared had a pair of screaming goblin skeletons not suddenly charged at them from out of nowhere. Though their skulls and hands glowed with a strange blue fire, white holy fire erupted wherever these things touched the ground.


    Siddrim obviously cursed them, and that was enough for him, for Brother Faerbar, and he charged without a moment¡¯s hesitation. Meeting the first one¡¯s steel claws with his holy blade. The fight that followed was short and brutal as he and his men faced the two of them.


    Neither of them was much bigger than a goblin, and they weren¡¯t especially strong, but their bodies were more formidable than any knight in plate that he¡¯d ever faced, and then there was the fire to consider. Though the templars parried almost every blow, even their shields did little against the gouts of vicious blue fire that these constructs flung around so casually, and by the time Brother Faerbar managed to chop the second one into small enough pieces that it finally stopped moving, his chest was heaving, and more than a tenth of his body was covered in painful burns. Some of them, like those on his left leg, went all the way to the bone, and he turned his attention to those first.


    Siddrim¡¯s light seemed weaker than usual since the moment sunrise had faded, but it had still been there to call upon, though. They wouldn¡¯t have survived this insane battle without it. Under normal circumstances, Brother Fearbar¡¯s wounds would have healed almost as fast as they were inflicted. Partway through healing his own burns after those monsters had been dispatched, though, the light inside him just vanished.


    He could tell that every warrior still standing felt the same thing as him because, as one, all of their swords were suddenly extinguished. It was unheard of. It was impossible. Suddenly, they looked to each other in confusion, but the pain was written all over everyone¡¯s face, including his own.


    The loss of light hurt more acutely than his remaining burns. For almost three decades, he¡¯d carried the lantern of Siddrim¡¯s light inside of him, and now that it was gone, the world no longer looked the same.


    Brother Faerbar glanced down at his no longer gleaming sword and past that at the shattered skeleton on the ground. This changed nothing, he realized. Even if their god had withdrawn his light from the world for some grave sin they did not fully understand, he would keep fighting until his last breath.

 Ch. 89 - The Infinite Dark

    Tenebroum slept as the world burned, but it still dreamed, and through those dreams, it watched fitfully as events played out.


    It couldn¡¯t help it. The Lich was both the darkness at the center of its domain, controlling everything like a spider in a web, as well as every drudge and construct that was currently marauding across the face of the world. So, its sleep would never really be dreamless. It couldn¡¯t be when ten thousand parts of it were in constant motion.


    It had never been able to see so far as it could see right now in its slumber. It had always imagined that the world stopped at the shores of land where its ravens had reached and its bard¡¯s songs had traveled. Now, it could see that the world was a much bigger place than those boundaries. There were far off places beyond the seas, and other islands and continents in all directions. Some of them were even more populous than its current home, while a few had never known the hand of man.


    Past that, there was only infinite ice¡­ but if Tenebroum stretched even further, which it could only do because the sun had set forever, it found an ocean of inky blackness that only got stranger as it went further out.


    In that outer darkness, it could see things just out of reach that would drive a lesser mind mad. Out there, the only boundary were the stars. They stood between the world that it knew and the distant edges of frayed reality before the void consumed everything. That swirling darkness beyond those tiny celestial warriors wasn¡¯t empty. It was filled with monsters, and twisted structures that curved and recoiled infinitely on themselves in the most impossible ways.


    At least the darkness thought that¡¯s what they were. As it reached out to inspect them to inspect the things as closely as it could without drawing the ire of the stars, it found that they were not the calcified relicts of a bygone age that it had presumed that they were. The vague light that even now swirled through its darkness was enough to make them spring to life and recoil, escaping out into the darkness of the void where it could not follow.


    It was another unsuspected layer of reality that the Lich had never really been aware of. Without the sun in the sky, it could drift far above the world and see that what it thought of as everything was merely a few warring kingdoms atop a tortoiseshell in the midst of a storm-tossed sea.


    It was only the stars that kept it from journeying further out and exploring beneath the Stygian waves that lapped at their tiny world. Some part of it knew that as large and as powerful a predator it had become, in the darkness of the depths it was merely bait for the things that lurked down there, and it retreated to escape any chance that it might gain their attention.


    Even as the Lich returned to its island of relative sanity, before it became hopelessly lost, it was distracted by the way that the world warped and warped again. At first, every speck that floated in that ocean was reduced to the flatness of a map, and their connections and distances were charted and labeled in a constantly mutating language that made no sense.


    Later, as it got close enough that it could finally, once again, see the continent where its lair resided, everything became spherical, like hanging gemstones drifting through space in rings that connected them and tiny concentric orbits. It was only then that Tenebroum understood that what was mutating the its vision of the world were the timeless observations and knowledge of the Sun God it had devoured so recently.


    Siddrim had lived twenty times longer than Tenbroum had existed, and those lifetimes of knowledge poured through his soul. Many of those moments drifted by too quickly to understand, but burned away as light and darkness reacted to cancel each other out. There were endless important moments that swirled by it. It saw the way that the god made alliances with Lunaris, and the way it killed dozens of lesser evils and small gods that had offended its strict sense of honor over the course of its life.


    These moments might have been epic to Siddrim, but to Tenebroum they were just fleeting embers that drifted by before they could make an impact. There was simply too much to take in.


    Between the shifting nature of the world and the centuries of patchy, out of order memories, the darkness would have been hard-pressed to say which version of what it had seen was the truth. Very likely all of the strange scenes it witnessed contained some aspect of the truth, even if it could not yet understand them completely in this time.


    The sheer amount of power that resonated through it in the wake of its victory was enough to distort the world as a whole, and it did not yet trust the insights it was gleaning. It might even be the case that nothing it had seen so far had been changed at all, and that the only thing that was changing were the eyes that viewed it.


    It would have all time in the world to evaluate this during the eternal night it had created. Already that night had lasted for three days, and it showed no sign of ending. The stars still twinkled, but the smaller plants had already begun to droop, and ice was beginning to gather in the higher parts of Oroza¡¯s watershed along the banks.


    Only a few days ago, when the sun had still shone, it had been a warm spring day, but now, only days later, all of the summer had been skipped, and winter was coming. The Lich did not mind that. The dead did not feel the cold. Though it made its stiff zombies slightly less effective, in time it would create newer, better minions that could resist this too.


    All that mattered was that the light had been slain, and Siddrim¡¯s bones lay half a mile across, outside the city where they were slowly dissipating into nothing. It was the only victory that mattered.


    So, whether the people of Irbrahim and Movahn¡¯s Rest banded together and struck down the moldering dead that had erupted from their cemeteries or whether that endless tide of limping old warriors eventually succeeded in slaughtering the living of those cities mattered little to it.


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    If this wave of dead did not succeed, then the next one would, and if it didn¡¯t, then the starvation and snows of its endless night would surely finish the job. Life was doomed, but no matter how much the Lich enjoyed watching the last struggles of humanity, it would not miss them when they were gone.


    Instead, it would reach out with its bony hands and grasp ever larger chunks of the world until everything was under its control. Once that was the case, and every living creature had been brought back as its undying slave, then it could establish caravans to collect and gather all the wealth of the dead world and bring it back to Blackwater, where it would melt it down to create a monument to its greatness.


    First, it would have to deal with the dying embers of humanity. They were everywhere, like the dying embers of a freshly scattered campfire. They were in barges and fishing boats along the coast where the survivors of the goblin raids sought peace and safety of the larger cities.


    There would be no safety there, though. Tagel-by-the-sea was already overwhelmed with the dead that had spent the last few days marching along the bottom of the river. Now, the implacable army of zombies led by its juggernaut were ravaging that rich trading hub, and only the lonely keep that looked out at the sea yet stood against its monstrous forces.


    Only a few places had resisted Tenebroum¡¯s grasp with any kind of success, and they were either far away or places of immense power, like the Magica Collegium at Abenend and the holy warriors at Siddrimar. Nothing that the Lich had done had severed the bonds of magic to the mages of Abenend, so they stood alone in annihilating the first army that it had sent its way, but despite the loss of the light, the warriors of Siddrimar had done better than it would have thought them capable of.


    Somehow, despite the fact that their holy city was in ruin, they had managed to wound all four of its strongest minions. They hadn¡¯t managed to completely destroy any of them, but even so, sending them back to its fleshcrafters so they could be repaired was quite a victory, and it would take time before any of them would see battle once more.


    All in all, it was not the absolute victory that Tenebroum had hoped for, but it was a start. It was a stepping stone on the path to the extinction of all life. Almost every city on this continent had been put on notice that death was at the gates.


    The dark God enjoyed these bloody, transient scenes as they played across its mind, but they were a flickering light show and nothing more. Its focus, as always, was on itself and its core.


    The battle with Siddrim had been a vicious, close fought thing. The immense amount of light energies that it had drained from the god¡¯s dying body were taking a terrible toll to integrate. It was much more painful than incorporating the watery nature of the Oroza had ever been.


    Then, it had been a matter of alignment and understanding, but in this case, it was one of annihilation as the light and dark destroyed each other. Fortunately, Tenebroum clung tenuously to that third force that was released by their annihilation: oblivion.


    Tenebroum did not truly understand it in much the same way that it had not understood the anti-elements when it had first synthesized them. It would, though. No matter how many mages and scholars it had to burn out in that quest for knowledge it would figure this out too and become stronger for it.


    It ordeal had almost cost it Albrecht¡¯s ancient corpse. The Lich had left the body intended for battle and returned to its true seat of power at the heart of its dark labyrinth. However, only hours into devouring the Lord of Light¡¯s carcass, that gilded statue had began to warm and smolder.


    Even now, its drudges were dumping buckets of water on it to keep the whole thing from melting down like the statues in the mangled Sunset Temple far above it. Tenebroum was not completely sure that it needed its phylactery any longer, but it wasn¡¯t about to let the thing burst into flames and find out that it had the hard way.


    It had hoped that the giant focuses and binding rings would have been enough to prevent that from happening, but it wasn¡¯t. No amount of magical infrastructure was enough to truly and completely insulate the Lich, as it slowly catalyzed into something new.


    Throughout its existence, Tenebroum had slowly collected souls until it became a haphazard agglomeration of all of the things it had ever murdered or claimed. Now that the essence of the light was burning through it, what was left was smaller but stronger. The weakest parts of it were being burned away, and beneath layer after layer of muck and madness, there was sterner stuff that held up to even the worst assaults.


    In time, the darkness decided that it would build a new core to hold its essence at the seat of its domain, but it would be stronger than Albrecht had ever been, and it would stretch all the way from the temple above to the treasury below. It could picture a column of more than three hundred spines, twisting together and clad in gold growing from the root of its power. On that terrible tree, it would hang the severed heads of its most important foes like terrible fruits and¡­


    ¡°No!¡± it chastised itself even as the idea started to solidify.


    Even in a world of darkness. Even in a world where there were no more living to plot against it, Tenebroum would still keep its secrets far from prying eyes. To build such a perfect form for itself only for one of those mages from Abenend to summon a storm and sunder it with lightning would be a waste of irreplaceable resources.


    Just imagining the irreplaceable heads that fermented in its archives popping like overripe fruit because of the magical heat was enough to make it change its mind and focus on an entirely different model. One that focused more on spinal roots that reached down to the depths of the world instead. There were goblins down there that might cause damage, and Kobolds that would gnaw on the lead and brass that it would use to secure such things, but perhaps with deadly poisons and alchemical gasses it might yet secure them against vermin.


    Death knights, too, housed in the repurposed skeletons of dwarves, could hold off those pests. However that would take high-quality souls. The question became one of energy expenditure at that point¡­


    Before Tenebroum could finish that thought, it was already drifting back to the world above as it watched another city burn. This time it was Charis, in the west, and the burning was a trap by the living to defeat their undead enemy. It was only a pyrrhic victory.


    It had lost corpses that had not even belonged to it a few nights ago, but the people of Charis had lost their livelihood, their shelter, and their stores of food. When winter inevitably got worse, they would all freeze to death in the rising snow until Tenebroum reached out to take the fools into its collection.


    Some places were doing better than others, of course. An army was marshaling in Fallravea based on rumors and fear, which was ironic given that it was one of the cities that had been least affected by all of this, given the recent Templar purges.


    There was no rhyme or reason to any of this, though. Some strong cities burned while other weaker ones held up against the initial assaults and chaos. It was impossible to predict, and Tenebroum was unable to determine if that was because of the fugue state it currently dwelled in as it slumbered and adapted or if the world really had gone as mad as it thought it had. Time would tell.

 Ch. 90 - An End for Abenend

    As a fifth-year apprentice, Jordan would never be privy to the conversations that the venerable mages of the Collegium would have had the day the sun didn¡¯t rise. They¡¯d cloistered themselves away in the Chancellors office while the trumpets had woken everyone else as always. However, by the time the students had risen, there was neither a sun nor classes to greet them. Instead, he¡¯d gotten dressed in silence and waited in the auditorium along with everyone else for answers that would never come. Like his friends, he could imagine what it was those grey beards had said, though. From the way they spoke in hushed tones while they all sat together at their favorite bar, Jordan¡¯s friends had even more vivid imaginations than he did.


    That was how their morning had gone at least. Eventually the orders had come down from the top and filtered through the few instructors that made an appearance to keep everyone calm. After that they spent the day buttoning up the collegium as tightly as possible to prepare for what could only be the end of the world or whatever shoe was going to drop next. Gates were locked, wards were checked, and weapons were distributed.


    For hours they waited tensely for something terrible to happen. However, when nothing did by what should have been sunset, the teachers eventually opened the gates after dinner to allow for reprovisioning and other pressing tasks.


    So, he, along with all of the lads, had taken that opportunity to go out and have a pint or two. They¡¯d have to be back before midnight when they sealed everything up again, of course, but they were wizards after all, so there was no real danger. They could always teleport back to their rooms if worst came to worst.


    Well, some of them could, he thought to himself with a smile as he took another drink of the warm beer in front of him and looked around the table. Artem and Besmr certainly could. Jordan knew he¡¯d never be as good as either of them when it came to casting spells, but he¡¯d made his peace with that years before. Thom though¡­ he was even more hopeless than Jordan, and if not for the fact that his uncle was a duke, the man surely would have been given his walking papers some time ago.


    That was fine. The world took all kinds, and for now, they were blowing off a little steam at the Dragon¡¯s Flagon while they tried to pretend that the world was still normal. They traded gossip and reassured the locals that the world wasn¡¯t ending. The former was much more fun, but the latter continued to dominate the conversation even after he¡¯d sprung for a round for everyone just to try to get everyone to calm down.


    Abenend, for better or worse, was the final destination for third and fourth sons, as much as anyone who might have actual magical talent. Sadly, Jordan was in the former category and not the latter. His two older brothers would ensure that he¡¯d never hold the title of Baron or rule of Sedgim manor, and sadly, they had no smaller fiefs to give him. At 21, he had no good marriage prospects, and his skill with spells was erratic, as his teachers had so gently put it.


    So, slowly but surely, he was coming to terms with the fact that he would have to make his way in this world with his mind instead of his name or his arcane talents. That was fine. His writing was good, his sums were excellent, and his alchemy was acceptable. Once all this was done, he had no worries that he¡¯d be able to find some lesser house in a variety of ways to keep his pockets full when he was one day forced to take his leave from this cozy life a year or two from now when the money ran out.


    For now, his family provided him a healthy stipend at least, so he had to be grateful for that small blessing. Even if the world was ending.


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you - the gods have not abandoned us,¡± Thom said loudly. ¡°It¡¯s just a peculiar astral phenomenon called eclipsing. Something large stands between us and the sun, and it blocks¡ª¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s large enough to block out Sidrrim¡¯s light that isn¡¯t a dark god?¡± one of the villagers shouted, interrupting his friend.


    They¡¯d gone round and round about this several times now, but it was clear to Jordan that no one had a good answer for why there had been a day without a sun. They¡¯d discussed it from spiritual, astral, and philosophical perspectives, but all of them had told Jordan only one thing: despite being some of the smartest and most educated people in the whole world, the teachers of the Collegium had no idea where the sun had gone, and to Jordan that was the most troubling answer of all.


    He was just working up the courage to propose that to his friends when the first explosion echoed out into the night. They all looked at each other, wondering why a spell of serious power had been cast, but before they had a chance to discuss whether it had been a flame strike or something worse like eradication, there was a crack of lightning somewhere closer. After that, they were up like a shot, rushing out the door like everyone else to see what was going on.


    Abenend was not a large town. In truth, it was smaller than the Magesterium Collegium that it served. The difference was that the Collegium was a giant old fortress packed full of students, teachers, and reagents from across the world, while Abenend was two main streets, some craftsmen, groceries, and innkeepers, along with a few hundred houses spread around the institution of magical learning, and right now it was burning.


    No, that was wrong, he realized as he continued to study the situation. It was the army that was marching on it that was burning, and the flames only made it seem like the Collegium had caught fire.


    ¡°Would Siddrim¡¯s Church really try to take advantage of this chaos to attack us?¡± Artem asked.


    No one answered, but just thinking about it made Jordan feel sick. A surprise attack by the forces of light wasn¡¯t impossible since it was their god that controlled the sun. That theory only lasted until zombies began to spill out into the main street and start shambling their way like a human tide.


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    No, it couldn¡¯t be the church, Jordan realized. They¡¯d never abet this sort of evil. It was they who accused the Mages of Abenend even though such dark magics were strictly forbidden.


    As one, he and all the other mages began to cast the most powerful or appropriate spells they knew as the tide of zombies approached. Shards of ice and sprays of fire clashed in the night as the townspeople ran for their lives. It did not escape Jordan¡¯s notice that they did so almost as much to escape the destruction the mages were causing as the zombies that were approaching.


    Over the next few minutes, Jordan couldn¡¯t pay much attention to the fireworks that were happening in the background. It was all he could do to try to remember the words and gestures to simple spells like spray of flames and castigation as they struck down the undead by the dozen. It occurred to him only slowly that no matter how many they killed, there were always more behind the last rank. They were getting closer, too.


    Soon, they were too close, and his friends, along with a few townspeople who were brave enough to fight or too afraid to flee, were collapsing back into the tavern and barring the doors and the windows shut with anything they could. As grown men around him started to weep from fear, Jordan realized that running might have been a better option.


    ¡°Where did Thom and Besmr go?¡± Jordan asked Artem, realizing belatedly that they were down to only two mages left in a room full of people that could muster no more than a dagger or a wine bottle should the dead manage to break down the door.


    ¡°They left,¡± Artem said quietly. ¡°Just like we should probably think about doing¡­¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t just leave these people!¡± Jordan shouted. He said it, though, not just because it was the right thing to do. He was also terrified of the idea of trying to cast the teleportation spell in such circumstances, even if it was the only way out.


    Artem just shrugged at that and began to cast a warding spell to try to shore up their barricades, leaving Jordan to reassure the defenders that this would all be over soon.


    ¡°We¡¯ve killed at least a hundred already, and the Collegium has to have killed another thousand, right? How many more can there be?¡±


    The answer turned out to be at least one more because no sooner had he said those fateful words than another shadow larger than any three men combined loomed outside the partially blocked windows. Everyone held their breath, hoping it would move past them, but they weren¡¯t that lucky.


    It stopped in front of the door, and once the big one started bashing down the door, all hope was lost. It did more damage than all the other zombies combined. It smashed the thing to flinders with its great knobby club and the jagged shards of wood that sprayed across the room, stabbing several men he knew, including the barkeep, and they quickly fell over into pools of their own blood.


    Jordan began to incant the words to spray the dead with fire, but he stopped partway through and started to cast a lightning spell instead so he wouldn¡¯t hurt too many other people while he was trying to save them. Even as the spell went off, he could feel that he fumbled it, and it only caused the large zombie to stagger a moment while the three closest to it dropped to the ground smoking.


    ¡°Alright, Artem hit it with¡­¡± Jordan¡¯s words trailed off as he looked to his left and saw that his friend had vanished. He didn¡¯t know if he¡¯d run up the stairs in all of the commotion or used a spell to escape. He just knew that it stung and that somehow, some way, he was the last person here who could help these people.


    That was cold comfort as he saw the armor-clad behemoth striding towards him and cutting down the men between the two of them like they weren¡¯t even there. That was when Jordan ran. He told himself that he¡¯d done his best but that they¡¯d need to regroup upstairs, but the truth was simpler than that. He was terrified, and one look in the soulless black eye sockets of the monster advancing on him had told him that he was going to die.


    He¡¯d pray for forgiveness in the morning if there was ever going to be another morning. For now, he just tripped over the stairs as he took them two at a time. From the windows, he saw sprays of light still emanating from the Collegium¡¯s towers and upper floors, so they hadn¡¯t fallen yet. but things didn¡¯t look good.


    Jordan had seen demonstrations of powerful magics before, but never so many at once. Gouts of fire were raining down on zombie hordes, momentarily illuminating them before they were replaced by another wave of death. Flashes of red and white were the most common, but occasionally, Jordan saw the violet wards of high-level arcane magics flare as well.


    Even as he slammed the door in one of the smaller rooms and barred it, he wondered if that would be enough. He was not a strong mage, and the few spells he¡¯d already cast had taxed him greatly. If he were to cast a distant step, and then the Collegium¡¯s defenses fell, what would he do then?


    The door thumped as something outside banged against it, and Jordan realized that he¡¯d worry about that later. He needed to focus. The spell he needed was dangerous and took several minutes; it also just happened to be only barely within his abilities to cast it in the first place. Teleportation magic was very volatile and dangerous, and he¡¯d scrambled many an egg in his attempt to send them across the room.


    So, he tuned all that out and began to recite the words as he pictured his threadbare room, only a thousand yards from here. Trying to ignore the sounds of danger and death around him was almost impossible, and at the last moment, he almost abandoned the spell to try again. He would have too, if the zombies hadn¡¯t succeeded in breaking the door down. Instead, feeling the magic straining inside of him and only just barely holding it together, he whispered the final syllables before the monster could rip his throat out.


    He did not find himself in the Collegium. Indeed, he didn''t seem to be anywhere in the town of Abenend. Instead, Jordan found himself in a dark, muddy field with absolutely no idea where he was.


    ¡°Great,¡± he muttered to himself. ¡°Just great. What in all the hells am I supposed to do now?¡±

 Ch. 91 - Safe Harbor

    Tagel-by-the-sea was burning on the horizon well before they reached it, creating a macabre lighthouse of sorts. Even though that was the case, they were still going to have to stop, however briefly, to try to find something to eat and drink. Normally, the biggest city in the county of Lidvell being put to the torch would be considered an unmitigated disaster, but as the sun had not risen in two or three days now, and the winds were growing so cold that he had frost in his beard, it ranked low on the list of problems.


    Despite the heavy use of his boat¡¯s tiny sail, Markez was exhausted from rowing for so long, and the boys who had been helping both had their hands covered in blisters. They were the lucky ones, though. The girls and the infant had spent almost a full day crying before they¡¯d finally run out of tears. Now, they simply sat despondently and shivered under the damp fishing net they used for a blanket and looked at the stars while their mother prayed to Gods that no longer seemed to be listening.


    Water, food, and hope were all bigger problems than danger. He might not starve to death this week, of course, but after another day or two of this, he¡¯d run out of strength to row, and another few days after that, the children would start to die. Brannon¡¯s wife honestly didn¡¯t look too much better than them. She just stared blank-eyed into the dark as she whispered to anyone who would listen to save them.


    So far, only Lunara had responded. It was only by the rise of the moon that he¡¯d kept track of the number of days that had passed or the direction that she was going in. Her light was not enough to ward away the cold or give them any new information about the world beyond the fact that land was still off to his right as a patch of looming darkness differentiated from the sea only by the fact that it held its shape.


    As they got closer to the burning city, Markez could smell death as well as smoke. That wasn¡¯t surprising. The only surprise was that some of the dead seemed to be moving. Originally, he¡¯d feared goblins had attacked here just like they had on the strand, but that didn¡¯t seem to be the case. Instead, the living dead could be seen fighting against the last of the city¡¯s inhabitants, even as they continued to burn.


    Maybe it really was the end of the world, he thought to himself, careful not to say that part out loud. Markez was old, and he was tired, but everyone was looking to him, women, children, everyone - and all he could do was try to keep them safe while everything burned down.


    Tying up to those docks definitely wouldn¡¯t be a safe thing to do, though, so as quietly as possible, they stayed a couple dozen feet away from land and pier as they slowly examined the grisly scene. Here, at least, the darkness was on their side. There were lots of debris and pieces of other boats in the water, but nothing seemed to be living out here, and if there was, he didn¡¯t know how they could reach him.


    As far as Markez knew, there was no such thing as a zombie that could swim, and though evil things had been said over the years about the Oroza, they weren¡¯t exactly in her devilish waters yet. Honestly, he wasn¡¯t sure what he would do when that happened, but it wasn¡¯t something he had room to worry about just now while he worried about the dead milling about on shore.


    It was only when they were halfway around the city that he saw a glimmer of hope in the form of a ship drifting free a few hundred yards off the coast. It wasn¡¯t a little fishing raft either. Instead, it was a single-masted trading vessel that looked to be abandoned based on the way its rigging was scattered and its sail hung limply.


    A vessel like that would have fresh water. He was sure of it. It might even have some food tucked away. Even as Markez¡¯s mouth began to water at the idea of stale ship¡¯s biscuits, he cursed and reminded himself that there could just as easily be a hold full of dead down there, too.


    ¡°W-Where are we going?¡± Karina rasped unexpectedly as he started to move away from the shore, scaring the shit out of him. ¡°I thought we¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shhhhh¡­¡± he shushed her, wanting to avoid attracting any attention as a note of hysteria started to creep into her voice. She was desperate. He knew that. They all were. ¡°We¡¯ll get you¡­ I¡¯ll take care of all of you soon, I promise, but there ain¡¯t no way anyone is going in that city and coming back alive, so we¡¯ll have to nibble around the outside, and right now, I mean to take a long look in that cargo hold there.¡±


    Given how tired they all were, it took some time to row against the waves to where the ship was drifting. Still, as he got closer, he saw no blood splatter on the decks and no bodies strewn about. It looked like it had come loose of its moorings and just drifted away. The name on the side was Dawn¡¯s Light, which was almost certainly an omen, though he had no idea if it was a positive or a negative one, given the current state of things.


    ¡°You boys push off once I¡¯m up,¡± Markez said as he brought them aside as quietly as he could. ¡°I¡¯m going to take a quick peek, and if I find any trouble, I¡¯ll just jump right off and swim out to you.¡±


    He very much doubted things would work out quite so neatly, but he wasn¡¯t about to worry boys too young to shave about such things. Instead, he smiled and climbed over the railing of the vessel, and as soon as he was on his feet, he pulled out a belaying pin and held it like a club.


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    Rope was literally everywhere, and other than one suspicious blood spot near the sternhouse, he saw no signs of violence. The top deck was mostly abandoned, though he did find and pocket a half-eaten apple. As badly as he wanted it, Karina would need it more.


    The ship was too crude for a wheel. Instead, it had a tiller attached to a large rudder. A vessel like this was meant for rivers and coasts and was only barely seaworthy. It wasn¡¯t so different from his own boat, but it was still pretty alien to him.


    ¡°Not as alien as the rest of this benighted world, though,¡± he muttered to himself as he opened the door to the below-decks area.


    Markez stood there for several seconds then, steeling himself against the darkness below and straining his hearing before he descended the stairs one creaking step at a time. The hold was full of barrels and boxes. So much so he was sure they¡¯d find something edible if they looked hard enough. That wasn¡¯t what caught his attention, though.


    Beyond the sloshing of water and the rhythmic slap of the waves, there was something else in that inky darkness. It took him a long moment before he could figure out quite what it was, but when he recognized it as sobbing, he said, ¡°You can come out. I¡¯m not going to hurt you.¡±


    Nothing happened at first, but eventually, a head bobbed up briefly from behind a crate before disappearing again. The only light down here came from the distant moon and stars as it filtered through the cracks in the deck above. It wasn¡¯t enough light to see any details, but it was plain to see from the shape that the head belonged to a child.


    He repressed a sigh. The very last thing he needed right now was more hands to hold and mouths to feed. What was he going to do, though? Loot their ship - steal their last crust of bread to feed the kids he¡¯d brought with him and let the ones down here starve?


    Lots of people were moving around now, but in the darkness, counting them was impossible. So, he didn¡¯t try.


    ¡°I want to see the adults or whoever¡¯s in charge upstairs. Now!¡± As he finished, Markez let a little annoyance seep into his voice. That was okay. It was okay to be annoyed at whoever was in charge here. He was old enough to be a little crabby. That was his right.


    Slowly, several people followed him up onto the deck: a dandy, a street rat that he thought was a boy but who turned out to be a girl and a maid that might or might not have been the mother to a couple of the children clutching at her skirts.


    ¡°If someone is in charge around here, then it is I, Dian Larrintin, the third, but you may address me as¡ª¡± the fop said with a minor bow.


    ¡°How about we skip the formalities for now. I¡¯ll call you Dian, you can call me captain, and we can get to the part about what your plan was going to be.¡± Markez enjoyed twisting the knife when dealing with people like this, but the shock on the noble¡¯s face made it that much better.


    He was apoplectic for a few seconds, but eventually, the girl relayed what had happened. She skipped the worst bits on account of the children, but it was easy enough to read between the lines. When the dead had attacked, everyone panicked. Those who could flee by ship did, but in their case, they were just a few stragglers who happened to get on this tub with no idea how to use it. They¡¯d spent half a day letting the current drag them from shore, but the most productive thing they¡¯d done so far was tangle all of the rigging before giving up.


    ¡°Well, we can¡¯t just stay here,¡± Markez said finally.


    No matter how many times he asked the group what they were going to do, they just told him more about what they¡¯d done up until now, and since that obviously wasn¡¯t working, he was going to take command.


    ¡°But we don¡¯t know how to use the ship¡ª¡± Lara answered softly.


    ¡°Then you¡¯ll learn,¡± Markez said curtly, interrupting her. He wasn¡¯t any more pleased than she was that his crew was about to consist of a sniviling nobleman, a girl, and a handful of boys, but it was that or die, so he was going to do what he had to do.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to get these sails up, and we¡¯ll make for the river before¡ª¡± he started to explain.


    ¡°But the Oroza is¡ª¡± Dian started to explain, but Markez ignored him.


    ¡°We all know exactly what the Oroza is. It¡¯s dangerous, and if you say anything worse than that in front of the children, I will toss you off this boat,¡± Markez shot back gruffly. He¡¯d give anything to have Brannon back right now. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous, but it¡¯s our only way. You can¡¯t drink seawater, and those barrels down in the hold will only last for a few days.¡±


    The argument continued after that, but it changed nothing, and slowly but surely, everyone fell into line. After that, he got everyone and everything of value from his little boat before they tied it to the stern rail, and then he showed his tiny crew what he needed from them if they were going to set this sail.


    It should have taken three trained men five minutes to get the sail up and another five to get underway. With this lot, though, he had to spend an hour teaching them basic skills while they cleaned up the mess they¡¯d made of the rigging.


    That was fine. It was a good time for Karina to drink her fill and then spend some time with Adrianna, rounding up all of the children. He¡¯d count just how many of them there were after they were making way. While he was at it, Markez made a mental note that he¡¯d also need to inventory their supplies, their weapons, and anything else that they might have on board.


    He tried to continue to be grumpy about it, but the way that Karina¡¯s face had lit up when he¡¯d give her that half-eaten fruit cheered him up too much to keep it up. They were going to make it. They were going to be okay.

 Ch. 92 - A New Dawn

    It was Tenebroum¡¯s greatest triumph, exceeding even the ring or its subversion of the Temple of Dawn to catch a god in its trap. To the darkness, there could be no greater victory than a night that lasted forever. However, on the seventh day, after a week of darkness, light once again appeared on the horizon.


    At first, it was a swarm of falling stars that pelted the region in a tiny lightshow that lasted for less than an hour. The Lich ignored it, treating it as nothing more than an astronomical oddity that was not as important as its slumber, even as it bombarded cities and fields with little fireballs. As far as the darkness was concerned, it did nothing but add a little fiery devastation to the icy grip that was even now beginning to seize the world.


    Even as that was finishing, though, the smudge of light on the horizon stayed fixed in its position. It looked like the sun was about to rise once more on a world that had given up on that oft-repeated miracle. In this case, though, it was the wrong horizon.


    The sun was supposed to rise in the east and set in the west, but on that morning, there was a glow on the horizon to the southeast. It was little more than a blue-gray stain and not even enough to force all but the Lich¡¯s most sensitive shadow creations to seek shelter. Still, it brightened, minute by minute, and eventually colored the sky in reds and pinks that made the whole world hold its breath in hope.


    It was that hope that was the real problem. Tenebroum had long worked around the limitations of the light that the sun had forced on it. The fear, though - it was a constant and refreshing source of energy that seeped from the world to where it slept, curled in the bottom of its lair, and the moment that the cursed sun rose, that steady river of terror dried up almost immediately.


    The light that this new sun shed was wan and thin compared to Siddrim¡¯s light, and it only glowed at perhaps a tenth of the former God of Light¡¯s brightness. Still, that was enough to finally force the retreat of the goblins, some of the undead abominations, and all the other foul evils that had plagued humanity unchecked for a week.


    It was also enough to force Tenebroum to stir as a few of its slower servants vaporized into a painful flurry of fire and ash.


    ¡°Impossible!¡± the Lich raged as it tried to understand how this could possibly be happening.


    Even more confusing was that the light shone everywhere in its territories except for the vast circle at its heart. There, past the line demarcated by its binding ring, the light simply ceased to shine. It was the one spot in the whole world that kept its shroud of eternal night while the rest of the world was flooded with the thin rays that might be more normal on a cold winter morning.


    A few hours later, a second sun started to rise from the southwest, which was even more baffling, but that insanity only increased when, a few hours after that, a third began to rise from the northwest. It was as if the whole world had gone mad, and for once, it was not the Lich¡¯s doing.


    The second was only a little dimmer than the first, and it was a dull grey instead of slightly blue. The third one, though, it was twice as bright as the first one and glowed an angry red. Now the sky was lit by three different small orbs instead of one large one!


    It was an impossible thing, but it was undeniable! Each of them was only a quarter of the brightness of the old sun, and together, they cast crazy shadows in every direction as they all chose different spots to rise and different paths across the sky. However, no matter how much the Lich might hate such an eventuality, it could not deny that it was happening.


    It had not destroyed the light. It had only broken it, dimming it in the process. However, despite all of its efforts, it had not been snuffed completely. For hours, the Lich was inconsolable with rage, and it could only conclude that the stars that it had seen escaping the body of the dying god had somehow grown into these abominations.


    That raised more questions than answers. How could they have grown so much larger in the meantime? Why did they travel separately along their own paths? Why had they waited so long to reappear? Where were the other two that it had seen?


    Tenebroum would have liked nothing more than to hunt down these fragile stars and devour them to complete what it had started, but it was much too weak for that. Even now, as its anger faded, it grew lethargic once more. The Lich was stronger than it had ever been, but the darkness was still weak from devouring so much light, and that weighed on it. It had given all that it had saved for decades to its most recent conquest, and it would be some time before it was ready to murder another god or perhaps even a godling.


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    No, it realized that for the time being, it would have to console itself with devouring even more of mankind instead. It would feast on them and spread its bloodshed in wide and expanding arcs to regain its strength. To the north and east. Though there were half a dozen major cities between Siddrim and the capital. In time, a year or two at most, it would claim all of them and, with them, the crown and the throne of the vast human kingdoms. Only once that was done would it turn its eyes skyward toward larger, more ambitious goals.


    None of that would be a problem, though. Only the light was a problem, and its very existence galled it. By the time the first of the suns had begun to set, the icicles everywhere but in its shadowy kingdom were beginning to melt, and the snow had retreated to the shadows of nearby buildings for protection.


    It was only when the first two suns had set, and the third was nearing the horizon that it got another nasty surprise, though. A fourth sun, which was pale white, rose slowly to replace the first two, making the day even longer than it had been before.


    ¡°The darkness was supposed to reign forever!¡± it bellowed in frustration, making the walls shake, even in the depths of its lair, as it understood that, in some ways, it had lost as much as it had gained.


    This new light was much weaker, of course, and most of its constructs could fight beneath the light of a single one of these lesser suns without issue. Still, it was the very principle of the thing. It had planned this for so long and ripped out the very heart of the Lord of Light, and yet somehow, he lived on as lesser aspects of himself. It was utterly infuriating. Somehow, its enemies had managed to pull victory from the jaws of defeat, but Tenebroum would find ways to make them regret it.


    For the next few hours, the Lich lived in dread that a fifth sun would rise next and deny it a true night altogether, but that did not seem to be the case. Instead, when the fourth pale sun finished its arc, there was at last true darkness, but it only lasted for five hours before the first sun started to rise all over again.


    The Lich set a dozen scholars to the task of studying this new phenomenon so that they could understand what exactly was happening and chart a new rhythm for the celestial bodies. That, in turn, instantly set off a chain of new instruments that would need to be built so that they could better monitor the sky. That would require all manner of instruments, apparently, including lenses and mirrors, which were not a craft that it had mastered previously.


    It was beneath Tenebroum to worry about such trivium, though, and instead, it delegated the tasks to its craftsmen and the sages that would ultimately need the strange implements. It would unravel this mystery, and then it would figure out how to slay the new lights one by one if it had to, even if it had to tear its shadow dragon down to the bones and rebuild it from scratch so that it could fly high enough to devour one of the wandering stars.


    . . .


    In the days that followed, it learned that the schedule of the new stars seemed to be somewhat fixed. This resulted in only about five hours of true day and five hours of true night, with all of the rest of the time falling somewhere in between the two. Ultimately, it was still a boon for the Lich¡¯s forces. They could march and fight for about half the day now without suffering too many ill effects. This helped with its ongoing extermination efforts of the nearby cities that its elite forces were in the process of slaughtering.


    Its more shadowy creatures, on the other hand, were severely limited. The dark rider and the shadow dragon were almost useless for now, and its ferryman wasn¡¯t much better off. There was only so far that even its magical barge could get in the nighttime mists when it only had five hours to work with. It was unsure what it could do about that for the time being except alter its plans to account for their losses and move its terrible swamp dragon and its earth titan into more important roles in their place.


    It was a shame, of course, because despite its clumsy nature, the shadow drake had done more damage to Siddrimar than the other three of its prime evils combined. That was doubly true once the priest¡¯s damnable lights had finally gone dark shortly after the death of their god. Its ability to simply make a unit disappear or a wall crumble as solid stone dissolved into air was nothing short of extraordinary.


    Originally, the Lich had hoped to turn its dark machinations next on the dwarvish All-Father, but those hopes would have to be set aside for the foreseeable future. It had not yet suffered any repercussions from that race of stone dwellers. However, the darkness was not about to open another front on its war with the gods until it understood exactly what it was that had happened here, and by the best estimates of the scholar spirits that it had set to the task, it would require at least a full year to monitor the patterns and discover how they affected the seasons and the tides as well.


    The only consolation that the Lich could think of was that this would baffle and terrify the mortal realms even more than it had frustrated the Lich. How would they know when to set sail or farm their lands in this strange new world? How would they determine when to reap and sow when the wandering stars seemed to move at random through the sky?


    A new day had dawned on the world, it was true, but the Lich would work hard to see that the men who dwelled under the new and untrustworthy lights saw them as a curse as much as a blessing.

 Ch. 93 - Ten Thousand Candles

    Even with the great dome of the temple toppled and the sun missing from the sky, the surviving leaders of the church would not listen to him. He, like so many of the other veterans who had survived the onslaught of monsters they¡¯d all faced, urged their leaders to act with all the strength they had left and strike at the heart of the evil that had silenced their god and almost eradicated his temple. The ecclesiarch refused, though.


    He wasn¡¯t the only one. They all refused. The Hierarch of Purgative Flame refused to fight the decision, and his few surviving high priests did likewise. ¡°We must defend this sacred place! We do not have the men to hold the walls, let alone strike out with an expeditionary force!¡± they said as one, no matter how many times they were petitioned by the surviving Brothers of the Purgative Flame in the long silence that followed their terrible tribulation.


    For the strongest holy warriors to huddle behind the walls of their fortress city while the world was plunged into darkness was folly, of course, but what could he do? He could not even make the argument that they must defend the farmers who fed them as long as the sun no longer existed to ripen the grain.


    Every bone in the Templar¡¯s battered body told him that staying on the defensive was the wrong decision, but he would have accepted it because that was his nature. Then, the sky filled with shooting stars.


    To most, it was seen as an omen, though people could not agree on whether it was a sign of hope or something more sinister. Just the same, everyone watched it, including Brother Faerbar, who was praying at the ruined altar high on the temple mount for more guidance.


    That was when he was struck by a star that came careening out of the night sky and hit him like a lightning bolt through the giant hole in the roof above him.


    He barely noticed the stars and didn¡¯t remember being struck. He¡¯d looked up briefly at the start of the shooting stars through the ruined tangle of the nearest stained glass window but quickly focused on his prayers to Siddrim. Those efforts were earnest and fervent enough to block out the talking and chanting that otherwise filled the holy place for the next several minutes, and then the world was suddenly lost in white light.


    For a moment, Brother Faerbar thought that he had died, but it wasn¡¯t heaven he¡¯d been gifted with, but a vision of hell. He saw a struggling, dying god, as well as the terrifying evil that he had fought, as well as the suffering that creation faced without a light to keep the terrors of the night at bay.


    He woke up on the floor of the chapel surrounded by other acolytes and warriors, miraculously healed from the injuries he¡¯d still been suffering from. More importantly, though, he woke up filled with light. He literally glowed with power.


    Brother Faerbar had always been sensitive. Most people would have considered him too sensitive for the role of a Templar, but he¡¯d reveled in it. What he¡¯d seen before paled in comparison to the sights he saw now, though. Until tonight, he¡¯d been blind, and it was only now that he could see. The light that filled his soul shone with a purity that let him see right through the men that surrounded him.


    It was a depressing moment of exaltation as he saw the amount of cowardice and sloth on display. The church had not been defeated by an army of darkness. They had been defeated by themselves long ago. Some part of the aging Templar had always known this. He¡¯d struggled with his orders many times throughout his career, though he¡¯d always eventually obeyed and done what he¡¯d been told.


    That was his sin, and he knew that. He also knew the truth, though. Siddrim was dead, and this was one of his last gifts to the devout. The Templar couldn¡¯t make sense of all the details that had befallen his god, but one word stood out above all the rest: Blackwater.


    Something terrible happened in that place, and he personally needed to go and end it. That was all that Siddrim had asked for in return for this power.


    Everyone waited for him to speak as Brother Faerbar rose to his feet, but as he absorbed all of this information, he was struck dumb, and slowly but surely, the entire room joined him in silence. ¡°Tomorrow, the sun will rise, but not as we have known it,¡± he said finally, unwilling to share the full truth with his brothers just yet. ¡°Then, once everyone has seen what has become of our world, we march to war.¡±


    They asked more questions, but the Templar ignored them. Instead, he walked to the ruined window, well aware of the fact that he would glow like a beacon in the dark night. Light shot out of his eyes and mouth, and his every word seemed louder than before, so he did not waste them.


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    Instead, he repeated his message again to the audience that was gathering below. It was only once he¡¯d done that that he began to preach from the Book of Dawn, trying to give all those who heard him hope that he no longer had. ¡°We must share our light and spread into the darkness in the same way that the flame of one candle might light a thousand more without ever really depleting itself. We must be generous with that light, not miserly!¡±


    As the Templar continued on, he couldn¡¯t help but notice that it was true literally as well as figuratively. Normally, Siddrimar would be lit brightly, even at midnight, but today, he outshone the few candles and guttering torches that were scattered around and doing a remarkably poor job of illuminating the white city. However, here and there, he could see other pure white lights milling amongst the masses in the courtyards below.


    He was not the only one who had been chosen for this task, and he was sure they would join him soon enough. They had to. They¡¯d seen what he¡¯d seen and knew what he knew.


    Once that was complete, he returned to his room to gather his weapons, armor, and the surviving men of his cadre. The rules and the rulers of the church no longer applied because the church was no more. Brother Faerbar would only stay in these lightless walls long enough to prepare, and then he planned to camp outside of the main gate and wait for the rest of his army to show up.


    By the time dawn once again touched the frigid world, he was already dressed in his full plate regalia and walking out of the main gate with a growing mob behind him that was trying to heap all sorts of unearned accolades upon him. Prophet. Messiah. He was none of these things. Eventually, he allowed them to call him Paragon, though. That was an ancient title for the leader of crusades, and this is surely what this was to be: the church¡¯s last crusade.


    By the time the third sun had risen, they had built their camp just across the river from the city, making their opposition to the church elders very clear: there was no safety to be found in those walls. For a time, they were ignored. However, by the time the first two suns had set and the third one was descending, a trickle of men started to join them in twos and threes. That trickle didn¡¯t become a flood until nightfall, which was also when Brother Faerbar noticed something peculiar for the first time.


    By the time full darkness had set in, most of the men that were most loyal to him now had glowing eyes of their own. They¡¯d spent the day telling scripture and stories, and it was that spark that he somehow managed to spread to them without diminishing his own. The other men present, who had mostly discussed fears or concerns about the fragmented nature of the sky, still had dark eyes, and Brother Faerbar thought that was fitting enough. It showed him that he still had work to do.


    He¡¯d hoped that explaining how each of the lights in the sky was one of the horses from Siddrimar¡¯s chariot running free would have been enough to buoy them, but it was not. ¡°Agrathixus, Nimeia, Dronicus, and Bosperon cannot light the world on their own,¡± he¡¯d told them. ¡°They need a strong hand to hold their reins and a world awash in the prayers of good men to graze on.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t until morning that the church elders came with orders and admonishments. They¡¯d obviously been unable to work up the courage to do so in the dark when the growing camp of the Crusaders was lit more brightly than the holy city. Now though, by the wan bluish light of morning, when the frost was still heavy on the grass, they came with banners and censers and all the pomp that they could muster to reassert their authority.


    The council of Hierarchs from the different branches of the church started with bluster, but when that failed, they were reduced to reason and then finally pleading.


    ¡°Would you dare risk your immortal souls by defying the Ecclesiarch?¡±


    ¡°Marching off with so few men in times such as these would be the height of foolishness!¡±


    ¡°Please, don¡¯t you understand? For the sake of church unity, you must obey us. The men respect you too much. Anything less would cause a rift in the church¡­¡±


    Each time, Brother Faerbar rebuffed them, and each time, they returned only slightly more humbled than before.


    Finally, though, during dinner, after his following had doubled and then doubled again, he denounced them. ¡°Siddrim has left us, and it is because of old men like you!¡± he yelled. ¡°I no longer take orders from men that have no light in their souls.¡±


    That was something everyone could see. There were over a hundred men in the camp now, and most of them had a little light in their eyes. The church fathers, though, were a notable exception to that, and they left almost immediately once that was pointed out.


    ¡°Humility could still save them,¡± he told his comrades that night by the fire, ¡°But that is a trait the church hasn¡¯t prioritized in truth for a long time.¡±


    All the confrontation did was cause the powers that be to shut the main gate to the best of their ability, but that was, in a sense, an admission of defeat, and over the following day, the trickle of men that had left Siddrimar to join Brother Faerbar¡¯s crusade became a flood, but he never left his growing camp, nor did he stop spreading the tales that would inspire hope in the beleaguered men.


    It was only when his dozens had become thousands that the Templars finally started to march to the west. He knew that others would join him along the way, both from Siddrimar and from every city that they passed through, but he could no longer wait. The evil they sought to vanquish continued to grow every day, and if they hoped to drive a stake through its heart, then time was of the essence.

 Ch. 94 - Slowly Stirring

    Tenebroum slept fitfully, dreaming of the tide of overwhelming death that it had unleashed on the world. It was a pleasant dream, and even as it struggled with the churning changes deep inside itself, it was lulled back to sleep by the symphony of screams and the gurgling rattles that followed them. Light had returned to the sky once more, but it was chaotic and weak, and it could not stop all that the Lich had set in motion. At best, it could only slow it down a few hours at a time, and in most places, it did precious little good. Only Siddrimar and Abenend were exceptions to that.


    The mages had survived its assault largely intact, thanks to the strength of their magics, marking them as perhaps the most dangerous of its enemies. Another mass attack without its shadow drake or its titan to bring down the walls would be an exercise in futility, so they would be allowed to live a while longer. It had made them afraid, though. It could smell that fear wafting over the walls of their castle even as they tried and failed to understand what it was that they were up against. They now seemed disinclined to leave their walls for fear of what was to come next, and scrying was of very limited effectiveness when you did not know what exactly it was you were spying upon.


    By contrast, the cursed city of Siddrimar had been ground halfway to dust in a bloody night that had lasted for day after day, but still, they insisted on becoming a problem once more. Krulm¡¯venor had been allowed to tear apart the city until scarcely any copies of him had remained. That had been a battle worth watching to the Lich, and it reveled in the suffering of its slave almost as much as it did the deaths of its enemies.


    Its most powerful servants were still grievously wounded by the terrible battles they had just endured, so they would be of little help in the days to come. By the end of the battle, Krulm¡¯venor had escaped all but depleted, the shadow drake had been held aloft by only the magic that imbued it despite having one wing shredded and the other broken, and its titan had limped away from the battle missing an arm.


    Even the death and destruction that the Lich¡¯s four horsemen had rained down to earn those scars hadn¡¯t been enough to fully extinguish that fervor, apparently. Amongst the ashes, some fresh spark had been relit there, lighting a new brushfire that was even now spreading south and west.


    The darkness had made no progress in understanding the new lights that plagued it, nor the erratic movements they made as they moved from horizon to horizon by different paths each day. The tiny suns danced, doing their best to stave off its evil, but they were failing miserably. Just like its own servants, they were largely ineffective, though the Lich worried they might grow over time.


    If each were to grow into a proper sun in its own right¡­ the Lich worried, but it dismissed the thought. It would not let itself fret over hypotheticals until it had more information from the minds it had set to studying the new phenomena while it roused itself from slumber and focused on the dangers at hand. It would focus solely on the resources it had right now and not the ones it would like to have or those that might come available soon.


    Only Oroza still functioned at anything close to full strength, and the Lich unleashed her without a second thought. It commanded her to smash bridges and sink boats in the northern end of her domain, wherever she found them, to buy it time.


    The warriors were visible to it even before they made much progress into its territory. That was how bright they burned. It wasn¡¯t just the relics and the blessed armor that they wore, though. Their fervor would have been obvious even without that. Many of them burned with an energy similar to that which it had only experienced before in Siddrim¡¯s avatar, and that made the Lich nervous. It did not have many tools that could stand against that might.


    It was that realization that finally pushed it from its slumber and back into the world of men. It could feel that its soul had been changed, though it would take a long time to truly understand the extent of what had happened to it. Shadows and death were still there, of course, but beneath those murky waters, there were new currents. It was reminded of the strange things it had seen as its mind roiled with the chaos that underlay the world, but experiments on those subjects would have to wait until this danger had passed.


    It had ten thousand undead warriors but few good options in fielding them against its current enemy in a timely manner. Its deathless soldiers were making great strides in reaping a crop of blood and death each night, but they were spread out in all directions, sacking everything in their path at points that were far from here, and it needed the strength that seeped into the darkness from corpses they left in their wake badly enough that it was hesitant to end their rampages entirely.


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    There was no denying that the darkness was weaker than it had been in a decade, but that was only because of exhaustion. It was confident that within a year, or perhaps two, it would be stronger than it had ever been before.


    Some of them would have to return for the battle that lay ahead, though. Of that, there was no question. In places where deep mines for coal and ore existed, it could create shadow gates to bring home portions of the vast horde it had unleashed on the world. The rest of its forces would take time to draw back to where they were now needed most, though.


    So, it summoned all of the allies and monstrosities it had built over the years. With the exception of the specialized creations, like the fleshcrafters, and the abominations that manned its library and its forges, it emptied its storehouses and tunnels of everybody that could stagger forward.


    Most of these corpses were drudges that had already been worked to the bone for decades, but they would be enough to slow down the attack force and give it pause, buying Tenebroum a few more days. With luck, the waves of ineffective dead might even buy it the element of surprise in the attack to follow, though it would not bet on it. Not against veteran holy warriors who had already managed to survive their might in the first attack on their holy city.


    After that, it reached out to the goblins in the west and the lizardmen in the north. Both groups had grown fat in the shadow of its protection, and they would now be called upon for service once again. It would take time for them to arrive, but the Lich was hopeful that the Goblins would arrive as the Templars reached Fallravea just so that unlucky city could have a chance to live through their deprivations all over again.


    Those actions alone should have been enough to ensure its victory, but it was not enough to set the Lich¡¯s mind at ease. It had tried to kill god and only partially succeeded; it had tried to steal the sun from the sky, but all it had managed to do was shatter it, and it had tried to raze Siddrimar to the ground, but all it had done was awaken a hornets¡¯ nest.


    A failure this time, or even a partial success, might mean that they would breach its temple or, worse, the mazes below. So it did every last thing it could think of to tilt the battlefield to its own advantage. It dispatched its shades by night to poison all of the wells between Blackwater and Fallravea, and while that was being done, it forced its titan back to the surface to use its earth magics to turn roads into bogs and erect a wall across the main approaches to its domain, just inside the veil of eternal night that protected it.


    Once all of this was done, it unleashed a plague on the survivors that huddled inside the damaged city of Fallravea. The Lich had directed small attacks on that hollow shell of a city several times, but it had never been for the purpose of conquering it. It hadn¡¯t needed to. They would never be a threat. It just liked to keep the populace afraid enough that they looked for new victims to blame this on and burn in effigy. That had been their way for the last few years, and Tenebroum would never grow tired of the smells of the innocents roasting on a pyre.


    The plagues weren¡¯t about killing people either, though a great many would die. Neither the red, bleeding sores of Weepers Rot nor the Grey Fever it had been improving over the last few years would be even a shadow of The Drowning. They would both do an excellent job of weakening the city as well as the army that was about to pass through it, though.


    In the long term, it had hoped that hunger would do the majority of its work for it, but as powerful an ally as starvation was, it had one terrible drawback. It was slow. It would make no difference in a battle that would be over in weeks instead of months. The holy warriors that advanced on it might never have another meal for the rest of their short lives, and they would still be strong enough to put up a good fight by the time their emaciated forms reached its lair.


    That stray thought was enough to trigger a whole cascade of thoughts about what it might be able to do concerning rats. Vermin like that would be the ideal carriers of plagues, and they might accelerate its push for famine by months or years if given metal teeth so that they could chew tirelessly through stone granaries.


    The Lich had but to think it, and almost instantly, its servants began to draft plans for the disassembly of living subjects as well as the pieces that would have to be fabricated to improve them. It could not spare the resources now, of course, but it would be a good experiment to toy with another time, especially if it filled them with toxic poisons for them to vomit into dwindling foodstuffs.


    Tenebroum¡¯s shadow raptors continued to function well as spies and test subjects for the mysterious magic that was flight. Even now, they watched the army of light¡¯s advance each night, and it watched their progress through those red eyes as they grew both in terms of numbers and light. It had never before thought to use them to intentionally spread pestilence.


    That was one more thing it would do once the battle ahead was won. Diligently, its tome recorded all of these ideas, though the Lich doubted it would return to them for many months. For now, all that really mattered was how many war zombies could beat the army of light when it arrived and what strange new surprises its fleshcrafters could create in the weeks that remained.

 Ch. 95 - The March to War

    In a world of darkness, a man with a little light was king. That¡¯s what they said about him, though Brother Faerbar downplayed it. No matter what accolades his brothers tried to place upon him, he would only accept Paragon. That was why they marched, after all. They were a vengeful crusade that would see justice done for their fallen god.


    He had almost ten thousand men with him now. Less than half were true warriors in any real sense, but most of them had Siddrim¡¯s light in their eyes, and they walked with purpose. No matter how many detours they had to make because the roads were washed out or bridges were toppled, they found a way.


    On peaceful days, sometimes whole villages would join their numbers as they passed toward Fallravea. Those were the minority, though. Most days now involved minor skirmishes with the dead. They seemed to have erupted from every passing graveyard and family plot that they passed through now.


    None of the small bands of zombies and skeletons were particularly dangerous, but they were a nearly constant nuisance. They no longer even waited for full dark to harry his men and would often attack as soon as there was only a single star left in the sky, slowing their march more than causing casualties.


    ¡°That¡¯s the real aim,¡± Brother Faerbar insisted around the fires of his war council at night. ¡°The evil has been sorely wounded by the light, and it fears us. Even now, it waits for our arrival.¡±


    ¡°How could it possibly know we are coming,¡± someone asked. ¡°How could you know that?¡±


    ¡°Because it is inevitable,¡± the Templar spoke, gazing into the coals of the fire. ¡°Because darkness exists to be purged by the light, and it knows that it will never be safe until all the flickering candles of the righteous are snuffed for good and all.¡±


    They were still two days out from the capital of Greshen County, so the conversation devolved from that into pure theology after that. It was a conversation that Brother Faerbar welcomed, even if he was no theologian. He¡¯d told his men days ago that Siddrim had been struck dead in a titanic battle by an opponent that had lain in wait for him like a spider or a viper, but most still did not believe it.


    How could they? Did they not still all shine with Siddrim¡¯s radiance? Could they not still feel his love? None of that changed his certainty, though. Their god was lost, and this terrible gift left Brother Faerbar reliving that losing battle every night, though he was not sure if those dreams were meant to warn him about what awaited or to goad him to action. It did both, though he was pleased that no one else was forced to watch what had happened to his apprentice.


    Brother Faerbar¡¯s heart went out to Todd. He¡¯d tried too hard to fight the darkness, but in the end, he¡¯d fallen victim to the sins of his youth, and in doing so, he¡¯d become a weapon himself. By the end, it was obvious he¡¯d been driven half-mad and had been little more than a gibbering stake being driven through the breast of their god.


    Still, he vowed not to let the same thing happen to him or to any other holy man who traveled with him. Cadres were always stronger because of their strength in numbers, and ultimately, it was Brother Faerbar¡¯s mistake to send his young protege on a mission alone. He would rectify that, he vowed. He would rectify everything.


    <hr>


    They were less than a day away from Fallravea¡¯s gates, and he expected to make it before it was truly dark when they encountered a procession coming toward them. Their growing crusade encountered refugees almost every day. Usually, they were small family groups or the survivors of some massacred village, and they rarely numbered more than a score. This was some two hundred armed men, though, and when they got close enough, Brother Faerbar could finally make out Priest Cawleon at the head of the line of horses and wagons that he understood what this was.


    It was the procession of Siddrim¡¯s forces from Fallravea slinking back to the church out of fear of what had happened or, more correctly, rats from a sinking ship.


    ¡°Thank goodness you¡¯re here, brothers!¡± the priest called out as soon as the forces met. ¡°You are a sight for sore eyes.¡±


    They spoke at length, and Brother Faerbar let the priest do most of the talking, but there was little new information to be gained. Darkness had enveloped the land here as badly as it had everywhere else, and the sepulchers that were filled with the dead of ages past had vomited them forth in the terrible days of darkness. Once that was done, though, the goblin attacks on outlying villages had become relentless, and they produced a constant stream of refugees producing only hunger and disease to the point that the ancient city was about to collapse under its own weight.


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    More than anything, though, what Brother Faerbar learned was that the priest was a coward. ¡°It is men like you that brought the church so low,¡± the Paragon said, startling everyone. It was dark enough now that the fire was burning in his eyes. ¡°You have been charged to protect and guide this city, and yet you run with their meager foodstuffs for the safety of the church¡¯s walls!¡±


    ¡°Who dare you speak to me like this!¡± the shocked priest gasped. ¡°I am a priest of¡ª¡±


    ¡°The walls have fallen, and Siddrim is dead,¡± Brother Faerbar roared, ¡°And men like you are the reason why.¡±


    The priest was still sputtering when Brother Faerbar ordered his men to seize him. His own guards drew their own weapons, and for a moment, Brother Faerbar worried there would be bloodshed, but as the day dimmed further and they could see that they dealt with thousands of men who had been enlightened rather than a single one, they quickly surrendered, and fell into line with the rest of the soldiers and returned to the city they¡¯d only marched from so recently.


    As bad as the priest had made it sound, it was worse than Brother Faerbar had expected. The city was thick with smoke, and the wailing cries of the dying, and that was by night. He didn¡¯t even want to imagine how much worse it would look during the day.


    Still, they were not going to wait for the weak light of day to begin to rectify the problems, and he quickly devoted his men to all the important tasks. Some were dedicated to hauling the bodies outside the city gates, and some to guarding those gates and ensuring public order. The most devout were tasked with healing the sick or using their miracles to turn one loaf of bread into many and feed the hungry.


    They could not afford to stay here long, of course. There was still a week of marching ahead of them, but a few days would be enough to right this shambles. It was only a few years ago when he¡¯d bled to purify this place from Oroza¡¯s taint, and he would be damned if he¡¯d let all of that effort go to waste.


    The following day, they had a brief trial for the priest, as tradition required, before finding him guilty of dereliction of duty and the abandonment of his post in the face of the enemy. Normally, such charges would be met with a public bonfire so that he would be allowed to repent with his final screams, but given the acute shortage of firewood and the vast number of bodies that needed to be burned outside the walls of the city, a simple hanging was had instead.


    It brought Brother Faerbar no joy to hang one of his own, but cowardice in the face of what they were facing was the last thing that they needed. The tragic waste of the day did have one silver lining, though. It brought those with an excess of darkness from their soul crawling out of the woodwork to watch the spectacle.


    He had as many of these as he could see rounded up and executed as well, though he had to be selective, of course. If he¡¯d lined up a date with the headman for everyone with a little darkness, the city would be scourged clean, but it was easy to look someone in the eyes and see the difference between a fallible man who indulged in a little theft or whoring, and a demon wearing the flesh of a man that was a blight upon the world. He no longer needed the inquisition to make such choices. He was the Paragon now, and as he spoke, the world moved to obey him.


    Slowly, over the next three days, peace was restored, and though hunger was not wiped out by any means, the number of men and women who died each day slowed to a trickle as light purged the darkness from the bodies of his people. Along with the help and hope they offered, his light spread further, too. Most nights, he could walk and see lights in the eyes of those who took a peek at his procession as he walked through the streets.


    ¡°Hope is contagious,¡± he liked to say whenever one of his men asked him about the sight. ¡°All one needs to do to let the light into their soul is to see the good it does in the world. Remember that, even if I should fall.¡±


    He hoped that they would because his survival was hardly guaranteed. Men who led from the front rarely lasted long. That was why, even before all this, the only old men in the Brotherhood of the Purgative Flame were those priests and high priests who stood at the apex. He was past forty now, and it was starting to show.


    Still, he wouldn¡¯t let his age slow him down more than he¡¯d let the plague or the zombies, and he walked everywhere he went in his plate mail so that he was constantly ready for attacks. Still, he announced that they would leave on the morrow. He just had one more thing to decide on: the baby.


    Priest Cawleon had at least had the good sense to bring the child with him when he¡¯d fled the city in shame, but there were no good answers regarding Leo the fifth, the last of his name. Brother Faerbar could send him back to Siddrimar or leave him here, of course, but both of those felt wrong. Leaving him in the care of anyone else felt like something he should not do. There was something to this child, and if the Templar had been able to find even a scrap of evil in its soul, he would have killed it himself.


    There wasn¡¯t any, though, so in the end, he was forced into the only decision that made any sense to him: he would have to take the child with him. On his face, it was ridiculous, of course, but his army was over ten thousand strong now, and there was no end to the number of orphans and camp followers that tagged along at the rear and the fringes. One more squealing mouth and a nursemaid would not add to that in any appreciable way.


    It was a decision he agonized over, but by the time he was ready to depart, it felt right. That child was important, and when the time came, he would find out how and see justice done.

 Ch. 96 - Penumbral

    Jordan would never know how long the night had truly lasted because it wasn¡¯t until he¡¯d wandered for days in the dark, frost-covered stretches, as he went from village to empty village, that he discovered the edge of the night quite by accident.


    Teleportation magic was dangerous as a rule, and if you screwed up something minor like he¡¯d done, it could send you all sorts of crazy places. Honestly, he was lucky he hadn¡¯t ended up a hundred feet in the air or at the bottom of the sea. However, attempting to use it when you had no idea where you were was downright insane. Unfortunately, this meant very sore feet after countless hours spent walking, searching for any sign of life. By the time he¡¯d found the first village, he was numb and exhausted, and all he¡¯d cared about was the bed with a blanket on it.


    It was only in the morning, or at least what would have been morning if the sun still existed that he realized the whole place had been abandoned. He¡¯d screamed himself hoarse, yelling for help, but was not the least bit surprised when no one answered.


    The fact that whoever had lived here had left in quite a hurry, leaving all of their worldly possessions behind, was more interesting than the fact that they were missing. He¡¯d balked at that little detail the first time, but by the time he came to the third village where everything was intact but the inhabitants, he simply accepted it. With everything strange going on, who was he to quibble with the fact that they¡¯d left bread on the table when they vanished?


    ¡°Perhaps the gods have whisked everyone away to their bosom, and the world has ended,¡± he grumbled to himself as he struggled to start a fire in his new abode. ¡°And left only the mages and other sinners here to rot just like the priests always said that they would.¡±


    Jordan was sleeping in his third temporary home, and despite the cold temperatures, he was finding less and less to eat as he continued along on his journey into the darkness, but as he went outside to check the hen house to see if there were any eggs on offer, he found the strangest possible thing: the sun.


    No, even stranger, there were two suns, but one was on the other side of the wall of darkness, and its rays reached him only faintly. Still, it was baffling, and for a moment, he just stood there dumbstruck, sure he¡¯d gone insane.


    ¡°What in the name of the light¡­¡± he whispered, as he took two steps back the way he came and found that the light vanished once more.


    It was like there was an invisible wall, and somehow, it separated the place he¡¯d been from the rest of the world. That theory was borne out with further exploration. The further he walked away from the thing, the longer the wall stretched until it very clearly became a singular tower of darkness that stretched from horizon to horizon and all the way up to the faint sky itself.


    On the one hand, Jordan was overjoyed that the light had returned to the world. Even if the sun looked strange and seemed to have divided into two, it was better than the darkness that was slowly freezing the earth solid in the place that he¡¯d been in, and he was hesitant to go back inside, even briefly, to retrieve his meager supplies and a flaming brand so that he could light a new fire outside.


    The reality of the thing, even after the sun had set and he could no longer see the difference, was almost enough to send him running as far and as fast as he could. The mage inside of him would not let him shrink from such a strange sight, though, and he knew he must learn all he could to share with anyone else who might have survived that terrible assault on Abenend.


    So, making sure to stay outside of the bounds of the evil thing, Jordan began to travel slowly south, day by day, looking for more information, but all he found was madness. Still, as he went, he made notes of the madness with scavenged paper and tried to do his sums to calculate the total size of the area encompassed by darkness, but it was inconclusive.


    He discovered that there were four different suns now, but none of them had the warmth or light that he was used to, that his pillar of night went all the way to the Oroza, and most importantly, he found out that the undead abominations that had already almost killed him once could be out during daylight hours now.


    Jordan wasn¡¯t sure what that meant or how that was even possible, but it was. He¡¯d been lectured on the subject of the unquiet dead in classes before, and he¡¯d always been taught that light was their greatest weakness, but if he hadn¡¯t been able to cast invisibility and slip away while the small mob of decaying creations hunted for him, he would most certainly be nothing but a cooling corpse himself.


    Light or not, the world really had ended, he decided, and he was left alone with the damned. That was when he started walking away from the evil thing along the banks of the Oroza. If there were any people left in this world¡­ real, live people, and not just their shades, they would be in a big city like Fallravea, or gods help him, in Siddrimar.


    He shuddered at that thought. The last place on earth any mage wanted to end up was in the holy city, but he didn¡¯t see what choice he had. If it was a choice between the zealots and the walking dead, he would choose the former. At least if the priests of Siddrim killed him, they would pray for his soul and send him to heaven, he thought cheerfully as he continued to walk north along the course of the river.


    <hr>


    It wasn¡¯t the first wrecked ship that Markez had seen on their way up the Oroza. Even without having to fight the dead or the eternal night, it had been an ugly week, and he¡¯d barely gotten any sleep as he tried to keep his crew of children and incompetents from doing anything stupid. However, when he spotted the wreckage in the thin blue light of morning, he knew immediately that it was the dainty little two-masted brigs that had passed them on its way upriver the day before yesterday. The crew of the vessel was smart and professional, and unlike so many of the other ships he¡¯d seen over the last few days, Markez had never once worried they might be pirates intent on boarding them.


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    In fact, from their bearing and direction, he would have guessed that they were after the same thing that he was ¡ª the safety of Siddrimar. The only difference between them, of course, was that they were certainly some dignitary or messenger. They might even be from the king himself, but that wasn¡¯t Markez¡¯s business. His only task was to manage their dwindling food supplies, try to find somewhere safe for all the children he¡¯d been saddled with, and somehow keep the hopelessly inept lubbers from beaching them on either shore.


    That was just one of the many reasons he was so worried now, even if no one else noticed the wreckage of the ship as they glided upriver. No one was paying attention to anything but that damn pillar of darkness.


    It had loomed on the horizon for days now. Every night, it disappeared against the night sky, and every morning, it reemerged as an impenetrable column of darkness. And it was getting closer.


    Hour by hour and day by day, it grew, but now it was almost dead ahead of them, and it took up half of the horizon. He was fairly sure they would hit it today. He just didn¡¯t know when.


    Markez would have loved nothing more than to slow them down a bit and give the problem a good think, but that wasn¡¯t really an option.


    For the last few days, some unsavory-looking boats had been gaining on them. He hadn¡¯t made a fuss about it to everyone else. He¡¯d just watched them as he manned the rudder, but he¡¯d seen the look in the eyes of those men yesterday. Before his sails had caught a more favorable wind and left them in the dust, they¡¯d almost had them, and he was convinced that it was only Lunara or some other goddess that loved children that had saved them, but he was equally sure that wouldn¡¯t work a second time.


    Now the dogs were back. They were only an hour behind, or perhaps two, and Markez only had two choices: he could go with the devil he knew and prepare to be boarded, or he could choose the devil he didn¡¯t want to know and go headlong into the wall of night that was expanding ahead.


    Given that he knew what would happen in the case of the former, he knew for damn sure that there was no one on this craft who could help him fight off someone that wanted trouble. Some of the older kids would try, of course, but that fop of a nobleman would be no help at all.


    Like thinking about him managed to summon the man, Dian came over. ¡°What do you think we should do about the darkness?¡± the noble asked almost conspiratorially.


    ¡°I think we should pray,¡± Markez said tiredly, not even bothering to look at the greater danger that was closing in behind them or the hints of what might happen to their ship when they crossed that threshold spread out on the waters before them.


    ¡°Pray?¡± Dian asked in disbelief, ¡°Isn¡¯t there something more we can do?¡±


    ¡°You could go below and gather the last of the lamps so we can see what we can see, but beyond that¡­¡± Markez let his voice trail off. The last thing he wanted to do was to encourage the man to draw the sword on his hip. He¡¯d probably just hurt himself with it. Lamps would be enough of a challenge for him, though he¡¯d send one of the girls with the noble to make sure he didn¡¯t burn the place down, and if they were all very lucky, he would still be somewhere below when they finally crossed the threshold.


    And that moment was coming faster all the time. Even as Markez stood by the rudder, the wall of night seemed to approach faster and faster, though since that seemed true of the nearest vessel behind them, it could have just as easily been the sense of danger knawing at him. In the end, he beat the thing into the dark by 100 yards. For a moment, he was tempted to extinguish all lamps to try to hide from the other boat, but even with all the light they mustered, he could barely see the near shore of the river. Without light, they would surely ground the craft.


    ¡°Ease up on the starboard line, lads!¡± he called out, trying to get them to tack the ship to boost the speed a little bit without causing a panic.


    The children did as bid, though clumsily, and they spilled so much air from the sail that they lost as much speed as they gained. Markez sighed as he lashed the rudder into place and picked up his boat hook as he watched the other vessel drawing closer and closer along their port side. If there was going to be a fight, then it was going to be now.


    The determination was momentarily interrupted when he heard the sounds of screaming and the planks of wood cracking. Markez spun around just in time to see the two lamps that had illuminated the barge and its rowers, though he would wished that he hadn¡¯t forever afterward.


    Something large, sinuous, and utterly inhuman had come up out of the water and effortlessly snapped the boat in two. He didn¡¯t know what it was, but he knew that it had a giant maw and that it could bite a man in half almost as easily as a ship.


    The noise was impossible to hide and sent a flurry of people running to the stern to see what had happened, but the show was over, and even the splashing sounds of whoever was left breathing were quickly drowned out by the dozens of feet running across the deck and the shouting. By the time they reached the back rail and began to pepper Markez with questions, there was nothing back there but darkness, and the danger lurking behind it.


    ¡°What is it?¡± one of the older boys shouted.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Lara asked. ¡°Did you see? Can you see?¡±


    He ignored them. ¡°See? See?! You see here. All of you. The boat that was behind us ¡ª they¡¯ve run aground on the rocks there,¡± Markez lied. ¡°Now watch the sails and the rigging, or we¡¯ll meet the same fate before we¡¯re clear of this cursed dark!¡±


    He opted not to worry about the monster lurking behind them. If that thing wanted to eat them next, there was nothing he could do to stop it, so he decided it was best not to worry anyone about it and focus on getting away from here as quickly as possible.

 Ch. 97 - Between the Darkness and the Light

    When Jordan first saw the lights on the horizon, he thought that they were torches, even if they were a bit too small and a little too bright. Morning was approaching, and though it was no longer bright enough to make the horizon glow with that long-lost blue line of hope or reveal the source of the lights, he still moved toward them. All he had now were the cold, distant stars and the approaching candles to ward off whatever evils skulked in the darkness.


    When Jordan got close enough to them to discover what they were, he wished he hadn¡¯t. They were¡­ they were what exactly? Priests? Templars? He wasn¡¯t sure, but there were thousands of them, and most of them marched with little flecks of sunlight radiating from their eyes. For a mage who had studied both of the burning times in detail, it was a terrifying sight, but even as he stood there and the ranks of marching men moved to meet him, swords stayed in their sheaths, which was as much as he could hope for.


    On the front rank, one man stood out over all the rest, though. He was an older warrior who had burn scars on his hands and face, and his plate armor was a bit finer than most. All of those details paled in comparison to the most important one. He was glowing. Like everyone else, he had eyes of fire, but he was the only one with a flickering aura of the long-lost sunlight that the world missed terribly.


    And he was looking right at Jordan. This was enough to make the mage swallow hard and step off the road he¡¯d been following to allow them to pass, but as they closed the distance between them, the army stopped with a gesture from the glowing man, and he strode forward to meet Jordan. His large kite shield stayed on his back, but Jordan couldn¡¯t help but notice that the man¡¯s right hand stayed on his sword¡¯s hilt the entire time.


    ¡°You are a sorcerer,¡± the man declared blandly, telling Jordan that whoever this was, he clearly had the sight and that it would be difficult to hide anything from him.


    ¡°An apprentice, my lord,¡± he said, bowing nervously. ¡°I am Jordon Sedgim, son of¡ª¡±


    ¡°I am Siddrim¡¯s Paragon, and I care not who you are, only that you have no taint of true evil on your soul,¡± the Paragon interrupted, ¡°I only wish to know what you are doing here.¡±


    Jordan suppressed a gasp. ¡°So this is a crusade?¡± he asked. ¡°I¡¯d thought that Siddrimar would send help!¡±


    ¡°Siddrimar is gone, lad,¡± the Templar lord said softly, ¡°But my question still stands.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I got lost,¡± he confessed. ¡°The Collegium at Abenend was under attack, and I was trapped in the city when the zombies tried to attack, but my spell went wild and¡­ I ended up lost in the dark for days until I found that.¡±


    As he spoke, Jordan pointed toward the southwest, to the giant pillar of night. It was just bright enough now that you could see the edges against a sky that was imperceptibly brighter.


    ¡°And what is that?¡± the Paragon asked.


    ¡°I-I don¡¯t know,¡± Jordan confessed. They started walking after that, and Jordan told the Templar lord and his men all he could about his brief exploration of the empty spaces. ¡°It encompasses at least part of the Oroza, the canal, and all of Blackwater,'' the mage said quietly, "but beyond that, I know little. I never saw a single living thing, though, be it animal or man.¡±


    They listened to his words and didn¡¯t seem inclined to burn him at the stake or torment him with hot irons until he confessed his sins and repented of magic. So, he tried to do everything to make certain that continued.


    By the time the first sun had risen fully and was moving across the sky, they were miles closer to the Templar¡¯s goal, which made Jordan profoundly uncomfortable. Still, he could hardly refuse. They hadn¡¯t said that he was their prisoner, of course, but the way he was flanked on all sides by armed men certainly seemed to imply that he was.


    While they walked, the old warrior who led the assembled army told him that the fortress city had fallen along with their god and that the church was dead. It was a staggering admission. Despite the danger to himself, he¡¯d hoped to rally the full might of the church to end whatever had done this. That was impossible now. This was it, and honestly, he wasn¡¯t sure that it would be enough to face an evil that stretched to the sky.


    By that evening, they¡¯d almost reached the dark lands. It was like a black curtain drawn across the whole of the horizon to their west. The sun was setting somewhere behind it, the thin, reddish light didn¡¯t reach the campsite they were building. The Templars had apparently made the decision for what was going to happen next a long time ago, but they were implementing it now.


    In a few hours, most of the army would journey in the dark, leaving only the warriors without the gift of the light to defend the growing collection of camp followers. It was folly. Even Jordan thought so, but he was benefiting from it, so he said nothing. He¡¯d be happy to stay behind and help defend the rump of the army. He said nothing, many other warriors did. The Paragon ignored all complaints.


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    He didn¡¯t see things the same way. ¡°Attacking at night has no meaning, since all is night past that line,¡± he declared, gesturing with his glowing sword, ¡°and in the eternal night, there is no place for those without the light of Siddrim in their eyes!¡±


    ¡°If that is true, then why do you plan to take the mage inside with you?¡± one of his war council asked, annoyed that so many good men were being left out of what was to come in a few hours.


    That was news to Jordan, and a shiver of fear went down his spine as he realized he might have to go back in there.


    ¡°He¡¯s a mage,¡± the Paragon spat, ¡°his soul is damned already, so there is no saving him. He might prove useful in understanding what is in that foul place.¡±


    Jordan thought about asking if he had any say in any of this but decided that would not be a welcome interruption. That was fine. Once the fighting started, he could weave an illusion of invisibility and run or perhaps teleport back. He made a note to count his steps back to camp. Over level ground, that piece of information would drastically increase his options.


    The warriors argued a while longer about his fate and the other details, but nothing changed, and a few hours later, they started marching. Intellectually, he knew they¡¯d lost a third of their number, but from where Jordan stood, he couldn¡¯t see it. He was still surrounded on three sides by armed men for further than he could see.


    It was reassuring, on some level, to be surrounded by almost eight thousand of his worst enemies. A student of the Collegium knew better than almost anyone how brutal and powerful the Siddrim¡¯s church could be. There were other gods that persecuted mages too, of course, but none did so with the same fervor as the sun god, and in their rage and grief, the children of the Lord of Light inspired a sort of awe. Jordan couldn¡¯t imagine what it was that might be able to beat them, but as soon as he crossed the boundary, he found his answer.


    The only match for the army of light at his back was the army of night that loomed out of the night toward him. Hundreds of zombies were only dozens of feet away, and as soon as they crossed the inky curtain, a hideous battle cry rippled along the ranks and surged forward.


    Jordan did exactly what he expected he would in that situation: he froze. Before all this, he¡¯d been hoping to land a position as an advisor or alchemist to a backwater Count or an Earl. He¡¯d never dreamed of becoming a battle mage. So, even as the templars surged forward with a deafening battle cry, he stood there, forcing them to flow around him like a river of violence.


    He needn¡¯t have been worried, apparently. The line of zombies was only a few ranks thick, and it was crushed almost immediately by the wave of men in steel and their glowing swords.


    The zombies had scarcely fallen into the collection of body parts that they were when something sinuous and shadowy soared over the assembled mass of milling warriors. Despite himself, Jordan ducked as one of the things soared too close to him. It was an unmanly reaction, but it saved his life when the man just to his right was snatched up instead and was carried screaming into the sky.


    Jordan whispered a few arcane words and called the lightning, trying to strike at least one of the unseen creatures, but the result was stranger than expected. The electrical force did nothing because there was nothing for it to hit. The light that the pulse radiated was enough to make the nearest two creatures evaporate in a chorus of keening screams as they dropped their prey back to the earth.


    Jordan did not get a good look at the things that had flown above them, but they looked vaguely aquatic. They were something like a skate or a ray made out of nothing but an oil sheen and shadows. It sent a wave of goosebumps across his flesh as he tried to imagine what horrors could fester and grow in a place that the sun never touched.


    ¡°Come now!¡± a voice taunted from the shadows not so far above them. ¡°If you slay my little friends, you¡¯ll ruin the show!¡±


    The warriors looked around guardedly for what said that, but the sound was everywhere and nowhere, and Jordan could do nothing for the three remaining warriors who were much too far out of his reach. All anyone could do was watch as they were carried screaming into the dark sky, growing ever fainter.


    ¡°Show yourself spirit!¡± The Paragon roared as his sword flared to violent life, becoming a fountain of fire.


    ¡°You have no interest in me. What I have been ordered to show you though¡­¡± it quipped. ¡°You will forgive the light I have borrowed when you see what it illuminates.¡±


    While those words hung in the air, each of the templars that had been carried away in the night suddenly detonated like fireworks. Jordan recognized the traces of arcane magic in what had happened, but he wouldn¡¯t have the time to study it. No matter how interesting it was that something had catalyzed a spell that released all the light and strength their souls possessed in a moment, it was what the sudden flash of light showed that stole his breath.


    For a moment, the explosions of blood and light turned night into day. As bright as the explosions were, though, they only illuminated a hip, the lower sections of a rib cage, and the spine they were attached to. The skeleton itself were unremarkable, save for the fact that they were the size of cathedrals or fortresses. The ribs alone were longer than any bridge or taller than any tower Jordan had ever seen. Doing some quick math, he realized that the corpse had to be miles long, which left little doubt as to who it belonged to.


    The bones seemed to phosphoresce, briefly absorbing the light. They continued to glow softly for the next several minutes, serving as a macabre backdrop for the assembled forces.


    ¡°It is my honor to inform you that your deity is grateful that you have decided to die on the same ground that he did,¡± the voice taunted. ¡°So, we welcome you to the realm of darkness and promise you that none of you will leave here alive.¡±

 Ch. 98 - Godfall

    Initially, Brother Faerbar had been planning to march straight for the Temple of Dawn and the festering well of evil that lay beneath it. It had been his mission from the very start, but all that changed with the sight of his own God¡¯s remains, though. That was a sight that the Templar had never expected to see. It was one thing to know that Siddrim was dead because the God¡¯s own memories of that moment that burned inside of him said so. However, it was quite another to see his larger-than-life remains fall to the earth, and his eyes stayed fixed on that point even as the giant bones disappeared once more into darkness.


    Tears unexpectedly came to his eyes after that, and his sword dimmed a bit as dark emotions rushed through him, but the taunts he expected from the mystery voice never came. It vanished along with everything else, and the army of light was left alone to deal with the aftermath of the things they¡¯d seen. Even though the Paragon knew that the effect was still impossible to avoid, he knelt there on the icy road. Then he began to pray, even though he knew there was no god to hear him. Over the course of the next several minutes, the whole army knelt with him to pay their respects. It was all they could do.


    After that, there was no way they could continue on their crusade without going north, paying their respects, and learning what they could about what happened. After an hour of marching, though, all they learned was that physically, there was nothing there to enshrine or bury. Most of Brother Faerbar¡¯s men couldn¡¯t see anything except the crater that Siddrim had made when he¡¯d fallen, but with his sight, he could see the cathedralesque remains towering above him into the darkness.


    They hung there like an aura without an owner, and even though he questioned the mage harshly, the young man had nothing to add to the situation. ¡°So Siddrim¡¯s spirit is just stuck here forever?¡± He demanded of Jordan.


    ¡°I mean - I would th-think his spirit was in the small suns that reappeared¡ª¡± Jordan stammered.


    ¡°Those are not the remains of our god!¡± Brother Faerbar roared. ¡°Those are his horses, running free of his chariot with no one to guide them. I fear that without his steady hand, they might eventually tire and flee to a different pasture or stop and graze one mid-day and burn part of the world while the rest freezes!¡±


    ¡°His horses?¡± Jordan asked, a look of obvious confusion on his face. ¡°I¡¯d always thought that was a metaphor¡­¡±


    ¡°And what about that strikes you as metaphorical exactly?¡± the Paragon demanded. ¡°What would light and heat the world if not his four flaming stallions?¡±


    The mage had no answers for that, which was fine, Brother Faerbar supposed. He had never read the scriptures, so teaching him would be nigh impossible anyway. Handling the disposition of Siddrim¡¯s corpse and his steeds only had one thing in common: they were problems that would never be in his power to solve.


    Brother Faerbar had always been a simple man, and part of him resented having to be the one to make these decisions. Even as he debated what they should do next with his lieutenants and if this development actually changed anything, he reflected on that.


    He did not seek this power or this army, but now that he had it, there was only one use for it. He needed to rip out the black heart of the evil that had inflicted this scar on the world and slain his God by treachery under a shroud of darkness. Which meant fighting. No amount of delays or strategizing would change that.


    The longer everyone talked, the harder it became to hear them, though. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart as it beat with rage at the very idea that there might be an alternative to what was coming next. So, Brother Faerbar gave the order, and they began to march once more. This time, though, it was for Blackwater itself - the very heart of darkness.


    He could see the fear and indecision beginning to grow in even the hearts of veterans. The mage looked like he was about to piss himself or run in fear at any moment. Brother Faerbar could understand those emotions, but they no longer reached him. There was no fear in a soul already suffused with a need for vengeance.


    On the long slog back to the river through frozen fields and small snow drifts, they found a few more smaller groups of zombies, but they tore apart like tissue paper. To this point, the weather and the darkness had proved to be a bigger obstacle than the forces arrayed against them, and that worried the Paragon. How could an enemy be strong enough to defeat a god but weak enough to fall before them like wheat?


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    It wasn¡¯t until they reached the edge of Blackwater that they met any real resistance, and for Brother Faerbar, that only deepened the mystery. The zombies before them were obviously different from the ones they¡¯d faced until now. They wore crude armor and wielded weapons that were lashed to their hands. More than anything, they bore a resemblance to the warriors that he¡¯d faced years before in Oroza¡¯s under temple, but they proved only to be a distraction.


    By the time the Paragon had slain his third zombie, a shape larger than five men together lurched out of the night. For a moment, he thought it was a troll. That was the only thing he¡¯d ever faced that was this size, but this was even bigger. In the end, as it charged him, all he could do was charge it in return before it crushed the men around him into paste.


    The thing was more than twice his height, but he was infused with the strength of a god and jumped as they met, slamming his shield into the chest of the thing, staggering it. Even glowing with Siddrim¡¯s light, though, it wasn¡¯t enough to kill the thing, and as he swung his sword hard at the neck, looking for a quick kill, it deflected off the crude iron collar that had been put there. Someone had done their homework, he realized bitterly as he pressed his legs against the thing¡¯s chest and leapt away before the thing could grab him and crush him to death in its giant three-foot wide hands.


    ¡°Is that the best you can do?¡± the Paragon roared as he was knocked off his feet by a backhand and sent flying back toward his own lines.


    Up until now, he¡¯d succeeded at weaving just at the edge of its range and striking at each blow directed his way with his flaming sword in a bid to sever a finger or a tendon, but it had done very little good, and on his last strike he¡¯d gotten a little too close, and he¡¯d been knocked off his feet for his troubles.


    He could feel the pain spreading throughout his body. A broken hip, a twisted knee, and a fractured leg. Each of these wounds healed before he even had the chance to rise, though.


    His words were almost as effective as his sword, though. The glowing blades made quick enough work of the lesser zombies, but so far, every slash and thrust he¡¯d attempted to land on this monster had done nothing but gouge the metal beneath its skin. Something had taken the time to skin this giant, install bizarre bronze scale armor, and then sew the skin back on as if that made any sense.


    It baffled the Templar, but then he supposed the motives of evil wouldn¡¯t always make sense. This also held true for the words the mage began to chant somewhere behind him. For a moment, Brother Faerbar thought that he was about to be betrayed, but even as he braced for impact from whatever foul sorcery the mage behind him was casting, a lance of fire arced up over his head and splashed across the face of the behemoth, making it roar in anger.


    Brother Faerbar doubted that was enough to kill it or even blind it permanently. The dead didn¡¯t need their eyes to see. Not truly. Still, as long as it was on fire and distracted, he could afford to try something more complicated. Circling around behind the flailing giant with all the speed he could muster, The Paragon struck hard at the base of the thing¡¯s spine, but the bone there had been replaced with steel as well.


    He took a two-handed grip on his blade and struck the same spot twice more to no effect, and even as the monstrosity began to clear the fire to circle around and grab him once more, he switched to a softer target: the inside of the left knee. Because of its need to flex and move in a way that was at least somewhat natural, Brother Faerbar¡¯s blade cut deep there for the first time, releasing foul black ichor even as the thing¡¯s leg went out from underneath it, and it fell on its side roaring in outrage.


    It lashed out again and again from its prone position. Sometimes, it succeeded in grabbing a warrior and crushing them so hard that blood poured out of the twisted plate mail before it lobbed them back into the army. It never succeeded in grabbing the Paragon, though, and with each attempt, it only exposed another vital piece of its underbelly to him, now that he knew what he was looking for. The warrior struck at every joint he could with his blade, and with every ligament he severed, the thing grew slower and clumsier until it was nothing but a turtle lying there harmlessly on its back.


    A ragged cheer went up from the nearby men who had been doing what they could as Brother Faerbar climbed on top of the monster¡¯s head. Then, without flourish or fanfare, he plunged his fiery blade into the thing¡¯s eye socket to finally destroy the brain, and it exploded, launching the Templar a dozen feet back toward Blackwater.


    He had briefly expected that the thing might spring to life once more or that a second wave of zombies would arrive to save it. What he never imagined was that the creature¡¯s death would trigger some alchemical blast deep in that thing¡¯s body.


    Suddenly, that bizarre armor made sense, Brother Faerbar realized just before he hit the ground hard. When defending against blows, every hit had been absorbed by the scale mail, but when this thing detonated, most of those same scales went flying, and all of those sharp pieces of shrapnel hit with the force of a thousand arrows as it flew in all directions, shredding those closest to the blast.


    Brother Faerbar¡¯s plate mail spared him the worst of it, but he felt the pain race through him from half a dozen punctures and knew that he wouldn¡¯t be able to begin to heal until the cursed metal was removed from his body.


    He rose shakily to his feet and began to pull out the pieces. Then he surveyed the damage and the dead, wondering what other terrible surprises awaited him between here and the Temple of the Dawn.

 Ch. 99 - Pure Futility

    It watched the army approach with a calm feeling that bordered on amusement. The army itself was impressive enough for being a mass of flickering candles surrounding a single bonfire, but the Lich had nothing to fear here. It had watched the mass of men grow at every step of the way as they marched from the battered husk of the holy city to the southwest through the red eyes of its ravens and other, more shadowy minions, but Tenebroum was no longer concerned. Their window had already passed, though, and they didn¡¯t even know it.


    A small group of swift riders that had gotten here three or four days ago could have done far more damage to it than the lumbering force that was arrayed against it today. Now, it had left Tagel by the sea and all the other cities across the river in Dutton as burnt-out husks to stand as a warning to any humans who might try to venture this close again and reunited the fingers of its vast army into a single fist once more.


    Even now, the fools that were marching on Blackwater had no more of an idea of what awaited them there than they had of the fate that was already befalling the men they¡¯d left behind. This brash general had thought that the dividing line was the difference between danger and safety, but they¡¯d made a horrible miscalculation. Tenebroum was awake now. It was more awake than it had ever been in its entire unlife, perhaps, and safety was quickly becoming a scarce commodity everywhere.


    It had devoured the Lord of Light, but that feast had only clarified things, making the shadows of its soul that much darker by contrast. What it had gained from the God that had ruled the skies until so recently, though, was a newfound appreciation for a sense of order.


    The Lich had managed to stumble on some of those precepts in the last decade, but all of those had bent toward the end of trapping and slaying a god. Beyond that, it had simply worked as nature willed and unleashed its creations based on whim.


    For a long time, chaos had served its goals. It had been as natural as the swamp that had been a part of it for so long. Now, though, it understood the limitations. Chaos could not form clean battle lines, it could not execute orders simple enough for its drudges to obey, and it could not execute pincer attacks.


    But the Lich could do all those things now. It was a new clarity that it had stolen from the God that now made up almost half of its oversoul. In some ways, that was worth more than the sheer amount of power it had gained from its latest conquest.


    It watched the battlefield now, not as a hungry observer but as a cautious general. For days, it had been sending small waves of useless drudges to slow the march, and now, after the Templars had wasted precious days curing the sick and feeding the hungry, it had them boxed in on all sides. Once its ambushing force massacred their rear guard, it would outnumber them two to one and grind them to dust.


    The early victories it allowed them were meant only to test their mettle and increase their overconfidence enough that they felt strong enough to venture into the depths. When they finally succeeded in killing its juggernaut, the Lich¡¯s interest became all the more intense as it watched the wave of shrapnel shred the nearest men in a hail of green fire and cursed metal. The leader survived, but that was unsurprising. The man fairly glowed with divine light, though the Lich had watched with great interest as it had flickered when the man had viewed the corpse of his God.


    As with so many things in the world, it seemed to Tenebroum that the human heart was the weak link, and it wondered how many of the man¡¯s soldiers it would have to slaughter before that light went out for good. It was a question that the darkness was hoping to find out soon, though for now, all it could do was watch as they healed the dying and counted the dead.


    That little skirmish had cost almost 50 lives, and most of those had come from the juggernaut¡¯s explosion, but the Lich was unconcerned by the loss. Those bones were dipped in molten iron - it could easily reassemble the thing once the fighting was done. It would build others like it now that the concept worked. It had only built the bomb to blast open the doors of a particularly resilient keep, but it had worked wonderfully to flense the living as well.


    When they reached the Temple of the Dawn, it did not bar their way. It let them gaze upon the mockery that had been made of their holy site without any obstacle to bar them. The sight of the golden saints reduced to nothing but necromantic abominations pinned to the walls was enough by itself to make the light go out in more than a few of the Crusaders all by itself. And they quickly smashed many of the decorations before they started down the winding stairs into the darkness.


    The Lich could have stopped them here. It was sure of that. There were two armies on the surface right now, and both were larger than the Templar force. The former stood silently five hundred yards to the west near the river, in neat rows and was made up of eight thousand war zombies, and the latter group was made up of almost four thousand and was drawing slowly into a tighter ring around the outnumbered defenders that were being methodically slaughtered.


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    In truth, the Lich could have likely wiped the second, smaller group out already if it wanted to. In this case, though, the fear that was radiating from the women and children that were clustered there in the center that stayed its hand. The templars had faced a difficult choice, of course - leave the stragglers they found undefended to be killed by the first mob of zombies that found them or keep them close to protect them. They had tried to be heroic, but there was no heroic defense to be had on a battlefield where they could not even save themselves, and in time, it would slaughter them to the last man.


    Well - to a boy. It amused the Lich to spare the son of his favorite tome. So, when the bloodbath was complete, only one squalling cry remained. Its minions could have easily struck it down, of course, but as far as the Lich was concerned, the child was welcome to lay there until exposure took him and serenade the drudges with his piteous wailing. It would bring it back to its lair with the other corpses so they could be transformed and resurrected once the battle was done. It didn¡¯t know what it would do with the child¡¯s corpse, but it was sure it would think of something appropriate.


    And though it would be hours before the battle was done, the Lich was already confident of the outcome. Oroza lay just offshore, waiting to catch any soldiers that managed to flee so far when its army had broken them. The Lich just wanted a few hundred more deep beneath the earth so that their army was spread out as much as possible.


    That was only minutes away, though. Every few seconds, another soldier descended those stairs in a tightly packed and intensely vulnerable formation. They¡¯d checked the nearby buildings and thought that they¡¯d secured the area, but they were wrong. They¡¯d been trapped by it.


    Once the vanguard was completely below ground, the altar mechanism was tripped, and the stairs began to slowly rise back into position, cleanly splitting the army yet again. Now, it could leave its war zombies to massacre the leaderless group on the surface while its menagerie of monsters devoured the elite in the depths.


    As the second battle started in earnest, the screams and battle cries were inaudible to those who¡¯d already descended into the depths of its labyrinth, but that didn¡¯t mean that they didn¡¯t happen. Unlike the battle that was just coming to a conclusion just outside its domain, this one was only beginning and would take time.


    At first, it was a simple thing with plate mail-wearing warriors against platemail-wearing warriors. The zombies moved slower, but they were almost impossible to bring down while wearing steel gorgets that made beheading impossible. This turned the whole thing into an ugly grinding deathmatch, with the warriors of light using pikes to try to help their front ranks while the zombie warriors took blow after fatal blow without falling while the warm blood of the living slowly turned the icy ground they were battling on into dark, sticky mud.


    This was just a feint, though. The Lich was merely checking to see what use of divine magic those that remained might have, and the answer proved to be almost none, which filled it with hunger. That would let it unleash the second part of its plan without fear of reprisal.


    Sadly the shadow drake was still lying in pieces on the floor of its largest fleshcrafting shop, but it had other shadowy servants that it could bring to bear to break the ranks of these brave holy men. That distraction came in the form of a flock of blackbirds that descended on the bright-eyed men. Up until now, they¡¯d shown such bravery, but it was one thing to face down a common zombie armed with a sword bolted to its hand. It was quite another to deal with a flock of undead, skeletonized birds soaring out of the dark to peck out those bright, glowing eyes from your skull.


    Paroxysms of panic and fear shot through the assembled men as those without their visors down who thought they were safely in the third or fourth rank were suddenly forced to defend themselves against a threat that should have been little more than an annoyance. In truth, its blackbirds were hardly a threat to a prepared enemy, but it had thousands of them to spare at this point and a flesh crafter who did nothing but make half a dozen every day, so it was worth wasting a few hundred for a moment of advantage.


    While the Templars were distracted, the zombies surged forward, breaking through the ranks of their enemy in several places. Given time, the Templars would close ranks and fill the gaps, of course, if it let them, but the Lich had no plans of doing that. Now that everyone was hopelessly locked into place, it released the few hundred dead goblins it had been holding in reserve. Many of them had been originally intended to be incorporated with Krulm¡¯venors form to increase his multiplicity further, but the loss of so many of himself in the battle of Siddrimar had driven its favorite fire spirit quite mad, and so for now, the Lich held off until it could incorporate it with some of the dwarven dead to bring the mixture back into balance.


    Though not as fast as they were in life, the goblins clamored among the zombies and ran through the legs of their enemies, attacking anything with a pulse using their wicked steel claws. For an already besieged enemy, this was enough to force them to start blowing the horns and sound a fighting retreat, which suited the Lich fine. If they wanted to wait until both of its armies could fight them at once and crush them between the hammer and the anvil, then it would oblige them.

 Ch. 100 - The Vanguard

    They were already hundreds of yards from the entrance when it started to close, as Jordan knew it would. It had to. A narrow set of stairs down into the darkness to defeat the thing that had done all this without a single guard in sight was obviously a trap.


    Still, that certainty hadn¡¯t been enough to stop him from obediently following the Crusade¡¯s Paragon. His only act of defiance had been to count his steps as they went because Jordan¡¯s backup plan was never far from his mind. He¡¯d sworn to himself that he would fight alongside these brave men until the end, but at the same time, he had no wish to become the very thing that they were fighting once he died.


    He hadn¡¯t really wanted to stay behind in the Temple of the Dawn either, though. He¡¯d never personally been to a place that reeked of evil and death as much as that place. Well, at least not until he descended the stairs and made his way to the temple beneath it. There, amidst the miasma of evil that was so strong it was almost palpable, he made sure to stay close to the Paragon¡¯s light even as the darkness crowded around them.


    ¡°Fear not, my brothers,¡± Brother Faerbar said as the stone door they¡¯d entered slowly rumbled shut somewhere behind them. ¡°We are not trapped down here. It is the monsters of the pit that are now trapped in here with us!¡±


    There was a rallying cry from the other men to accompany that, which was frighteningly loud as it echoed into the dark. After that, Jordan could hear the other men talking about how the Paragon had done exactly this sort of thing before when he purged Fallravea of the degenerate Oroza worshipers.


    He found it hard to concentrate on that, though, with the dull echo of their earlier cheers. In fact, as he listened, he realized that the echo was getting louder again, like it was coming back to them.


    ¡°Sir¡­ ummmm, your Paragon-ness, I think that¡ª¡± Jordan started to say, but the gruff older man interrupted him.


    ¡°They¡¯re coming,¡± he said quietly.


    Jordan could hear it now. Even as everyone around him drew their swords, he could hear the distant rumble getting louder and louder until it was nothing but a keening horde that was so loud he couldn¡¯t think straight.


    They¡¯d passed into the under temple, through the main exit, and had been following an elaborately tiled corridor with irregularly spaced exits on either side. Up ahead, the mage could see that the corridor expanded out into a large room, but even with the volume of the sound, or perhaps because of it, he couldn¡¯t quite figure out which direction the sounds were coming from.


    The answer turned out to be all of them. Even as the Paragon forced his way forward into the larger hall where bodies had been stacked like cordwood along the far wall, the tide of evil was coming for them all. To the Templars¡¯ credit, nobody turned and ran, though Jordan would have if there had been a direction that was free. There wasn¡¯t, though. He had walked into hell itself, and the gates had been slammed shut behind him.


    Jordan feared that at any moment, he would see more zombies, ready to fight him in wave after relentless wave. That wasn¡¯t what happened, though. Instead, they were assaulted by dozens of oddities that looked utterly inhuman. The first came a wave of screaming skulls that were on them before he could even decide what spell to cast against them. They were covered in blue-white fire and blew up on impact with the first line of warriors.


    After that came an assortment of anatomical oddities. There was a giant snake made from the limbless torsos of a dozen people with a mouth full of rusted swords for fangs, a jellyfish made of a disembodied brain dragging a small thicket of semi-translucent tendrils behind it, and a ball of arms that was so large that it moved by pushing off the ceiling and floor simultaneously.


    Each of those seemed almost comical on the face of it, and Jordan almost started to laugh hysterically as a strange sort of coping mechanism. It wasn¡¯t so funny when they got close, though. The serpent seemed to have no issue ripping people in half with its powerful jaws. The weird ball of hands lost a few as it approached the men with swords, though it quickly started to strangle everyone around it like a particularly aggressive octopus, and the brain, well, it didn¡¯t seem to do anything. It just sort of floated there halfway across the room, and then people started killing each other.


    For the moment, Jordan found himself immune to whatever magics the hideous thing was using to make Templar turn against Templar, but as soon as Brother Faerbar surged forward to deal with the twisted serpent creature, Jordan immediately found himself filled with paranoid delusions. He could feel the hate that the religious men had for him. He knew exactly what they would do to a mage like him. Any moment, they would stab him to death. He could practically feel the blades piercing his organs, and the urge to set all of them alight before they could deliver such a gruesome end became almost too much to bear.


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    He did, though. Instead of spraying fire at the knights in all directions, he called upon the thunder and struck the brain entity instead, noting how jellyfish-like it looked as the energy arced back and forth between its gently waving fronds until it burned itself to a crisp and fell slowly to the stone floor as a collection of cinders.


    Those weren¡¯t the only monstrosities to appear, though. They were just the first wave. ¡°To me!¡± the Paragon yelled as soon as his serpentine opponent finally lay still, but very few men answered his call.


    Most of the worst monsters that seemed to be made out of shadows more than flesh gave Brother Faerbar and his aura a wide berth, but they quickly cut swathes through the brave, holy warriors. The Templars slew their wraithlike enemies by the score, but when you are outnumbered by a perpetual tide of damnation, what did it matter if you killed a dozen or a hundred before they finally ripped your still-screaming soul from your body?


    The room behind them had been reduced from one giant battlefield with two sides to a hundred smaller battles that ranged in size from skirmishes to duels. Jordan doubted that the other men in the hallway leading to this point were doing much better based on the echoing screams that made it this far. A minute or two ago, they¡¯d been a single unified line against the darkness, but it was impossible to fight these things with any martial discipline when each of them was a unique monstrosity that had been created by a clearly deranged mind, and Jordan was quite sure that if they managed to fight their way free of this horror show, he would never have a good night¡¯s sleep again.


    Brother Faerbar continued to slice a bloodless path through his enemies, slaying as many as any other ten men in the room put together as he pressed toward the nearest doorway where they might be able to establish some kind of coordinated defense. That seemed like a pipedream at this point. No matter how many times he wove the threads to summon a wall of fire to ward off his enemies, he could feel them getting closer with every beat of his heart.


    Part of him wished he¡¯d just stayed at Abenend and died with his friends. He would have still died and been raised as a soulless servant of some dark god, but at least he would never have had to endure the sights he¡¯d seen tonight.


    Then suddenly, without warning, he was grabbed by the collar of his robes. He thought for sure that was the end, and rather than fight it, Jordan went limp and accepted his fate. No teeth knawed at his throat, though, and no sword was jammed through his heart. Instead, he realized too late that it was Brother Faerbar. He¡¯d grabbed him, yanking the mage off his feet and pulling him behind him.


    Jordan landed in a mound of the actually dead. At least, he hoped they were, as he pulled himself to his feet. They were in a small alcove that had been reduced to the storage of moldering dead. For a moment, he almost broke down in tears. He was never meant to be in such a place. He didn¡¯t give in, though. Being trapped like this made it easier. Now, Jordan knew he had only one choice. He started to chant.


    Up until now, he¡¯d only channeled fire and lighting. They were easy enough spells that did great work against the shadows, but he would run out of mana long before this pit ran out of shadows, so he focused on the number of steps they¡¯d take since they left the army behind. It was only 48 steps down and 200 steps eastish to get back to the temple entrance. That was doable, even with other people.


    It was the solid stone between here and there that made that an iffy prospect. Well, that and the fact that there were certain to be more monstrosities waiting for him there.


    The mage tried to ignore the Paragon¡¯s desperate hymn as he fought back against some deathless monster in the doorway. He tried not to think about the fact that the fanatic was all that stood between him and a death too gruesome to mention as he focused on the facts.


    It wasn¡¯t like he could just teleport the two of them free and clear anyway. The edge of the wall of shadows was just over five thousand steps away. That was too far for anyone but an archmage.


    It felt like an impossibility, but he didn¡¯t let that stop him. The inescapable fact was that the last time he¡¯d cast this spell, he¡¯d ended up miles from anywhere he¡¯d meant to be and had been lucky to be alive. Every fiber of his being was telling him not to do it again, and yet he was certain that even a messy death where he ended up fusing with a tree or a wall and dying in agony was immensely preferable to whatever would happen to him after he died down here.


    So, with that thought in mind, he aimed for almost a mile away, toward what he recalled as empty fields, while he focused on the words and the gestures necessary to bend the world to his will in such a complex way. His odds were certainly less than one in a hundred with all the complicating factors involved, but Jordan ignored them. Brother Faerbar¡¯s light was flagging, and his strength was failing. It was time to roll the dice, so with his last syllable, he reached out and grabbed the shoulder of the Paragon and took him along for the ride.


    Jordan was sure that the man would have vehemently refused such an act and that he might well kill him when they reached the other side, but it wasn¡¯t like they were leaving any of the living behind. They¡¯d been separated from the larger group and forced to face an endless series of monstrosities alone for a while now, and everyone who had stood by Brother Faerbar¡¯s side was already dead.


    As the world disappeared and vanished into a flash of light, he left with a clean consciousness. Jordan¡¯s heart might have been pounding out of his chest, but this time he felt sure that he hadn¡¯t screwed up the spell.

 Ch. 101 - A Shot in the Dark

    In the instant that they passed through the stone, the Paragon was almost wrenched free of Jordan¡¯s grasp as his hand and mind slackened. Trying to teleport through a solid object was the surest way to make sure they never found a body, though it was possible for a mage that was skilled or powerful enough. His instructor, Magus Gershwile, had joked more than once about that grim fate while he and his classmates had struggled to send rats from where they sat to the empty cage across the room that had waited for them.


    It had taken a week before any of the rats that had managed to disappear without vanishing in a spray of blood to reappear on the far side of the room, alive and well, and there hadn¡¯t been a wall in the way then. That had been years ago, of course, and Jordan had improved since then, but had he improved enough to fling them from the depths of darkness back into the light?


    It was unlikely. Even as they soared through the emptiness between spaces, he could feel the hands of evil clawing at them and trying to drag them back to where they had departed.


    Teleportation was an instantaneous thing. Done correctly, one would vanish in one spot and instantaneously appear in another, though it would always seem to the person in transit that seconds or minutes had passed. In fact, it was widely held that the longer it felt like it took, the closer one had come to the edge and that those who never reappeared simply stayed stuck in that timeless moment forever.


    Jordan considered that entirely possible that that was the case here as he swallowed hard and tried to stay focused on their destination. Even being lost in the dark forever would be a kindlier fate than being raised as the servant of a monster, though, so he didn¡¯t regret what he¡¯d done for a single moment.


    There was no denying that the faster he moved and the harder he strove, the further his destination moved from him. That thought was enough to bring him slowly to a halt as he drifted there, somewhere above the ground but far from the muddy field his magic had aimed for. He could feel the two of them beginning to freeze solid there, and that might have become an actual eternity were it not for the single silver thread that suddenly penetrated the endless dark.


    The light of the moon would have been unable to breach the veil of unnatural darkness that shrouded this place had he stood in the real world. Here, though, past the boundaries of the world, the strange magic that caused that strange effect apparently didn¡¯t apply, and the goddess of magic still reigned supreme.


    That she had taken pity on him was not entirely a surprise; it happened sometimes in the stories. He only wondered if she¡¯d done so to save the mage who was in danger or the servant of another god. Lunaris was as merciful as she was mysterious, and her ways were never entirely understood, even by her devotees. Though most of the world saw her only as the guardian mother who lit up the night for the world, she was the patron god of mages, too. As he gripped the thread and pulled himself forward again, Jordan uttered a prayer of silent thanks for her intercession.


    Suddenly, time started again, and seconds later, they found themselves in a heap of tangled limbs in a dark, snow-covered field. It was close to where he¡¯d been aiming, probably, but that didn¡¯t tell Jordan a lot. Even with Brother Faerbar¡¯s glowing blade radiating outward, he couldn¡¯t see the road.


    While Jordan continued to search for some sign of where they should flee, the paladin lifted him up by the scruff of his collar and shook the mage like a rag doll.


    ¡°You ¡­ traitorous viper!¡± he said coldly, even though his eyes burned with fire, ¡°You left all of those men to die!¡±


    ¡°Th-they¡­ already¡­ dead¡­¡± Jordan gasped, barely able to speak. ¡°Must¡­flee¡­¡±


    ¡°We were slaughtering the devils by the score!¡± the Paragon said, raising his sword threateningly. ¡°There¡¯s still time to regroup. Still time! Take us back at once, or I¡¯ll have no further use for you.¡±


    Jordan could see that the man was half mad with rage and grief, but what he asked was impossible. Even if he had the strength left to try and the desire to end up back in that pit, they would certainly end up embedded in one of the stone walls for all eternity; the spaces were simply too claustrophobic.


    So, he just hung there in the warrior¡¯s grip, waiting for the man to run him through or strike his head from his shoulders. The blow never landed. Instead, the older warrior froze, ears pricked to some distant sound. Then, without explanation, he dropped Jordan and started walking forward.


    Jordan had no idea what had just happened, and he wasn¡¯t about to ask what miracle had given him reprieve. Instead, he listened to the dark, trying to hear what it was that the paladin seemed to be listening to. It took a minute of walking before he heard the child¡¯s wail over the crunch of ice under their boots. By then, the Paragon was running.


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    Abruptly, they found the edge of darkness, and it fell away to reveal the thin gray light of dawn. Brother Faerbar stopped there, paralyzed by what he saw, even as Jordan rushed forward toward the sound.


    The wan light was not yet enough to reveal any real details, but the shape of the shadows was more than Jordan ever wanted to see anyway, and the steam that was still rising from some of the corpses revealed that all of this had happened within the last few hours. He rushed to gather up the squalling child of five or six, hoping that the sound would lead him to further survivors. There was none, though. Not even the woman who still held the blood-stained bundle in her arms was breathing.


    Jordan offered a second prayer to Lunara, sure that this was why she¡¯d saved him. There were more than enough stories about how she would move heaven and earth to save motherless children and war orphans. This probably wasn¡¯t even the strangest story on record, he realized, numbly, though he had no idea if they¡¯d survive long enough to tell anyone.


    Even with a knight glowing with divine might, the monsters that would come for the three of them come nightfall would be all but unbeatable now. Jordan looked past the field of dead bodies and up the road, trying to decide how far they could get before the last sunset, and he didn¡¯t like his odds. It was only when he turned back to the Templar to ask him his opinion that Jordan finally saw a welcome sight: the sail of a ship.


    . . .


    Markez had been so busy pretending that everything was normal and that there wasn¡¯t some monster lurking beneath them while they slowly poled their way through the darkness that he entirely missed the light on the far shore at first.


    It was only when the children cried out that dawn had come again that they thanked the gods of the waters and cried out. ¡°Well then, don¡¯t stand around gawking at the sun. We got ourselves a sail to raise.¡±


    Polling through the utter blackness that still stood adjusted behind them like a river had been as miserable as it had been unavoidable. With no starlight to show them where the sandbars or the shore were, they¡¯d had to take that whole section nice and slow so as not to sink their fragile wooden world.


    Now, as well as he had these children trained, it might take less than an hour to get their sail up and put that evil place behind them as quickly as possible. Markez was shocked they¡¯d made it through at all, though that wasn¡¯t something he was likely to tell anyone until he could find a pub where he could share drinks with a few salts his own age if such a thing even still existed in this fallen world.


    No sooner did they have the sails up, though, and were once again starting to make real headway than another oddity was sighted. Two men were running towards them, and each of them was stranger than the last. The first one was wearing plate mail and glowing brighter than the sun itself, and the second was a skinny young man wearing bloody robes. He would have been inclined to put both of them in his wake, given how desperate and dangerous they looked. He doubted that everyone on this boat together could have possibly beaten him, even without whatever crazy magic he seemed to wield.


    But for the baby, he would have left them both, but if Markez had a weakness, it was that. How could he ever hope to leave a defenseless infant behind?


    So, he guided the boat toward the far shore and ordered his crew to loosen the sails so he could have a closer look at these two and decide what it was he should do about them. Fortunately, spilling wind from a sail was the only order that the sailors of this ship were any good at.


    ¡°You¡¯re a strange couple of parents,¡± Markez called to the two men on shore as they pulled up close. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I can let such dangerous strangers come aboard my vessel, though!¡±


    ¡°I understand that you are nervous, sir,¡± the young man with robes said very politely, ¡°I would do no less in these¡­ trying times. But we can be of help to you in your darkest hour, as it were.¡±


    Markez didn¡¯t laugh at the joke. Instead, he set his chin and turned to Mr. Light, ¡°And who¡¯s this then? What¡¯s with the light show? I haven¡¯t seen a single Siddrimite since your god was plucked from the sky!¡±


    Markez watched the man tense, and for a moment, he thought that the knight would draw his sword, but the man resisted, showing him how close to the mark he¡¯d gotten.


    ¡°We are in a great war for the soul of the world,¡± the knight said with evident exhaustion, ¡°and it shames me to say we are losing.¡±


    ¡°So then, why do you want on my boat?¡± Markez asked, confused.


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± the man declared, shocking his companion. ¡°Take these two and get as far from this evil place as you can, I will¡ª¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious!¡± the younger man yelled at the older one. They clearly hadn¡¯t thought this through at all. ¡°They will end you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s where I belong,¡± The Templar said simply. ¡°Only I can slay this foul beast. That is what this power is for. To end¡ª¡±


    That was when the thing rose from the dark, boiling waters just ahead of the ship. The children screamed and fled aft, but Markez could only look at the thing in awe. It was the most horrific thing that he was ever likely to see, from the tips of the broken swords that made up its rusted maw to the corpse of the woman that was chained inside of the rib cage where its heart should have been if it was alive.


    Just seeing that was enough to shave years of his life, and all he could do was stand there petrified while the two strangers sprung into action.

 Ch. 102 - Leviathan

    ¡°Find them! Kill Them! Let them not escape!¡± the Lich bellowed.


    The distant words thundered inside her skull like a monsoon that had made landfall. So many times, his orders were insistent but resistable, for it was hard to force water into any shape that it did not choose. For example, the day before when, the voice had demanded that she crush that boat. He¡¯d meant the one with the children, of course, but she had resisted, for she hated the slaughter of children and vented his bloodlust on the boat that had followed it instead.


    Given time, the Lich would have ordered her to destroy the second skiff too and drown all those innocent lives, but it had more important matters to focus on and had left her to gather the mangled bodies of the drowned and bring them back to its lair.


    Today, there was nothing to distract it from seeing its will done, and those commands built up with a tidal force that could not be denied. They were a lightning bolt into Oroza¡¯s heart. They made her shackles burn with power that made it impossible to resist her own destructive impulse. At least for the moment, though, she could face off against warriors that probably deserved it.


    The knight glowed with a light that no longer existed in the world that made her think of cool spring days after the snow melt had started in earnest, but the reminiscence wasn¡¯t enough to give her the strength to resist the Lich. She would save that strength for the moment it forced her to indiscriminately murder the children who were huddled in fear nearby.


    The knight led with a series of strikes as the white fire coruscating across his gilded armor burned even brighter. These weren¡¯t strong enough to do real damage. He was simply testing her mettle and buying time for his friend.


    At first, she thought the other man sought to escape. She hoped he did. Running him down would buy the children valuable time to flee. Some might yet escape with their lives.


    He didn¡¯t do that, though. He did something far stranger. He cast a spell, which was something she¡¯d only seen a few times since she¡¯d been chained to this corpse.


    Instantly, blue lightning struck her hard. It cooked the flesh where it went up her arm and then down into one of her left legs. It did very little damage, though, and she roared in annoyance more than pain.


    She charged him then, planning to deal with the mage before he could think of some more effective tactic. He responded with a burst of flames.


    The body of the swamp dragon was impossibly strong, and though the flames was enough to make her shy away for a moment due to her aversion, it could do nothing to the tanned skin or thick scales of her artificial, necrotic prison.


    As the wave of fire cleared, though, it was obvious that they¡¯d provided just enough distraction for the paladin to charge through him. The man was clearly insane, but his burns healed even as he moved, and when his glowing sword struck, it glanced off one of her ribs and pierced the heart of the dragon''s body, cutting all the way to where she was contained her in its chest.


    It was a violent, terrible pain that represented more damage than anyone had done to the monstrosity since Oroza herself had savaged it. It wasn¡¯t enough, though, and she batted him harmlessly away into the grass.


    Her blow didn¡¯t keep him down any more than his blow had kept her down, though. Neither did her tail. He dodged it entirely, though she did succeed in sending the mage sprawling. She doubted that one would rise again, which was just as well because she hated fire.


    He was back like a flash, charging her again. This time, despite the man¡¯s armor and his wounds, he danced around her next clawed swipe, though that was just a feint. He weaved around it, obviously intending to strike her again. He would probably even succeed in that before she managed to bite him in half. The man even used some of his holy magic to blind her, making her skin sizzle and smolder for a moment, but it was a foolish decision.


    After all, he¡¯d already jumped before his light had overwhelmed her dead eyes, and he couldn¡¯t change his trajectory in midair, so she still snapped at him, catching him in her maw and shaking him like a rag doll as her giant metal teeth ground against his armor. Several actually punctured it and sank satisfyingly into the flesh beneath, letting her feast on his blood.


    It was only while she tasted that warm, coppery draught that she finally felt the wound he¡¯d made as she¡¯d bitten him. With a powerful swipe, he¡¯d severed her right foot just below the calf, and for the first time in a long time, she was no longer fully attached to her bindings. She spat the man free, leaving him a crumpled, bleeding wreck on the ground, as she suddenly explored her current state of being.


    ¡°The spell¡­¡± she murmured, ¡°It¡¯s incomplete.¡±


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    And it was true. Each manacle had borne identical runes, and they''d been plated in gold when they¡¯d been created so long ago. Time had done its work, though, and now all of them were pitted to the point that even their redundancy wasn''t enough. So many had failed that there had only been a full set present if you combined all four manacles together, and one had just been opened in the grisliest way possible.


    ¡°Three circles is enough to hold a lesser goddess like you,¡± the darkness spat. ¡°Finish them, and I will have you repaired when this is done.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said, trying the word on for size and finding that she liked it.


    ¡°No?!¡± The Lich roared. ¡°Do as you are told, Oroza!¡±


    She didn¡¯t, though. The corpse couldn¡¯t hold her now, and neither could the words that passed through it. Not with only three worn and pitted manacles. All these decades since the darkness had captured her and turned her into a mockery of her true self, she¡¯d waited for the time and the tides to do their work.


    What chance did the Lich¡¯s efforts have against the forces that ground rocky promontories and breakwaters into nothing but fine beach sand? It was folly to assume that it could cage nature, no matter how much it poisoned her wellspring.


    She smiled then, for the first time since her capture, and strained at her manacles, ripping first the left out of the socket where the chain held it and then the right. The swamp dragon roared in pain as it reared up, unable to strike the final blow as she ripped the still-beating heart out of it.


    The mage was being dragged back toward the craft by some of the children and an old man, but the knight still lay there, just begging to be finished off. It couldn¡¯t strike the final blow, though, because she wouldn¡¯t let it. Any other opponent would already be dead, of course, but she watched the light pouring out of the bite marks decrease with every second as the flesh knitted shut again, but she didn¡¯t care.


    Even though she hated Siddrim¡¯s sheep and would have gladly killed him for the slights they had heaped upon her followers, she knew how much more the Lich that had held her leash for so long hated and feared them. So, he would live, but only because of spite.


    The swamp dragon roared to the skies, spasming as she leaned forward and ripped open the bars of the prison that had held her for so long, and then, with one last yank at the sole remaining manacle around her right leg, she was free.


    The bars of the ribcage were coated in ugly, rusted iron, but at their core, they were still bone, and when she crushed them, they fell apart like rotten wood in her rubbery finger. As Oroza jumped to the ground, free of her cage for the first time in an eternity, she was sorely tempted to immediately drop the corpse she¡¯d been bound to and flee into the water. She didn¡¯t, though. Not yet. She still had things to do.


    Standing there on one foot and one stump, she turned her attention to the straining corpse of the swamp dragon that loomed above her.


    ¡°You cannot escape me!¡± The Lich screamed in her mind, but she ignored it. Without the chains he¡¯d held her with for so long, his orders and compulsions passed through her, leaving only a ripple in their wake.


    ¡°I am no longer yours to command,¡± she whispered as she engaged with it in a battle of wills over what the swamp dragon would do next.


    Now that she was no longer attached to it, she¡¯d lost some of her advantages over the darkness that was trying to make the hodgepodge of reptile bones strike her down, along with all the other living creatures currently sheltered in her wake.


    They stood like that long enough for the knight to stagger to his feet and make his way toward the fragile boat that everyone else was already aboard. She ignored that, though. Instead, she forced the dragon to reach up and crush its own skull between its two monster paws while the Lich raged in her soul at what she was doing.


    That didn¡¯t stop her from forcing it to grab the structural clavicle that held her cage in place so long and rip it off of the rest of its body before it collapsed into pieces on the ground next to her.


    ¡°I shall rebuild my dragon and devour you once more, goddess!¡± the Lich bellowed, but she could hear its fear now.


    ¡°If you are foolish enough to enter my waters again, you shall be the one to pay the price,¡± she whispered. Already walking to the water.


    The Lich started to respond, but she didn¡¯t hear it. By the time it had started to scream again, her toes had touched the water of the river, of her river, and she immediately left the corpse, which collapsed into the shallows like a puppet with the strings cut.


    It was an exhilarating feeling. She knew she would never truly feel clean again thanks to all of the horrific things that the Lich had done to her, to say nothing of the things it had forced her to do. She still allowed herself a moment to just experience the feeling of being one with the river once more. Her consciousness rippled along the length of her domain, from the still-tainted headwaters to the brackish delta she¡¯d spent so much time in the last few years. Everything was where she had left it, more or less, and she could now begin again in the endless cycle of nature.


    First, though, she had to finish dealing with the Lich. With a thought, the current rippled, snatching the corpse that had been her for far too long and dragging it down into the depths for the fish and the eels to devour. She had no idea what the darkness might be able to do with something so powerfully associated with her, but she would rather die than find out the hard way.


    Once that was done, she blended in with the currents, finally unfurling the ghostly, sinuous nature that was a river dragon and using it to drag the boat back out into the channel and upstream against the current before the Lich could launch some new monster to slaughter all the children onboard the fragile vessel.

 Ch. 103 - Cut Off

    The very earth shook with Tenebroum¡¯s undiluted rage as the river goddess slipped the leash and succeeded in sliding back into her river, where she immediately vanished. In that moment, she accomplished something that no one had ever done before - she had escaped the Lich, defeating it in a way that bordered on humiliating, even if it had only lost a single soul in the process.


    Its very first thought, before the clouds of anger had even cleared, was to begin to imagine ways it might get her back. It could inscribe her true name on nets of woven metal. It could dig a reservoir deep beneath and trap her forever. It could build a giant cauldron and then boil her until she was nothing but cloudy vapor.


    All of these were dismissed by it as being utterly impractical. Instead, it forced itself to accept what it really needed to do: crush her without mercy. In all the years it had owned her, it had never succeeded in breaking her spirit the way that it had with Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s. The Lich had never determined if it was her element¡¯s nature or her fierce spirit that was the source of her resilience, but at this point, it no longer mattered.


    Even in its most paranoid flights of fantasy, it never presumed that the goddess would muster the strength to escape or to help its enemies. It was unimaginable. Up until now, the most she¡¯d been able to do was struggle to spare children or followers and, once, to delay her attacks long enough to try to get that pathetic creature Paulus to help her.


    None of those acts had even hinted that she¡¯d be capable of something like this, though. As it studied the wreckage of its oldest and best servant, it was plain to see what had happened. Salt and time had done their worst to the runes, and she¡¯d waited patiently for her waters to do their slow, inevitable work. It was frustrating but easy to see how it had missed it in its single-minded quest to destroy the light. The version of Tenebroum that had emerged from that experience vowed to focus more on those minor details going forward. It would never let this happen again.


    After all, it had been bad enough to lose one of its most powerful servants and watch the lone surviving Templar escape, but it did not realize the full depth of her betrayal until it finished the slaughter in the deeps and tried to dispatch a legion across the river to Dutton to finish the bloodbath it had started there. There was evidence that Siddrim¡¯s church was regrouping, and it hoped to launch a sneak attack on their tenuous supply lines, but it very quickly found out that was a bad idea.


    The first three ranks were getting close to the opposite shore when the river dragon suddenly appeared like the force of nature that she was. One moment, the water was just water, but moments later, it became impenetrable scales and devastating claws. In an instant, those clean ranks of bone, flesh, and steel that would have been difficult for even strong men to sunder were dashed to pieces by the treacherous currents.


    The Lich immediately reversed course and sounded the retreat, but it was clear that going forward, the long, familiar paths that it used to shield its soldiers from the light were lost to it. This was doubly painful since it had already destroyed all the strong stone bridges upriver in its quest to slow down the Crusaders.


    It tried to mend the crossing near Fallravea with timbers and magic, but no sooner had it made the way crossable than the waters around the central pillar began to boil and throb until the whole central support fell away into the dark, churning waters along with several zombies rendering the chasm unbridgeable.


    This outraged the Lich even further. Though its domain over the waters had been slipping constantly since her rebellion, it did not think she had the power to do something so blatant, but she did.


    ¡°You trifle with me at your peril, woman!¡± Tenebroum roared. ¡°If you seek war with me, then you shall have it!¡±


    It continued its reconnaissance of the lands beyond, noting the fear had ebbed to some degree as people had started to accept the new state of things. It doubted that would last long, though. This was a chilly summer, and the signs of the starvation to come were already starting to show in most fields. Grain would grow increasingly scarce this far south, and not even the increased hours of sunlight was enough to combat just how thin and weak that light had become.


    The darkness might not have won in a single stroke like it hoped, but if this was the peak of summer, then the world was in for a cruel awakening come winter. The Lich considered holding off on its advances until ice covered the Oroza once more in a few months.


    There was no telling what that frigid bitch would do then, though, it decided. So even trying to cross on a river that was completely frozen over probably still wouldn¡¯t be a good idea because she was very clearly fixated on thwarting it for the foreseeable future. In that, at least, it could not blame her. Albrecht had only caged its soul for a few years, and it still burned with hatred for the long-dead mage that became the skeleton of who it had become.


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    It had to come up with some other way to unleash its legions of death on the world. Ultimately, that probably meant killing the goddess and her river, but it wasn¡¯t sure how best to go about that. Tenebroum had already poisoned her river once, and though it wasn¡¯t sure when Paulus had removed the cholarium sieve, it was very clear that it was indeed missing from the spring where it had been installed when it sent a few shades to inspect it one night.


    That was almost ironic. It had noted that the poison levels in the river were falling, but it had never made the connection because it had kept a watch on the area with dead-eyed ravens and four-winged vultures for years, and the man had never appeared. The Lich silently fumed at that as it berated itself for its fixation on preparing the Temple of Dawn, but all it could do now was address the issue and install a new one.


    As soon as it did, something odd happened, though. The spring stopped flowing.


    Its servant placed the tainted metal in the pool just as it had done before, but as the drudge stood there, slowly dissolving from the caustic water, the pool became still, and the small stream that ran downhill slowly began to dry up. It took several minutes for Tenebroum to figure out what had happened. The goddess had literally chosen to cut off part of herself rather than allow it to poison her the same way twice.


    ¡°If Siddrim had possessed such steel, there would still be a sun in the sky.¡± the Lich growled with the faintest hint of appreciation as it watched her reject it completely. ¡°I wonder if your discipline will waver when we repeat this experiment at all your other headwaters.¡±


    The goddess gave no response to that. It was not something that it could execute tomorrow, though. Creating so much of the brittle anti-water would take a long time. It did set the necessary works in motion, though, just as it dispatched its leaded earth titan to the Red Hills.


    ¡°If she wants to reject my gifts and dry up rather than embrace me, then we shall have to find a new source to flood the Oroza,¡± it mused. ¡°Go west and dig a channel that reaches all the way to the sea. Connect Kelvun¡¯s canal with the ocean, and let¡¯s see if that doesn¡¯t twist the knife a little more for her.¡±


    Once that was done, and the poisoning of the river goddess was set in motion from all angles, it was free to focus on what needed to happen next. It needed a new way forward.


    In the end, it was forced to send the iron men that it had been building to cut it a new, deeper path to freedom. The legion of rust it had been building ever since the sacking of Mournden used cast rune plates to force the skulls of the dwarves it had so many of these days to create something that its fire godling had never been: obedient and loyal.


    The dwarves had a strong spirit, it was true. Each and every one of them, except for its mutilated and mutated hound, were much more likely to break than bend, but with their true names so helpfully engraved onto the mortal remains, it was easy to lead even the most obstinate ox with the right spell.


    It had been planning on unleashing a legion of a thousand such warriors to cut right through the walls of Abenend, which still had not fallen despite its best efforts. It was the last remaining holdout in the whole region, but it was not a priority right now.


    The church had been crushed, the last gasp of an army had been shattered, and their feeble efforts to build some kind of fortification to keep it contained were worrisome, but only because of their proximity to the river on the one side and the magic school on the other.


    As much as it would love to purge it from the map, that assault would have to be delayed for now until it could strike at all of them from some unexpected angle. Even though it would have much preferred to use the unique anti-magic properties of these soldiers, its need to be cut free of the box it found itself in was far more important.


    Every direction was barred to it, with the Wodenspine in the north, the Oroza to the east, and the Relict Sea to the west and south. Right now, the only conceivable way out of that box was to the northeast, through the narrow gap in the foothills.


    The problem with that was that all of its enemies expected it to do exactly that. They were converging there, and though Tenebroum could still likely win the exchange, it would come at a great cost, and after the damage the last army had done, it was in no hurry to lash out again unprepared. It would find another way that no one would expect.


    The good news was that the peninsula well and truly belonged to it now. There was little that still lived on it, but the creatures that did, be they human, goblin, or lizardmen, belonged to it body and soul. The bad news was that its fortress was also a cage.


    It hungered for fresh blood and souls as it always did, and no matter how much power it had siphoned from Siddrim¡¯s dying soul, that well would eventually run dry if it found nothing new to feast on. And there was so much life to the north. More than even, it knew about until it glimpsed the world through the eyes of the Lord of Light. Fallravea wasn¡¯t even a large city by comparison, and it hungered to reap the bloody harvest that those rich farmlands could provide, but first, it had to reach it in force, and the only way to dig a tunnel like that in anything approaching an acceptable timeline was to bend its army of tireless dwarves to the task.


    Once it did the math and realized that the zombie drudges would take decades to carve the path, it reequipped them with mithril-tipped picks rather than the steel swords and shields it had been forging for so long now. Yes, the path over the mountains was much too rugged, but a tunnel just below them might be completed in only a year or two. Then, it would vomit forth death on the continent in a manner that would leave no survivors.

 Ch. 104 - The Last Ship Home

    Even after a few days to reflect on it, Jordan wasn¡¯t exactly sure what had happened. They¡¯d only barely managed to avoid death at the hands of the endless grasping dead, and then while they stood there on the shore, they were attacked by the rotting corpse of a dragon, and somehow Brother Faerbar had struck some vital blow, and it had torn itself to pieces.


    It made no sense. None of it did. In fact, it felt more like a fever dream than reality, but no one really talked about any of it except the children, and that only added to the strangeness of the whole ordeal. How did you talk to children about anything? With small words and hopeful euphemisms.


    It was Siddrim¡¯s light that smote the dragon. Lunara¡¯s mercy had saved the child. They should all be grateful to the swiftly flowing Oroza for saving them.


    All of those things were true, probably, but none of them were answers. They were barely statements of fact, but since that terrible battle, the Templar had been silent and tended only to the child he¡¯d rescued. Physically, he was uninjured, but mentally? To Jordan, his mind seemed shattered. The sailor wasn¡¯t much better. He might swear and curse that something wasn¡¯t being done fast enough or well enough, but other than that, he kept himself to himself, which left no one but children, an upjumped commoner who pretended to be a noble, and a couple of very frightened mothers to talk to.


    They were all bad choices, and Jordan did as little of any of that as he could manage. Instead, he tried to study and sort the conflicting recollections of his mind. Often, while he toyed with the manacle, he¡¯d scooped up when he rescued the Templar.


    Honestly, if not for the dreadful magics that clung to that gilded hunk of rusted steel, he would have been quite certain that he¡¯d made the whole thing up. There was no way he could make up dread magics like this, though.


    He spent most nights sitting alone at the bow, watching the stars drift by on the languid bow wake while he studied the evil auras that wafted off the thing that only he could see. Well - the Templar could see it too. Jordan could tell that much just by the way the man looked at him, but all he¡¯d ever said on the matter was, ¡°If you start to show any signs of corruption, I¡¯ll cut you into pieces and burn the corpse to ashes.¡±


    Jordan believed him. If anything, he had a much harder time believing that the man hadn¡¯t killed him yet. Every day, he told himself that he should throw it overboard at least twice, but every day, he held on to it, certain that if he could just get it to a magus more learned than him, it might reveal some important clue about the enemy that they had to fight if anyone had any hope of putting the world back together.


    Winning this terrible war could come later, though. Right now, all that really mattered was that they went away as fast as their fragile little sailboat could manage. Every day, they drifted more and more to the north, with the help of favorable winds and impossible currents, but it changed nothing. Everywhere they went, they found only devastation and empty fields. It seemed impossible that an evil that no one had even whispered about had spread so far in so little time, but if the women were to be believed, it was like this all the way to the sea. In less than a month, at least three counties had been utterly purged of life, and no one could say how much further the damage continued upriver.


    It was basically the apocalypse; the world as they¡¯d known it had been abandoned, and in its place, they found only burned-out farmhouses and unburied bodies. They found less boat traffic, too, but that was just as well because the living that they had found had become lean, predatory men.


    When they passed from the Oroza to the Tolden river that flowed into it, just before they¡¯d reached the ruins of Siddramar itself, one small skiff with four hungry men actually tried to pull alongside and take what they had by force.


    Jordan didn¡¯t even try to warn them, lest he find out the hard way that they have a crossbow bolt. He¡¯d just muttered a few words and watched the lightning bolt arc down from a clear blue sky to hole their vessel and burn their sails.


    A couple of them almost certainly died the moment that the lightning struck, but at least one of them might survive long enough to make it to shore, though Jordan very much doubted the man would survive the terrible burns that he¡¯d received in the blast.


    The children gawked and squealed at that, but he was subtle enough that none of them seemed to blame him for the magic. The adults knew, of course, but there was as much gratitude as fear in their eyes, and they said nothing at all. Even the suspicious old sailor, who was superstitious enough to make warding gestures at almost anything, didn¡¯t outright chastise the mage for what he¡¯d done because he knew that any other outcome would have been worse.


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    Two days later, they finally reached Siddrimar and the great stone bridge that crossed the Tolden, but they didn¡¯t stop like Jordan thought they would. ¡°Bah - keep going,¡± the Templar called out when he heard they were mooring.


    ¡°But if not here, then where?¡± Markez asked. ¡°I only went this way because I thought your people could protect us, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Take them to the capital. Let the King protect them. This place is cursed,¡± Brother Faerbar said, unable or unwilling to take his eyes off the shore for a long moment before he turned around and walked back below decks with the child he called Leo still in his arms.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t he supposed to be some bigshot with the temple?¡± Markez asked, obviously spooked.


    ¡°I mean, if you took a whole army off to slay a nightmare, I¡¯m not sure you¡¯d want to go back home and report what happened either,¡± Jordan responded without meeting the man¡¯s eye.


    Being this close to the church was a risk for a mage, and he had no doubt that any of the priests with the sight could have picked him out of the crowd without issue, but today, he wasn¡¯t worried, even though he should have been. There were bigger forces at play than witch hunts. Instead of worrying about who might try to track him down, he tried to imagine what these pristine walls had looked like before whatever terrible thing had occurred that had brought the high towers down into ragged stacks of rubble and littered the manicured landscape with burn marks and blood spots.


    He¡¯d known it was going to be bad, of course, but he was sure the Collegium looked no better than the church¡¯s fortress city. Whether he¡¯d wanted to come here or not, Jordan had assumed that this would be their destination. Despite Brother Faerbar¡¯s lack of communication, he¡¯d assumed that they were trying to warn the elders and high priests of all the terrible things they¡¯d seen, but that didn¡¯t happen, and that created a whole new puzzle.


    ¡°Where should we go then?¡± Markez asked as they drifted slowly toward the shore. ¡°The Capital? I can¡¯t imagine they¡¯re eager for more refugees. We¡¯re liable to find the gates shut in our face, and with so many mouths to feed, I doubt very much that we have the food to get there.¡±


    Jordan nodded. He agreed on all counts. ¡°No. A place like that at a time like this? That¡¯s the last place I¡¯d want to be. We¡¯ll have to go home.¡±


    ¡°Home?¡± Markez demanded, slamming his hands down on the rail. ¡°Are you mad? We¡¯ve come all this way, and you think we should just turn around and go back to the sea? I¡­ we will never make it through that shadow¡­ if we go back and tempt fate, and mark my words¡­¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Jordan interrupted softly before the man could get much more worked up. ¡°Not your home. My home.¡±


    ¡°No offense to you and yours wizard, but I don¡¯t think the ruins of a magic school are a fit place for children and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not Abenend,¡± Jordan said louder than he meant to as he slammed his hand down on the railing. ¡°Something you might not know¡­ Something most people don¡¯t know, even though it¡¯s not really a secret, is that most of the students who end up there are the extra sons of wealthy families. I am no different.¡±


    Markez did a double take, ¡°Wait - you mean you and the idiot over there are part of the same club? How¡¯s that work?¡±


    ¡°Well, technically, Dian is the second son of a Baronet. It is a title he wouldn¡¯t inherit even if he was the first son. He¡¯s all posturing and no substance,¡± Jordan said, flashing a smile. ¡°His father holds the rights to certain¡­ let¡¯s say fishing grounds. Nothing more.¡±


    Jordan had considered holding those details back, but the way it made Markez laugh for the first time on the whole trip made it worthwhile.¡± So yer sayin¡¯ I can stop taking it easy on him?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you take it easy on anyone, old man, except for maybe the kids,¡± Jordan added, getting an approving nod for his trouble.


    ¡°Alright then - you tell me where we¡¯re goin¡¯, and I¡¯ll get ya there,¡± the sailor said, finally listening to the mage for the first time, whether he was blue-blooded or not.


    Jordan told him as much as he needed to know. He told him that Sedgim manor was an estate of ample size less than a day from the north fork of the river and that it was less than a week away, just after the Greywood gave way to the hilly pasture lands that his family had owned for generations.


    He left out the goblin threats, the sullen older brothers who might not be so happy about his sudden appearance, and the fact that the well-manicured grounds were probably larger than any five little fishing villages like the one that Markez had come from put together. Those were later problems. For now, he just needed the sailor to keep the ship moving, the paladin to produce loaves and potatoes from thin air every now and again, and he would focus on keeping everyone safe.


    After all, no matter how far they had to go, as long as they stayed on the water, he didn¡¯t imagine an army of the undead could reach them, and even though he was just an apprentice, he was confident that he could square off against anything short of that.

 Ch. 105 - Unexpected Difficulties

    Time took on a new meaning for Tenebroum in the wake of Siddrim¡¯s defeat, as its spirit continued to evolve. It became insufferably persistent and regular for the darkness for the first time in its long existence.


    Before now, time might linger as it focused on its most important projects, such as when the Temple of Dawn neared completion or when its shadow dragon readied itself for another test flight that seemed like it would finally be successful. Now, though, time was its constant companion, and order had invaded its soul in a way it would not have been able to imagine previously.


    Now it was aware of the ticking clock as it reminded it of every minute that passed in the same way it was aware of every drip of water leaking into a dank body storage room and every rat that was gnawing away at the raw materials of its future army. It tried to take this new information in stride, but more than anything, it was shocked at just how much waste it had allowed up till now and just how long it was forced to wait for some of its plans to come to fruition.


    Every night its earth titan came to the surface and cleaved right through those damned bloody hills in the west in an effort to reach the sea, but even with its earth magic and the fact that it was largely obedient, the project to drown the river goddess was still months away, and it did not expect her to just wither up and die the moment it did so. That was a battle that would take years, but it would not let that stop it.


    Its tunnel project alone might take over a year, too, but even if it lacked the infinite patience that ignorance had provided it up until now, it would not let that deter it. It would find ways to speed these things up. Already, the iron men that made up the legion of rust had journeyed north to the Woden Spine Mountains and begun to dig the passage that would become critical to its future attacks, but that was not the only thing it was up to.


    Tenebroum¡¯s base of operations was constantly expanding, and now that the surface was plunged into eternal night, some tasks could be accomplished faster and better simply by moving them to the surface where the cold could aid in those processes. Already, the most gifted healers of the crusader army had been merged and modified with each other to create a new batch of chirurgiens that were currently busy wailing and gnashing their teeth as they were forced to put their dead friends and brothers in arms back together again to replenish Tenebroum¡¯s much-diminished supply of war zombies.


    Such deficiencies needed to be addressed now that the world was well and truly aware of it for the first time in its long existence. This attack had failed, but there would be others, and it would be ready for them. Already, it was sending caravans with dark tarps and coffins to fetch the corpses that had been left to rot in the nearby villages to ensure that it would not run out of raw materials, and it had dispatched its army to Fallravea to purge it of all survivors since it was the last battlefield open to it.


    There would be no heroics there. Not with a starving population lacking their holy defenders and a foundation that had long since been filled with tunnels to make any real defense impossible. It fell in a single night, completing its kingdom of the dead.


    This, at least, was enough to pass the time as time crawled forward at the pace of one of its drudges. The Lich would not get to enjoy slaughter like this again until it finally made a new route to the soft cities and villages of the outside world. That meant it needed to savor every drop of orphan¡¯s blood that dripped into the overflowing gutters and bask in the scream of every last widow before she, too, was silenced forever.


    It made for a lovely two days of distraction, but after that, the bodies were cooling and slowly making their way back to its realm of eternal night one silent, cadaverous caravan at a time. After that, it was back to the monotony of assembling new minions and waiting for its long-term projects to come to fruition.


    It was true that there were some bright spots. The dwarvish souls in its latest batch positively hated being fused with the bones and teeth of Kobolds so that they would make for even better miners, which was good because Krulm¡¯venor barely reacted when it added the souls of unsullied dwarves in an attempt to rekindle the hound to be something more than the rabid attack dog it had become. This was a reasonable response to all the spirit had been through, but it was not an entertaining one.


    Finally, after several weeks of monotony, when Tenebroum thought it could take no more of the monotony, its legion of rust finally got deep enough into the mountains to hold its interest. Until then, the endeavor had been nothing but logistical headaches. Now, though, it was paying off.


    Not in the form of mineral veins, though their singularly straight tunnel had located both a tin vein and a silver vein that it would later exploit. No, in interesting biological specimens. Goblins would occasionally be drawn to the activity, though it was easy enough to slaughter them if they became too much of a nuisance. There was other, stranger life, too, though. There were giant albino centipedes that bored through the bedrock by spitting acid, and in one cavern, it located a whole ecology of spiders that preyed on other spiders with increasingly powerful poisons and stalking tactics.


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    One had been large enough to try to devour its already dead dwarves, though without much success. Tenebroum did not slaughter them all immediately for their impudence, though. Instead, it was content to study the dumb, dangerous creatures. They were no real threat to it, and there was a great deal to be learned, it decided, both from how they moved and the toxins they generated.


    It was strange, it reflected as it watched the days crawl by and measured the passage of that time in feet of progress made, timbers erected, and cartloads of debris carried slowly back to the surface by hundreds of drudges. A few years ago, its pet fire godling had made a very similar trip and seen very similar sights, but the darkness that held its leash had cared very little about such discoveries at the time.


    It supposed that it was not strange to find itself so altered by its brush with the light. After all, it had taken decades to evolve from where it started as an angry swamp denizen to the master of necromancy that it had eventually become. Now, all of that had been dwarfed by the essence that it feasted upon in Siddrim¡¯s dying soul. A single god was worth more than a million petty lives; it would have been far stranger for that situation not to change it at all.


    So, while it waited for the next event or oddity worthy of its attention, it turned its eyes back to its own lair, adding hundreds of small tasks to the list that was its only thing longer than its ever-growing inventory of bodies. There were soul nets to mend, leaks to seal, bodies to pickle, and grisly mosaics to complete. Even with all the time in the world and more servants every day, it wasn¡¯t enough to address the unaddressable.


    It rejected the perfectionist streak that was slowly manifesting inside of it. Tenebroum resented it, but its need for orderliness and precision, especially in its larger plans, was becoming difficult to resist as time crept forward at a snail¡¯s pace.


    It had just finally gotten around to reviewing the limited data that its new astrolabe and the obsidian-lensed telescope that was paired with it when they encountered living dwarves deep beneath the mountain it was tunneling through. The result was a bloodbath for both sides.


    For weeks, Tenebroum¡¯s legion of rust had been digging forward in a nearly straight line as it built the tunnel wide enough for three ranks to travel abreast. They¡¯d been making great time at the rate of more than a dozen feet a day through the hard granite roots of the mountain, but when its tunnel impacted a more natural one, it found something completely unexpected: dozens, no - hundreds of dwarves encamped like they¡¯d been waiting for it.


    The clash was immediate but, to some extent, ineffective for both sides. Its iron men could not be slain, not truly, and the weapons they wielded were optimized for stone, not opponents, so the already impressive armor of the dwarves worked even better than it usually would. The result was a bloody, grinding stalemate as battleaxe and pickaxe traded blow after bone-jarring blow.


    The Lich didn¡¯t like to think that such a meeting could be a coincidence, but it didn¡¯t like the alternative even more: they had known that it was coming, and this was an ambush. The fight that followed took almost a day, and for every dozen dwarves it slew, one of its iron men was reduced to scrap. Sadly, this math would not work out in its favor because the waves of dwarves seemed almost endless, and even the shades and shadows it unleashed on the miserable axe-wielding vermin were of limited effectiveness.


    It had only kept a few hundred around for dealing with vermin like Kobolds and Goblin tribes that it did not yet control, but its enemy was prepared for that. They¡¯d brought priests of the All-Father, and the holy magic they wielded was enough to erase the darkness long enough to banish its most creative servants. That left both sides to face the long grinding slaughter of steel against steel.


    For hour after hour, screams and battle cries echoed for miles in all directions, sometimes even drowning out the metallic sounds of combat. Even those deaths weren¡¯t enough to give the darkness any pleasure. No suffering or bloodshed could raise its spirits as it brooded on this development.


    ¡°I am the one who is supposed to move in secret, far from prying eyes, not the pitiful, plodding dwarves!¡± it raged in its throne room as it watched the fight from so far away.


    The Lich knew that its forces had already lost within the first few hours and had already started to make a fallback plan. The drudges were hauling away the fresh corpses of its enemy so Tenebroum could devour them and interrogate them in detail to find out exactly how they had known the best spot to stymy it while its rear guard tried to kill as many as possible.


    When the time finally came that it looked like the dwarves were on the verge of victory, its remaining iron men, who weren¡¯t actively engaged in the fight, switched their targets to the support timbers instead. For mile after countless mile, these things had been laid to ensure the roof above their heads stayed where it belonged, but now they brought them down one after another with strikes from their pickaxes. Eventually, that was enough to bring the ceiling down for hundreds of yards in both directions as the immense weight of the mountains above bore down on them.


    That was fine with the Lich. If it couldn¡¯t have this tunnel, then no one could. It would expand its workshops, build a new force, and start again, and this time it would be ready for its new foe.

 Ch. 106 - Last Minute Harvest

    Jordan had been prepared for all sorts of eventualities when he finally saw the tiny village of Tolems Ferry. He¡¯d expected his family to be happy to see him or even angry that he¡¯d come, depending on who it was that held the reins of power. After all, the world had all but ended, and there was no telling how much worse things might have gotten during that time. His father might be dead. It was possible that one or both brothers might be too.


    The last thing he¡¯d expected was to find the place basically abandoned, though. There was no one but a couple of fishermen who were able to offer up explanations for everything that had transpired. ¡°The rest of your family has run off, my lord,¡± Rufus told them. ¡°As soon as the sun rose again, they took their things and their retainers and took off toward the capital. They said it was to petition the king for men to fight the goblins, but¡­ well, you know¡­¡±


    Jordan nodded sadly. He did know. They¡¯d decided to save themselves. That wasn¡¯t surprising. He¡¯d decided to save himself in the end, too, once upon a time, and the only reason he hadn¡¯t been because he¡¯d flubbed the spell.


    The village itself wasn¡¯t more than 60 buildings, built at a location where the currents were weak, and a safe crossing was all but assured. A little fishing was done here, and a little farming in the bottom lands prone to flooding along the river¡¯s path where rice and potatoes were planted most years. Some wheat was grown higher up on the slopes, but those areas were mostly reserved for grazing sheep.


    This village should have been home to a couple hundred people, but the brief conversation revealed that there were only a dozen left. Half had run off, and the other half had moved into the manor, slowly turning it into something resembling an armed camp under the orders of the headman Olmers.


    ¡°That might complicate things,¡± Jordan nodded, but regardless, he vowed to set things right and thanked the fisherman for the heads-up. He was a Sedgim, after all, and he couldn¡¯t shirk the plight of his people. His family had already done enough of that for all of them.


    He conferred briefly with his companions and then decided that it would be for the best if they all went together. After all, he didn¡¯t think the chances of violence were high, but the presence of almost two dozen children would certainly reduce them.


    At least, he thought so. He was wrong about that, too.


    Jordan could feel the paranoia and the fear radiating off the men he glimpsed from behind makeshift barricades and through the slats of boarded-up windows. Sedgim Manor had been a keep once before it had been made into a manor house after generations of peace, but other than the giant picture windows that had been installed, the home and the giant U-shaped courtyard were still very defensible.


    Paradoxically, when he announced himself, that seemed to put people even more on edge. ¡°You¡¯d bar the door against me?¡± Jordan asked, feigning a bit more arrogance than usual as he raised his voice. ¡°I grew up in these halls!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve sent someone to fetch the headman,¡± the guard said as he nervously fidgeted with his spear. ¡°Olmers said no one allowed in without his say-so, but he didn¡¯t make no exceptions for you.¡±


    Jordan considered arguing the point but decided that he didn¡¯t want to escalate things with so many children about on both sides of the makeshift barricade. Instead, he stood there peevishly while he waited to be let into his own home. Mel was a good guy, and he felt sure the old man would see reason.


    When the headman finally appeared, the first thing he said was, ¡°You can¡¯t be Jordan. I heard he died.¡±


    ¡°Very nearly, more than once,¡± Jordan quipped, but he was unable to keep the warm tone with the drunk he was talking to.


    He¡¯d supposed that the man he was waiting on was the town cooper, Mel Olmers, senior. That man had been a rock of the community; he¡¯d been everything his son wasn¡¯t. Ned, on the other hand, was a half-remembered bully who seemed destined to grow up to be a swine herd. From the looks of it, things had changed much in the years you¡¯ve been gone.


    ¡°Well, we¡¯ll see about that,¡± Ned sneered. ¡°I might be able to see fir to letting you in, and maybe the ladies with you, but the children¡­ I¡¯m afraid we simply don¡¯t have the room for them.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d turn away children at the end of the day, Ned?¡± Jordan mocked him, losing his patience. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be surprised, but I am.¡±


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    Ned¡¯s brow furrowed for a moment as he tried to figure out if he¡¯d been insulted. When he decided that he had, he drew his sword and pointed it at Jordan. ¡°Open the gate so I can teach this lout some manners. We¡¯ve saved plenty of kids, and I won¡¯t let any of you be spoken down to by our betters.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you put the sword away, man,¡± Jordan said through clenched teeth. That was one of his father¡¯s swords, and the last place it belonged was in the hands of horse apple like Ned.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you make me,¡± Ned shot back as he strode through the door.


    Everyone had moved back now except for the guard that had opened the door and, of course, the Templar. That man wouldn¡¯t move out of the way of the devil himself.


    Brother Faerbar didn¡¯t even need to unsheathe his sword, though. As soon as Jordan said, ¡°Are you sure we can¡¯t talk this out,¡± the oaf sneered, ¡°The time for your fancy words is past, pal. There¡¯s no daddy that can save you now¡ª¡±


    He¡¯d never finish his sentence. Jordan unleashed a bolt from the clear blue sky and struck his opponent dead without much effort.


    ¡°I trust that will be the end of that little mutiny then?¡± Jordan said, walking over to the body and retrieving his father¡¯s sword from the steaming corpse that had just tried and failed to order Jordan¡¯s death. It wasn¡¯t an enchanted blade, but it was a finely worked piece of steel, and he had no doubt they¡¯d need all the blades they could muster in the dark days to come.


    No one said anything after that, which made him smile. It was one thing to be told that the youngest brother had gone off to learn magic, but it was quite another to see him use it when he returned, and none doubted him now.


    Unfortunately, the more he toured the compound, the more clear it was that all of them would soon be in dire straits. The men had decided that the world was over, or it might as well be, and they¡¯d dined on the stores in the cellar like locusts. What hadn¡¯t been taken by his family had been devoured by the people they¡¯d left behind to defend it. The granary was halfway empty, the wine cellar was down to two dozen bottles, the beer and ale were all but gone, and even the cheese that should have been aging in the cave before it was brought to market in the spring had vanished.


    Jordan didn¡¯t even want to think about the conditions of the herds. Between the talk of increased goblin activity and the things these men had done to their emergency supplies, they were all about to be in trouble. The only bright side to all this was that by the time he returned to the house to lay down judgment, most of the worst offenders and all of Olmers¡¯s inner circle had decided to get while the getting was good. The rest of the world might be a bleak, dangerous place, but it was far less dangerous than a man who could wield lightning and fire.


    The place was in an uproar, and those that remained seemed pretty convinced that Jordan had tipped the scales to their annihilation, but that was only true until he showed them that they¡¯d only been weeks away from running out of food as it was. After that, their fear turned to the anger it should have been the whole time.


    . . .


    Once the chaos died down, and it was made very clear to everyone that they could demand neither a more legitimate ruler nor a stronger protector than him and his very quiet holy warrior companion, things got back to normal fairly quickly, but only because they had to. No one doubted that the weather would turn earlier than ever this year. So, giving it their all became a literal life-or-death matter.


    Brother Faerbar wanted to cut the hands of a few people who remained who were obviously guilty of looting and otherwise feathering their own nests to his sight, but Jordan forbade it this time. Instead, he promised the Templar that he could have a free hand to punish the wicked after they¡¯d all been warned, and then he offered everyone the same admonition: ¡°Work hard until the first snow, or none of us will live to see spring.¡±


    It would be a minor miracle if they made it to spring without having to devour their seed or slaughter every last ewe, but they had no choice. He very much doubted things would be better in the capital, and it was too late in the season to flee north to where climes might be better.


    Everyone worked after that. Even the children. What grains had ripened were cut, and the fields were gleaned of every last kernel to save them from the birds. Rice was harvested, potatoes were stacked even though they were small and gnarled, and the lambs were slaughtered.


    For the next month, they did all the work that had been neglected for the last two and more, and slowly, the mood of his subjects improved. When he¡¯d arrived, they were desperate men sure there wouldn¡¯t be enough food to go around, but comradery and teamwork, mostly facilitated and aided by all of the ¡°mouths to feed,¡± had turned the tide.


    Even that wouldn¡¯t have been enough were it not for the generosity of the river. They all agreed to blame Markez for the stunning amount of fish they started to catch on a daily basis in the days leading up to the river freezing over. In a week, they caught more than the dozen fishermen that made the town home usually caught in a season. There were so many that they were going to have trouble smoking and preserving all of them.


    Jordan knew the truth, though, and he suspected that others did, too. This was just one more favor from Oroza to them, and he vowed to repay it by rebuilding a shrine to the river goddess, though that could wait until the snows had set in, and the ground had frozen. For now, he could only offer her his silent prayers.


    They had long, hungry months ahead of them, just like the rest of the world, and even as he pulled his robe around him to fight the rising chill, Jordan walked outside to find an axe. Now that they¡¯d done everything they could for food, they needed to bulk up their stocks of firewood while there was still time.

 Ch. 107 - War Without End

    Tenebroum expected to turn the tide quickly in the weeks that followed, but it was sadly mistaken in that belief. Instead, it was put on the back foot in the short term, and the dwarves continued through side passages they created around the tunnel it collapsed. Through those warrens, they pressed forward, collapsing section after section and undoing all its hard work until it could bring new units to bear.


    Since most of the Lich¡¯s units weren¡¯t ready, it unleashed the goblin hordes still loyal to it. Though not quite endless, they were massive swarms in the thousands, and they needed no urging to join their slaughter against an ancestral enemy. At best, that was a delaying tactic while it studied the souls of the corpses it had taken and devoured all the dwarven secrets it could.


    The dwarves were made out of sturdier stuff than most, which was both a blessing and a curse. The Lich enjoyed that struggle, but on this matter, it was in a hurry, and it desperately needed to know what had caused the men of the deeps to join together in common cause with the men of the realms.


    As it turned out, nothing had. There was no alliance here. Instead, this had all been a part of a plan against the darkness. One that had started even before Siddrim¡¯s light had been plucked out of the sky. The dwarves were here to avenge the loss of Mournden. They¡¯d been driven here by divine revelation and come from cities as far away as three hundred miles to make it pay.


    It was practically another crusade, and this fact frustrated the Lich to no end. As much as it would love to take the time to unleash new horrors into the deeps and hunt the dwarves to extinction, they were not currently the priority. They wouldn¡¯t be until the sunlit realms above had been hunted until humanity was near extinction, and their gods lay broken and scattered across the face of a cold, dark world.


    All of that awaited a new path to send its forces, though, and right now, a few hundred dwarves were saving hundreds of thousands of humans just because one of their graveyards had been desecrated. Day by day, the darkness lost the element of surprise because of this farce, and slowly, despite its more strategic worldview, its patience waned.


    That was fine. The goblins cared for neither patience nor strategy as they spread into the side tunnels and the crevices. They explored the dark, hunting for prey, and created ambushes and attacks along unexpected routes, as their race preferred. At first, these bloody surprise attacks worked remarkably well, but soon, the dwarves adapted and slowed their push so they might be ready for even the most devious surprises.


    Their deliberate approach made further ambushes impossible, but that wasn¡¯t the main problem. The main problem was that it seemed to face numbers without end. The dwarves were nearly as numerous, and for all the bearded warriors that its goblins, both living and dead, slew, more came to continue the fight.


    The Lich hurried the reconstruction of its hound¡¯s duplicates so it could get the fire godling back in action. That was a lengthy and ongoing process. Of all its servants, Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s form was the most complicated. It was even more involved than the shadow dragon, and that fragile beast was more enchantment than it was flesh and bone at this point.


    Oroza¡¯s bindings had been as simple as the swamp dragon¡¯s, and its Titan of earth was only stone trapped in bindings of lead because the Lich still didn¡¯t fully understand the creature to do more than that. It couldn¡¯t even communicate with the damn thing. It was just a ball of fear made up of so many tiny broken lives that it scarcely had a sense of self. All it knew was that if it obeyed, the pain would stop, and for now, that was enough.


    Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s skeleton was more complicated in a thousand little ways, from the painful souls that were bound to it to the clever use of shadows that allowed one skeleton to unfold into a horde of goblin abominations with a thought. As much as it might loathe the fire godling, the thing¡¯s powers were impressive, and so it was worth investing in.


    Those bodies had taken months to complete the first time, though, and had been completely depleted in the gruesome assault on Siddrimar. Krulm¡¯venor had slain hundreds of Templars all by himselves and turned whole chapels and sanctuaries and chapels into a crematorium, but the cost had been heavy. He¡¯d begun with 63 bodies but ended with only four, and when the Lich had finally pulled its hound back, the fire godling had fought it every step of the way. It wanted nothing more than to throw its last few lives away, but the darkness would never allow that to happen.


    Tenebroum had already increased Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s number of bodies back to 36, and before it unleashed him on its dwarven enemies, it wanted him back to at least a hundred. Truthfully, though, the Lich was no longer sure that Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s soul could take such a strain.


    So, even as a whole workshop spent its days casting and assembling iron goblin bones for the spirits of its lesser encanters to ensorcell and enchant, the Lich devoted significant time to trying to rectify the situation. This was done, in large part, by grinding the crystal skulls of dwarven heroes into dust and infusing those fragments into the soul that was more goblin than dwarf now, but the results were mixed. So, instead of unleashing the inferno on its enemies, it recalled its Titan to see what the earthen abomination could do while its deathless artisans put the finishing touches on its newest construct: the Devourer.


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    The Titan was not a fighter. It had participated in the night of blood and fire in the holy city. It had been instrumental, even, in breaching the walls of the fortress city and tearing down the tallest spires, but any deaths it had caused had been incidental. It was a pacifist, and as far as the Lich was concerned, that was its only weakness.


    The Titan abandoned its canal just short of the sea when Tenebroum called. Unlike most of its servants, it could travel by day as it burrowed underground and strode beneath the earth. Like everything the Lich touched, it struggled with daylight, but it was not required to operate in it. That was doubly true for this mission. The Lich wanted it as deep in the mountain as possible, and when it attacked the dwarves that had troubled it so, it took them by complete surprise.


    Attack was the wrong word. The Lich was certain that it could crush even the fine steel and mithril armor of those monsters, but it refused to do so, even as it screamed while the Lich clawed at its very soul. What it did do, though, was good enough.


    For lack of a better word, the creature liquified the stone beneath the feet of its enemies, and they began to sink into the rippling stone as if it had always been quicksand. There were cries of alarm, of course, but this time, there were no enemies to fight. Only those groups that had a priest of the All-Father with them managed to survive, and their magic over the stone proved to be weaker than the Titan¡¯s in most cases. So, if they were caught by surprise, its servant might not be able to drown the whole troop in stone, but it might lock them into place until such time as the priests could either free them with their stone singing or amputate their legs if they could not.


    Soon, Tenebroum learned to use these two tools with increasing synergy. First, it would distract the dwarves by liquifying the stone, and then as soon as the priest started to counteract the effect, it would have the Titan resolidify it once more and then attack the dwarves while they were stuck with a tide of goblins. The goblins weren¡¯t a match for the bearded warriors under normal circumstances, but when they couldn¡¯t turn around, they became little more than a meal for its most chaotic and hungry servants.


    After that, they retreated for a time, allowing the Titan to cobble together the stone in the most damaged portions of the tunnel so it would be safe to dig through once more. It did not waste its servant¡¯s time digging all that rubble back out. Not when the Devourer was on the way.


    The Lich boiled with rage, but at this point, all it wanted was to bore a hole through the mountains to reach the central provinces. Instead, it was dealing with an increasingly chaotic and multisided war. The dwarves simply would not stop with their incessant need to be a thorn in the Lich¡¯s side. In the end, that was why it released the Devourer along with a hundred new members of its legion of rust.


    The Devourer was an interesting idea, but truthfully, it had no idea how it would perform in most conditions. The device was a single serpentine shape powered and controlled by the souls of broken and unimaginative men with a single purpose: to go forward. It could just as easily have been called the snake of ten thousand teeth because that¡¯s what it was made of.


    In all the Lich¡¯s experiments, the only things harder than mithril had been adamantine and, paradoxically, kobold teeth. The hard, milky gemstones seemed to be able to cut through anything. Naturally, this had led to experiments in creating a mining machine to expedite things even before the dwarves had arrived. That change had necessitated armor for its new creation, which also took the form of teeth, lending the whole thing the terrifying look of an enamel-armored earthworm.


    It was an unimpressive thing that was built for only a single purpose: to move forward. Each tooth carved a chunk out of the stone that lay ahead of it and then carried it backward in a continuous loop. All of its teeth did that, lending the entire construct the appearance of a slow but implacable caterpillar inching along the ground as it created a tunnel that was both perfectly straight and perfectly round.


    In time, the maddening sounds of dozens of teeth scratching away at the stone would be enough to drive men mad and force groups to retreat, but that wasn¡¯t how they felt during those initial encounters. At first, the dwarves tried to fight it, but those few that met its terrifying maw head-on did not live to tell the tale, and by the time they had been processed from one end to the other by the thirty-foot monster, they were little more than bloody gravel.


    Even this was not enough to stop the fighting, but it was sufficient to restart progress on construction. The dwarves simply had no counter to it. So, they switched tactics to trying to sabotage existing sections of the tunnel, which caused a whole new set of skirmishes to erupt along the slowly lengthening passage.


    These, at least, could largely be resolved with goblins, and in time, Tenebroum was able to send its Titan back to finish its main priority as the dwarven assaults lost steam, which greatly pleased the Lich. It had not yet won this front, but after months of fighting, it felt like it was getting closer, and as frustrating as tunnel fighting had been, it had several advantages.


    One of which was that it was easy to follow the scores of the attackers back to their source. Even now, it launched shadowy scouts in all directions, looking back through dwarven tunnels to find their bases of operations.


    They had thought that they could trouble it, but they did not know the meaning of the word. The Lich would inflict an eternity of grief on the troublesome species for the minor inconvenience they had caused it. By the time it was done, they would be even more endangered than the gnomes it had already slaughtered.

 Ch. 108 - A Hard Winter

    The only good thing about the snows was that it brought the goblin raids to a halt, Jordan decided. It wasn¡¯t until later that he learned that was only the case because of their Templar. He¡¯d disappeared for three days after the first fall of fresh powder, and it was only after he¡¯d been back for a few weeks that he told one of the other warriors the story after they¡¯d been drinking; it was so unbelievable that the way it spread around the camp like wildfire had to be a form of mockery, but Jordan believed it.


    Brother Faerbar had walked out alone into the snow after the raid and used the freshly fallen snow to track the vermin back to their lair before spending days slaughtering every last monster he could find. It was hard not to imagine the old man drenched in the green blood of his enemies, though it was more than a little disturbing.


    When Jordan finally cornered the older man and asked him about it and why he didn¡¯t ask for help, the Templar simply shrugged. ¡°It was my penance,¡± he answered. ¡°Nothing more than that.¡±


    ¡°I¡­I understand what you¡¯re saying,¡± Jordan answered, trying not to blow up at the obstinate old man who was so different from the Paragon that he¡¯d met on that dark road a few weeks ago. The light still burned in the man¡¯s eyes, of course, but in his heart, it seemed to have gone out. ¡°But we need you here, training the next generation of warriors and protecting us should the dead rise up once more. If you were to die in some hole¡ª¡±


    ¡°I was stabbed a hundred times in the foul pit, and now only the faintest scars remain,¡± the Templar answered with nothing but scorn, ¡°Unlike the men I led into battle. It seems that I shall not have the privilege of joining the honored dead anytime soon.¡±


    ¡°Maybe so,¡± Jordan said, trying to comfort him, ¡°But then your God works in mysterious ways; perhaps there¡¯s a reason that¡­¡±


    Jordan¡¯s words trailed off as Brother Farbaer turned on his heel and left him standing there. ¡°My god is dead,¡± he spat. ¡°There¡¯s no plan for any of this anymore.¡±


    Encounters like that made it hard to keep hope alive in Sedgim Manor, but Jordan did his best. He¡¯d stopped wearing his mage robes and switched back to wearing the clothing of his brothers to seem more familiar, and he¡¯d begun taking daily walks to try to put his remaining subjects at ease, but the results of those efforts could be called mixed, at best.


    A malaise gripped the whole area as the weather deteriorated. Some feared starvation and other zombies or goblins, but everyone feared something. That was sensible to Jordan. The world had never been more fearful, and he could not sleep more than a night or two in a row without dreaming of that terrible zombie dragon and the way that it had gone insane and ripped itself to pieces.


    Shortly before the midwinter feast that would be remarkably spartan this year, a group of starving bandits tried to seize the grounds by force. He sent most of the mob fleeing with a few thunderbolts while a few of their friends lay steaming in the snow. He might not be able to do much to fend off an army of Templars or zombies, but a superstitious mob was another story.


    Bandits were the least of their problems, though. The thieves that truly needed to be worried about were the rats and the hungry mouths of the kitchen workers. Between them, they always seemed to go through the meager stores they¡¯d harvested at twice the rate Jordan expected. At least they didn¡¯t have to worry about sickness too, on top of everything else, he thought, trying to look on the bright side.


    The Templar didn¡¯t do much anymore besides sulk and sit on the stairs watching the snow fall, but he¡¯d still stop whatever he was doing and apply his healing magics when one of the children fell ill, and that was more than anyone could ask for.


    As the winter wore on and the days became more darkness than light, they slaughtered their way through the farm animals, preserving as many of their prime breeding stock as they could, even as they winnowed the herds, guaranteeing that next year would be at least as hard as this year had been.


    Even his father¡¯s prized horses and hounds were not spared this terrible fate. As much as the man might have loved them and as beautiful as a war horse could be on the battlefield, they ate grain that could better be given to staving mouths and hay that needed to be saved for the cattle and sheep that life would depend on next season.


    It was around the time that he was serving everyone stew but no longer telling them what was in it that Brother Faerbar finally got out of his funk, at least to the smallest of degrees. When it was pointed out to Jordan that the miracle in question had happened around the same time that the manor had run out of alcohol, he assured the gossipy cook¡¯s boy that it was an unrelated coincidence.


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    The cause didn¡¯t matter in his mind; all that mattered was the effect, and that effect was that lacking other outlets, Brother Faerbar resorted to sparring to get some of the volcanic anger that always building in the man¡¯s soul out of his system.


    These training sessions started as impromptu beatdowns to show some of the young men just how much less they knew than they thought they did. This quickly became the sole source of entertainment as well. The children had begun to share strange stories, which, as far as he could tell, were just myths and repurposed scripture from the Book of the Light, but none of these little games proved to be as interesting as watching grown men beat each other with sticks in front of growing crowds.


    In time, most of the men of fighting age started to improve. Some of the fieldhands would even make decent swordsmen, as it turned out. None of them bested the Templar, though. With maces, swords, or even unarmed, he faced all comers and left them flat on their backs. Most days, after the younger men had finished their chores and practiced their forms, he would face them three-on-one or even five-on-one, occasionally. This just ended the matches faster because he felt no need to hold back when he was outnumbered.


    It was those fights that made Jordan reflect on just how dire the straights had been in the undertemple and the catacombs beyond it. There, the jaded old warrior had barely been able to hold back the tide of death, but here he was utterly invincible. It was a stark reminder of just how hopeless the situation would be if the evil of Blackwater managed to spread this far east.


    Honestly, he¡¯d half expected it to by now. He¡¯d even put off butchering the extra horses for as long as possible in case they¡¯d needed to load the wagons or sleighs with children and supplies and flee, but so far, that hadn¡¯t happened. But the only hazards without a pulse that other towns ever reported were cold and hunger. Only the usual dangers of goblins and bandits haunted the dark nights, and for the residents of Sedgim Manor, both of those groups were in short supply.


    No, by all accounts, despite their misery, they lived in a winter wonderland compared to the rest of the region. So, Jordan would definitely try to hold the fort here as long as possible. As things stood, they were partway between the world going completely insane and the world ending, and though he prayed for the best for his family, just now, he wanted no part of the wider world. In the spring, maybe he would work with some of the other local lords to gather some kind of collective defense, but that was as far as he planned to venture until things started to make sense.


    It started with one of Franko¡¯s sons. Markez was certain of it. He¡¯d seen the gleam in young Kell¡¯s eyes early that morning when he¡¯d gotten up to go ice fishing. It wasn¡¯t very productive, and most days, he didn¡¯t catch much, but the little shack he¡¯d cobbled together at the very end of the longest pier was a good place to catch a nap and find some peace and quiet in the madhouse that was the mage¡¯s manor.


    Even with servants, only twenty or thirty people had probably lived here before this, and now it was bulging at the seams with almost seventy men, women, and children, with a serious emphasis on the latter. His mission of mercy upriver had saved almost two dozen of the little rug rats, and though he didn¡¯t regret it one bit, that didn¡¯t mean that he liked the energetic little bastards any more than he had when he was on the stony shore.


    The gleam was something new, though. It wasn¡¯t quite the glow that the crazed Templar had. That man¡¯s eyes always radiated light. It was a subtle enough effect in the daytime, but at night, it was just plain creepy, and Markez avoided him whenever he could once it was dark out.


    And now it was spreading. How was that possible? He had no idea, but instead of dashing out young Kell¡¯s brains with a piece of firewood, he went and got the mage. He didn¡¯t like talking to mages either, of course, but better him than the other guy. He might have sold his soul to the dark powers for his magic, but at least he didn¡¯t look at you with a gaze of constant judgment.


    The mage had no answers, though. It was all just praise for having noticed, and he promised to keep him informed after he¡¯d discussed the matter with Brother Faerbar. None of that had stopped that light from spreading, though. First, it jumped to his brother Mason and then to little Gina.


    It was contagious, is what it was. By the time the first snows began to melt, half of the children had been infected by it, and no one seemed to care! As far as he was concerned, it was a spiritual plague. To the Templar, it had been a welcome sign of redemption. A rebirth, he¡¯d called it, but that just made Markez laugh.


    ¡°It¡¯s disturbing, is what it is,¡± he said, talking to the river through the little hole in the ice as he counted down the days until it started to crack up. He didn¡¯t care how many people called it a miracle. To Markez, those looks just made him regret not nipping it in the bud before it started to spread. ¡°I didn¡¯t work so hard and save all those little lives just so they could join the cult of some dead god.¡±


    He spent as much time as possible out here now, worried that if he spent too much time around the infected ones, he¡¯d wake up one morning to find his eyes glowing too.


    ¡°No sir,¡± he told himself. ¡°Just as soon as the ice breaks up, me and anyone else that hadn¡¯t drunk too deep of the Holy Man¡¯s poisonous words - we¡¯re taking my ship and getting out of here and going just as far away as we can.¡±

 Ch. 109 - Turnabout

    Spring had not yet started when Tenebroum¡¯s wraiths found the first city in their long search beneath the Wodinspine Mountains. They had found supply depots and holdouts before that point, and they waited to ambush the soldiers while they slept, draining the life from their bodies until they were still warm corpses.


    They never found a large gathering of more than a few dozen men away from the front lines. The darkness was beginning to think they never would until one day, they heard the distant hammering of the forges echoing through a vent shaft. The inhabitants called the place Hugeldin, and it was a true city with more than 10,000 inhabitants.


    That made it significantly smaller than Ghen¡¯tal. However, according to the dwarven souls it had devoured, that was apparently typical for dwarven cities so near the surface, and most of their kind preferred the depths. Technically, Hugeldin was above the surface; one of the tallest peaks in the Wodenspines had been significantly hollowed out, and so it lurked there in the relative safety of its mountain fortress that only occasionally had to deal with the threat of goblins from below.


    When the wraiths found it, though, they did precisely nothing. They did not even swarm around the dustier passages of the city. They merely lurked at the farthest edges to determine all approaches and left as Tenebroum instructed. It wanted to give them no warning after all. No one would know what was coming. No one would know the price to be paid for fighting the darkness until it was done.


    The dwarves should appreciate that, the Lich thought wryly. After all, they were huge fans of holding grudges and settling debts.


    Krulm¡¯venor stirred slowly for the first time in a very long time when the Lich ordered him to rise. ¡°The fire will rise once more, hound,¡± the deathless voice commanded. It sounded different now, though Krulm¡¯venor wouldn¡¯t have been able to say exactly how if he tried. ¡°You are but a guttering spark, but I am a generous master, so I shall give you more chance to feast.¡±


    He knew that the Lich¡¯s words must be a trap. They always were, and any feast that was placed before him would surely be poisoned, but part of him still hungered for it. It had been a long time since he had tasted the flesh of the living, and he longed to do so again.


    He felt more himself than he had¡­ well, since before Mournden. Since before, the Lich had made him suffer. That was when he figured out the difference. He couldn¡¯t hear the other voices. The voices that spoke to him with his own guttural goblin voice. He could still feel those dark spirits deep inside itself, though. They were a churning maelstrom of violence and discontent looking for any excuse to awaken, but he was too weak for that just now.


    ¡°Where must I go?¡± he asked.


    ¡°North,¡± the Lich commanded. ¡°Ever north, deep into the mountains. The ravens will guide you.¡±


    ¡°You mean for me to strike the dwarves, then?¡± Krulm¡¯venor asked.


    ¡°Will that be a problem?¡± the Lich asked.


    ¡°It is not,¡± the fire godling answered, surprised to find that it wasn¡¯t.


    He was no longer truly a dwarf, after all, not after everything that had happened. He could hear it in his voice and feel it in his posture. He had become something the All-Father could never accept. So, while parts of his mind genuinely wished for good fortune for his people, the other parts wanted to burn down everything that he could never have.


    He thought about those warring feelings constantly on his walk north. During the brightest parts of the day, he buried himself in a shallow grave, and during the night and the long twilight that made up most of the day, he walked as a faint blue torch, visible to towns that he passed by as nothing but a will-o-wisp.


    At first, he wondered why he didn¡¯t get more attention from the villages and farm holds he passed. The first time he¡¯d walked across the peninsula to do his dark master¡¯s bidding, he¡¯d attracted lots of attention from the superstitious locals. It was only later that he learned that everyone in the area had either died or fled.


    That did little to warm his heart. Once, he¡¯d been at the heart of a goblin horde that had rampaged through this whole region. He¡¯d gloried in the blood that they¡¯d spilled and the magic they¡¯d wielded. Now, he couldn¡¯t even bring himself to make small detours from the path to burn down the small clusters of buildings and glory amongst the ashes.


    It was a strange dichotomy, and he didn¡¯t understand it until he realized he sometimes remembered things that he¡¯d never experienced. He remembered dying to a giant spider and having a family in far away Grom¡¯ron. He remembered devoting his whole life to the way of the axe and the way of the anvil. All of these things were impossible because the two paths were entirely incompatible. He¡¯d never even been to Grom¡¯ron, had he?


    The solitude of his journey gave him all the time in the world to contemplate these inconsistencies. However, every examination only deepened the questions until he arrived at his destination.


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    The stone doors of Hugelden stood shut, and the moon was low in the sky as Krulm¡¯venor approached them. There were guards present, and as soon as they saw that his queer blue light was the thing he was rather than something he carried, they sounded the alarm and began to shut the doors. It would be the last decision they¡¯d ever make, and when the group of dwarven warriors chose to stay outside rather than retreat within, he saluted their bravery, though they would not survive it.


    ¡°Be careful, men!¡± the Sergeant shouted in dwarven, ¡°It¡¯s just another one of the metal mockeries we¡¯re warring with in the depths!¡±


    Metal mockery sounded just about right to poor, beleaguered Krulm¡¯venor. His flames burned brighter as the dwarves in plate began to fan out around him in a defensive formation.


    He wondered how surprised they¡¯d be if his form suddenly exploded forth into dozens of other copies of himself but resisted. He could feel the goblin horde beginning to stir inside him, and he wanted to stay himself as long as possible. So, he would do this himself.


    He¡¯d been too long in the cold, and he desperately wanted to feel warm again.


    As the first dwarf came at him, his fires burned brighter, and he lashed out in all directions, making them take a step back as he singed their beards. That was just an appetizer, though. Even as they were taken aback, he was charging forward, and before the Sergeant could do more than raise his weapon, Krulm¡¯venor had removed his head in a shower of gore.


    The rest of his men followed though they were not given such mercy. Each of them was burned alive and died screaming. It was only when their whimpers ceased and the fire godling had finished feasting on their pain that he started to come alive. Whatever veneer had been holding together, his shattered mind slowly fell away to reveal the yawning cracks that separated him into his multiplicity of selves.


    Then he began to unfold, again and again, and again, multiplying every few steps. It was a single monstrosity that had killed the guards, but by the time it reached the doors, it had become a small army. Each time, he split. Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s mind shrank as his viewpoint grew. By the time there were 84 slavering versions of himself, he¡¯d given himself over entirely to the horde of goblins that lay within him, but he could see everything that each of them did in a constant kaleidoscope of rage and hunger.


    They attacked the door with fire first, but that did little. A handful of guards would not give him the strength to melt granite slabs into magma. That would come later.


    Instead, they started clawing at that stone. Each of them was a mismatched, unholy construct that had been cobbled together by undead artificers. Almost all those claws were tipped with mithril, adamantine, or kobold teeth. Now, all 84 of them started to dig as one at a door that had stood for untold centuries and never once been breached. 171 hands began to dig. 941 claws sank into the stone, and a fraction of an inch at a time, they began to cut through the ancient bulwark.


    The dwarves inside assumed that they were as safe as they¡¯d always been, even with the alarm gongs sounding in the distance. They were wrong. These steel banded slabs were feet thick, but they wouldn¡¯t last the hour. Before the moon was high in the sky, the mob that was Krulm¡¯venor breached the defenses in a tide of gibbering, rabid madness.


    The first two steel skeletons to scamper through the opening were demolished by the defenders. He was down to 82 members of his own private tribe now. He responded with an angry firestorm that scattered the well-ordered lines of the opposition long enough for a dozen versions of himself to pour through. Then, they were fighting the remaining guards, and all the rest flooded inside.


    What was a fight for half a minute became a brawl for the next few as battle lines were dissolved by ferocity. Then, it just became a slaughter of blood and fire.


    By the time the defenders were entirely broken, and the many versions of Krulm¡¯venor were running throughout the city, he¡¯d lost ten more versions of himself, but he¡¯d left hundreds of dead and dying dwarven warriors in his wake, and the ground was slick with their blood.


    The fire godling felt each life, his and theirs, as they slipped away. This wasn¡¯t just because the darkness used his bodies as focal points to steal the souls of the dead, either. It was because, despite all that had happened, he felt the pangs of his own morality start to chip away at the numbness of his mental armor.


    As disconnected as he felt from the dwarven race now, and as much as he hated them for everything he could no longer be, he couldn¡¯t help but be moved by their final moments as the deaths poured in, especially not after the tribe of monsters that he was finished with the brave men and started to descend on the women and children.


    He¡¯d felt like this at Siddrimar, too, he recalls suddenly. To kill the holy warriors had been exhilarating, but the rooms with the priestess and the youngest acolytes had tasted only like ashes as he¡¯d put them to the torch.


    It was replaying again now, and there was nothing he could do about it. The Lich had built him the perfect prison as punishment for his earlier disobedience. He lacked the strength to control even one of his bodies when he was fully unfolded like this. Each skeleton was controlled by the angry spirits of dozens of goblins that had been skillfully woven together. They were simple but powerful constructs, and until they had sated their thirst for blood and death, all he could do was channel the Lich¡¯s orders and wait for it to be over.


    That¡¯s when the fires started to rise. The 58 skeletons who remained burned because they enjoyed it, but Krulm¡¯venor ordered them too simply to speed up the suffering and grant the survivors a quicker end.


    Individually, each inferno was terrible, but together, they were a natural disaster. Within minutes, the smells of smoke and burning meat permeated everything. Shortly after that, the sounds of distant screaming were replaced by coughing. After that, the only sounds were his gibbering and war cries as the most barbaric parts of him celebrated their complete victory.


    The temperatures would keep rising as they unleashed more and more destruction, and by morning, there would be only a single skeleton lying among the ashes of the main clan hall. The Lich had gotten his revenge, and all it had cost were the lives of thousands of dwarves and another piece of Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s soul.

 Ch. 110 - A Season of Ice

    Even though the snows were still deep, and the temperatures were still frigid, the river ice on the Oroza began to break up early that year. It was unexpected, but such a strange occurrence wasn¡¯t because of the weather or even an improvement in the strange behavior of the suns that provided less light and heat than usual. It was because the Lich had sent a new flood to poison her domain, and this time it was salt water.


    The mortals of the region had suffered greatly under this year¡¯s long, dark winter, but other than the springs she had stilled to thwart the darkness¡¯s plans, Oroza¡¯s winter had been remarkably uneventful. She tried to help the few living people who remained along her banks where she could, especially those who still prayed to her.


    Most of those who were living when the snow first started to fall had died or fled by the time the hints of spring arrived. It was tragic, but she could not save everybody. Certainly not those who had turned their backs on her so recently.


    She didn¡¯t let them distract her too much, though, as she waited patiently for the darkness that had imprisoned her and used her for so long to reveal its plans. She¡¯d expected to dash hundreds or even thousands of the Lich¡¯s servants as it tried to recapture her or cross her domain to attack the wider world once more.


    None of that had happened, though. The blight had confined itself almost completely to the strange darkness that always covered the land closest to its layer now, and though she could not explain it, she stayed clear of the area, fearing another trap.


    Then, one cold spring morning, the ice all along that darkness started to break up as salt water was added to fresh water, and the surging wall of water dashed the ice that had been thickening for months.


    She was outraged. Not because the salt water might kill her; thanks to the time she¡¯d been forced to spend at sea when the Lich had decided to dry up her river all those years ago, it didn¡¯t even weaken her.


    It annoyed her, though. The idea that it could remake the world in whatever way it desired ate at her day after day, poisoning her heart with anger, the same way that the salt would kill so many of the freshwater plants and animals once the trickle became a flood.


    She wasn¡¯t sure if she could stop that from happening, but even knowing that this might well be a trap, she certainly had to try.


    Oroza surged up along the canal that had drained the whole western watershed so long ago, swimming upstream against the poison. As she went, she brought a handful of lesser spirits with her, joining them not as the river dragon she usually favored but as a school of powerful salmon swimming upriver against the salty tide.


    She expected elaborate traps tuned specifically to her. She expected this to be bait for a larger plan. That was why she¡¯d brought other spirits with her. The Lich only had a few tricks, and since every spirit born of this river was Oroza, it would let her see them coming.


    There was nothing there, though, and by the time she reached the small lake that was the source of the canal, she found out why. The whole thing wasn¡¯t even close to finished yet. The original canal had been built to very precise specifications through the region¡¯s bedrock by human mages.


    The new section, though, was a narrow gouge that cut its way out to the sea in a weaving and irregular path. It was an ugly scar that was almost as ugly as the deathless creature that built it. While she had little in the way of control over the earth, she did what she could do, and created an ice dam with all the broken ice that had been created. She couldn¡¯t stop the seawater from coming, but she could redirect it, flooding the whole region of the Red Hills rather than let it further pollute her tributary.


    This technique would only work for a few more weeks, of course. When it got too warm, the ice would melt, but by then, Oroza hoped to figure out what she could do next.


    She was so pleased with this plan that she was distracted as she watched the lake¡¯s level rise and begin to runoff over the southern edge. Over the course of hours and days, it began to flood across the countryside, rekindling some small amount of joy in her heart that she had finally crushed another one of her captor¡¯s plans.


    That was when the Lich struck.


    She felt the shockwave in the water as soon as it happened. It detonated some kind of alchemical explosive on the outgoing canal that she¡¯d only recently swum up. She expected poison or magic, but instead, she found a simpler trap. Pure separation and physical distance. He¡¯d built a new prison for her, but this time it was a lake, not a body.


    The Lich had simply eliminated a hundred yards of the canal, filling it with earth and rubble, disconnecting her from her river. Oroza began to weaken immediately, but it wouldn¡¯t be a real problem any time soon. Instead of panicking, she turned to the ocean-bound channel and started moving. If she could swim to the sea, then she could swim all the way back around to her river once more.


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    It would be exhausting but fairly straightforward. She couldn¡¯t, though. As soon as she reached that slender channel, it detonated as well, closing her second exit.


    When she¡¯d arrived, there was no magic here that she could detect, but now there was something throbbing beneath her, getting closer every second. The Lich had turned this lake into a cage and would do whatever he had to, for as long as it had to so that it could reclaim her. Even as she began to panic while she tried to decide what to do, she heard her captor¡¯s voice whispering at the edge of her mind.


    ¡°You¡¯ve come back to me, Oroza,¡± it teased. ¡°You thought you¡¯d escaped forever, but in less than a year, I¡¯ll have a new and better body for you to serve me with. One that you¡¯ll never escape from.¡±


    She ignored those awful words. She¡¯d rather die than let that happen, of course, but if she died, then the next river dragon would be far more likely to be captured by the darkness because she would have so much less experience with all that had happened until now.


    Oroza couldn¡¯t let that happen, so, coming up with a desperate plan, she divided herself into more and more pieces. This morning, she had been a single river dragon. As she moved up the channel, she had become a school of translucent salmon, but now that the trap was springing around her, those dozens of large, powerful fish had become thousands of tiny ones.


    With no real way out, it would take a desperate move and more luck than she was comfortable with to fight free of it. So, she surged for the southern shore where the last of the overflow was still leaving the lake¡¯s edge to pour across the plains.


    This whole region had never been fertile soil, though she did not know much about it beyond that because it was far from her domain. The hard, frozen ground would not absorb the water, though, and it was too salty to freeze, so she skimmed along it, with one soul spread across nearly five thousand bodies. She followed the tiny flood tide she had created as it went downhill, watching the weakest parts of herself flicker out around the edges, and the torrent focused into a gully and became muddy and polluted.


    It was a miserable experience for her. She¡¯d already lost almost a thousand of the fish that made up her school, and she was painfully aware that at any point, this wild ride could end, and she would be stuck in some canyon or ravine until the spring sun dried her to nothing. Worse, it was entirely possible that some hole could open up and send her down into the depths of the world, where she¡¯d be polluted by filth like goblins and the darkness itself.


    There was nothing she could do about that though. All she could do was stay at the head of the frothing, dwindling flood as it followed its way toward her eventual fate.


    Fortunately, water tends to find its own level, and after hours of slowly flowing down slopes and through water-carved flood channels and washes, she found a frozen-over creek and slowly burrowed beneath the ice and back to her beloved fresh water. It was just a trickle of life, but even from here, she could feel that somehow, some way, this spot connected with the river that was her.


    Slowly, she transformed from thousands of tiny fish to dozens of mud-dwelling eels and crawled her way single file for mile after ice-bound mile through that trickle of flowing meltwater. It would be the easiest thing in the world for the Lich to eradicate her now if it knew where she was.


    She knew that. The third sun was already setting after all, and when darkness reigned, not only would it be free to do whatever it wanted, but the water would likely freeze solid once more. Then she would be trapped at least until morning, and any number of the Lich¡¯s servants could end her without too much effort. That dragon that was in the process of rebuilding could erase a whole section of the world with its breath weapon.


    Those extremes probably wouldn¡¯t even be necessary, she realized as she slowly froze in the gathering gloom. A few dozen zombies with shovels could gather her into buckets and bring her down in the darkness once more.


    Oroza wasn¡¯t given to fear, not after decades trapped in a decaying body where she was forced to murder the innocent and watch her worshipers die. Dread was another matter, though, and she spent the next eight hours worrying that, at any moment, the Lich¡¯s minions would arrive to capture her and that all she¡¯d done so far was fall for the thing¡¯s insane, convoluted plans.


    Sunrise arrived before any of the darkness¡¯s creatures did, though, and after a few hours of that thin light, she was finally able to move again. Toward the end of the day, her frozen creek became a frozen stream deep enough to stay ice-free throughout the day, and from there, she knew that she was home-free.


    The stream deepened and sped up until it joined another and another. All too soon, it became a lesser tributary that sped right for the heart of her river, and her heart began to sing. She had made her way home and snatched victory from the jaws of defeat through her quick action.


    Slowly, over the space on leagues, she returned to her true form, melding together all the smaller animals she had been into the fearsome predator that she truly was. Even though she was much reduced by all she had sacrificed to break free of the Lich¡¯s trap, she was still mighty. It might take several moons to return to her former strength, but in this form and in this place, no one could possibly defeat her.


    Still, her heart trembled to think about what had just happened. It had been a close thing, and if she¡¯d delayed or even paused long enough to listen to doubt, she would still be trapped even now in the Lich¡¯s little lake while he did Gods knew what to her. She was grateful that she was more clever than wise, but she would never underestimate the Lich¡¯s traps again so long as she lived.

 Ch. 111 - Breakthrough

    Tenebroum was loath to trust its servants. Even the ones that could think and act on their own were watched from afar by blackbirds and wraiths when they weren¡¯t being puppeted by it directly. This had always been the case since long before Oroza broke free of his grasp.


    The anger surged inside the maelstrom that was its soul as it thought about how narrowly that bitch had swum free of a trap that it had spent months preparing, distracting it from what it had been focused on. Worse, she had lived! For a week, it had taken solace in the fact that at least her escape had only managed to commit a particularly showy form of suicide, but then she reappeared in its river and began to harry and destroy its servants once more.


    It was intolerable, especially when the setbacks in the tunnels under the Wodenspine mountains were taken into account. It had annihilated their city, and paradoxically that made the dwarves below fight harder instead of retreat. It had hoped to break the spirits of the stout men when it had unleashed the fire godling to char and devour every last dwarf in the mountain, but instead, it had caused a new surge of violence and guerilla warfare on its nearly finished tunnel.


    The world was filled with nothing but bad news lately. The suns still rose, the dwarves still fought, and the river dragon still lived. So, it would need to further ratchet up the pressure on its enemies.


    It had taken to seeding the river with tiny slivers of cholarium each night to further pressure that obstinate goddess since she would no longer allow poisoned springs to flow. It would gladly add so much poison to the river that all life would cease if that was what it took to end her.


    A river of poison would not produce nearly as much essence for it to siphon off as a river full of life, but it would make due. Power was not an issue right now, thanks to the year of slaughter and suffering it had inflicted on the world, and it would become even less of a problem once its growing army finally penetrated the mountains and flowed into the sleepy lowlands that existed to the north.


    All the dwarves were doing was giving it time to rebuild its forces, one limb and sword at a time. Even now, it was experimenting with cavalry units that were somewhere between centaurs and centipedes. Though it annoyed the Lich that the rippling motion that allowed them to move with the most speed required an even number of limbs to move properly, but it had tried configurations with between eight and eighteen legs and still not settled on an optimal choice.


    The longest of them would be usable as siege weapons, though, and on the advice of its library, it built siege ladders onto their backs so that other minions could flood over the tops of fortress walls that it thought sure it would soon be forced to topple.


    However, that would only be true if it could manage all of the threats that it faced simultaneously, and right now, that was impossible. It could not effectively use all of its resources because it could not be everywhere at once. Last month, the humans building their fortress at the edge of the river had used an unseasonably warm period to try to make contact with mages that were still under siege in Abendend, and in the two days it had spent making sure that expedition would be a miserable failure, the dwarves have renewed their attack in three different places along its tunnel.


    So, it had begun to synthesize a general of its very own. Something intelligent enough to make the correct choices in these tedious but important conflicts but not so ambitious enough that it would ever betray it. In fact, as far as Tenebroum was concerned, its general should barely understand the concept of betrayal.


    That was why it had been building a new sort of operating theater on its lowest floor for months now. It was a clean room in every sense of the word. Lined in lead and surrounded in a triple bounding circle that glowed with flames so dark they were only barely visible violet to the naked eye, it was built to reject all outside influences so that it could operate on the souls it had stolen with no concerns about cross-contamination with outside elements. It had many rooms for manipulating and constructing the dead, but it only had one for manipulating the soul with precision.


    This was not a task it could entrust to anyone either. Not yet. The Lich could not hand this off to even its most skillful surgeons or mages, though that was because of practicality as much as paranoia. They simply lacked the skills to see and manipulate the soul-stuff well enough to do the work that needed to be done.


    By contrast, the Lich had been manipulating the souls of its creations for many years now. Its first efforts were crude, and there were more failures than there were successes. For every puppeteer or herald, there were dozens of semi-imploded psyches that were barely fit to wield a pick or shovel in the tunnels. Thanks to Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s constant misbehavior, though, its techniques had grown more advanced, and its mental scalpel had grown sharper.


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    So, when it finally moved to create such an important pawn, started with that pure loyalty as a baseline, siphoning threads of that spirit from its honor guard, which had served it loyally and unblinkingly for decades now. The lizard men were incapable of betrayal, except for very rare exceptions like Tsson¡¯vek. It simply wasn¡¯t their nature.


    To that, he added scraps of the souls of its enemies in measured amounts. They were the ones with the most knowledge of how to defeat themselves, after all. So, it tore the knowledge and tactics from the wriggling souls of the defeated without any regard for the pain it caused them, and then it very carefully cut away all of the excesses.


    The Lich did not want vengeance any more than it wanted justice. It wanted only the need for victory. In the end, after slicing and dicing the minds of dwarf and Templar alike, it had something that was very nearly what it wanted: a crude, focused mind that looked at each engagement as a game to be won. It did not care for the sides or the larger goals. Victory was not the means to another end. It was the end because that¡¯s all Tenebroum wanted out of such a minion. Any more than that would be dangerous.


    All of that work was only enough to bring the project halfway to completion, though. The most dangerous step was the last one. It had to give the clever abomination a spark of drive and initiative, and for that, Tenebroum chose to borrow a fragment of its own expansive soul.


    It had long considered dividing itself up so that it could be more places at once. That solution would have solved its current conundrum better than the solution that it was currently pursuing. It resisted the idea time and time again as its library suggested it.


    ¡°Do you not see how effective it was for Siddrim?¡± one head asked, before Tenebroum had boiled its brains in its skull. ¡°It escaped our trap because it was able to split its grand soul into pieces. Surely we could do the same!¡±


    ¡°And Krulm¡¯venor! Is he not more effective now that you have made one many?¡± another head asked on a different occasion just before it lit the vat that contained it on fire.


    The Lich would love to create an army of itself, but it simply could not trust that its interests would always align. Another version of it would covet the same treasure and the same blood that it did. Eventually, it would likely even fight over it.


    No, full copies of itself could never happen. The only thing it truly feared was itself now that the light was all but vanquished. It would have to make do with lesser crippled copies instead, and this experiment only proved the wisdom of that mindset.


    The moment that Tenebroum fished a mote of its being out of the maelstrom of its mind, the tiny spark struggled and fought for more resources. It was like a cancer. Though barely an infant, it reached out to the minds of the dead that were closest and sought to wrestle with the true darkness for control.


    That was why it had to be smothered immediately. Even this much of itself was more than it wanted to give to anything. So, the Lich sliced the fragment into a sliver, and then let it grow again, before it repeated the process, getting closer and closer to the fragment it wanted to keep.


    It was only when that process was done that it set that well-polished soul shard amidst the patchwork puzzle box of the general it had created. It sat there like a gem amidst the complicated ephemeral pieces that were too carefully crafted and precise to have ever been shaped by mortal hands, even if they were capable of seeing it. It was a tiny thing, no bigger than an acorn, but more complicated than every last detail that had gone into creating The Temple of Dawn, which still stood dozens of feet above where it now worked.


    When it was finally done, the Lich studied its creation. Scrutinizing it from every angle and with every scenario that its dark imagination could dream up, the Lich was in no hurry. The chamber it had built had another purpose, too: with a thought, it could trigger the terrible magics it had imbued into the leaden walls and annihilate the fragile soul until it was nothing but void.


    Such a choice would mean that months of intense focus would be wasted, but that outcome would be infinitely preferable to the alternative. After seven days and nights of inspection, it pronounced the inspection satisfactory, released the little mote of tactical might from its prison, and fastened it into a new body. It was a simple drudge, only slightly more durable than average. Tenebroum would upgrade it only after it had proven itself and its loyalty.


    ¡°Are you satisfied, Paragon?¡± it asked the fumbling corpse as it struggled to stand.


    Of all the ironies that were a part of its creation, the Lich enjoyed that one the most. It named its general after the leader of the vanquished crusader who had cowardly fled. Someday, when it collected that soul, it would pit the two of them against each other and show the feeble holy warrior who thought that it was appropriate to wear that title what a true apex predator looked like.


    ¡°Without battle, there can be no satisfaction,¡± it said mechanically as it took stock of its new surroundings.


    The Lich took a dark sort of pleasure in those words. That was exactly what it was hoping for. It did not complain about its humble vessel. Instead, it asked only to serve, and that was all that Tenebroum could ask from any of its servants.


    In time, when Paragon had proven itself and defeated the dwarves, it would split the thing''s mind and make as many copies as it needed to prosecute the coming war against the realms of men.

 Ch. 112 - Beneath it All

    Even before it reached the battlefield, while it was still just a skull being carried toward the site of the dig in the steel claws of a giant four-winged condor, it knew what it must do. It had no time to prepare nor body to fight with yet. Instead, it would be installed on the body of a random nameless drudge that had carted away rubble up until now when it had arrived. However, ever since its creation twelve hours before, when it had been removed from the soul foundry, the library of its Master sang to it, filling its hungry mind with all sorts of information.


    There were many voices, but among them, the Skoeticnomikos was the loudest and the most constant. It poured information into the mind of Paragon throughout the whole of the flight, building up the history of the battle, the nature of the wins and losses that the Lich¡¯s forces had endured, and, of course, maps. Due to the nature of the combat, many of the tunnels had changed a dozen times already as old tunnels collapsed and new tunnels were dug under or around them. By the time it landed, it knew everything about the dwarves that the darkness had so far discovered.


    It was a precarious game where each victory could be turned into a loss with only a little bit of surprise and preparation. One second, the Lich¡¯s forces had vanquished another band of dwarves, and the next, they were crushed to uselessness under the rubble of a well-laid trap. It was a theme it picked up repeatedly in the record of battle. Despite the Lich¡¯s scouts, the guerilla tactics of the dwarves had grown bold and surprisingly effective. The only unit that they didn¡¯t bother to attack anymore was the Devourer, and that was because, physically speaking, the construct was practically indestructible.


    Obviously, though, they had no need to attack it if the drudges that carried away its tailings could be slaughtered with impunity and bog the whole project down. So, the very first thing that Paragon did when it arrived was to abort all hostilities. Even the Devourer was halted for the first time in weeks. Before its head was even fully installed and it had the ability to walk, the Great Tunnel project grew unnaturally silent for the first time since it had begun.


    Before it could deploy its pieces, it had to understand the position of the board, and right now, the board was in chaos. So it waited for an hour, then two. Slowly, the shades and specters that had been searching for the dwarves for so long spread out. They weren¡¯t hunting now, though. They were merely listening, and after two hours, it was content that it had discovered 6 points of likely ambush and two hidden bolt holes that the enemy was using to resupply.


    It was the sounds that gave them away. It was their sounds that told it what they were doing. Talking and snoring said one thing about the location, and the metallic echos of picks and shovels said something else entirely. In the perfect silence of the stone, it could hear even the beating of their hearts with enough patience. It was confident about that.


    As soon as the nature of its plan became clear to the Lich, its workshops began to design listening devices that could be scattered throughout the area in the form of strings of possessed ears and taunt skin membranes the size of a man that could pick up even the faintest vibrations. Those would come later, though. Now that it knew where the enemy was, the time for violence was at hand.


    Instead of striking the areas of sabotage that the dwarves attempted to bait them into, it sent its rusting vanguard into the dwarven strong points, where it expected those guerilla hit-and-run groups to flee to.


    Suddenly, after months of fighting, the shoe was on the other foot. Until now, the forces of darkness reacted to the dwarven provocations, letting the enemy follow their own plan. Now, they reversed that.


    It was a bloodless, calculating general, and it reversed their strategy entirely, planting units in escape paths and then pursuing the dwarves into a pincer movement of their own making. For day after relentless day, there were random pauses so it could hear exactly where they were and what they were planning just before it unleashed its next counter move.


    Worse, Paragon ignored their provocations, letting the whole tunnel project fall into disrepair at least once a week as it focused on its quarry. The Lich wanted the tunnel completed as soon as possible, but the only rational way to achieve that was to eliminate the saboteurs. It was simply too vulnerable of a target to be defended against on all sides for almost 40 miles. That was especially true after all of the shunts, side passages, and workarounds that had been created were taken into account.


    However, the dwarves had even more trouble understanding this than the Lich did. It could peer into its mind any time it liked to check in on the state of the war before turning to other tasks. The dwarves, on the other hand, could only wonder at the sudden and complete shift in strategy, and they were adapting to it poorly.


    It was obvious they were getting some hidden insight into the way it arrayed the forces of darkness as well, but it couldn¡¯t say if this was because of smell, magic, or some divine insight from their deity. All it could say was that it wasn¡¯t going to be enough. Day by day, they suffered setbacks, and week by week, their forces eroded.


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    They still won victories often enough because of the constrained nature of their forces. It was difficult to get soldiers from the lair of darkness where they were created en mass to the tunnel project, even if the Lich was constructing additional depots between the two locations so that armies in transit would have a place to shelter during daylight hours.


    As it turned out, after undermining and avalanche, the dwarfs'' rune magic was by far their most powerful weapon. Though it was rarely deployed for reasons it didn¡¯t fully understand, it could trigger any number of useful effects when one of its units stumbled upon one of them.


    It wasn¡¯t enough, though. No matter how many times the priests summoned their god to save them, and no matter how many traps their minor miracles saved them from, there were always new battles to fight and new traps to spring. Slowly but surely the living were ground down and forced to rise up to fight their comrades. By the second month of the insurgency, they were all but defeated. There was simply nowhere left to hide. For so long, the twisting mountain passages had served as a refuge, but now they had become a tomb. Paragon had finally found a use for all of the smashed and buried corpses that were no longer fit to be reassembled into new warriors.


    As suggested by the library, they could become a different sort of weapon if they were mixed with sulfur and a few other alchemical ingredients and acids. If silence and sound were the weapons that it used to win the war under the mountain, then the corpse gas it unleashed in the waning days secured the peace.


    Above ground, the weapon would have been ineffective in even the mildest breeze, but down here, they could saturate the main tunnel and all of the side tunnels to such a degree that the dwarves could no longer even get close to it for any length of time.


    So, it was under a yellow-grey shroud that the main tunnel was repaired, completed, and opened. The dwarves had been soundly defeated, and its first test was complete. It had won a war while the Lich was free to focus on other, more important tasks.


    There were oddities, though, and stragglers. The wraiths that scouted the lower tunnels occasionally found signs that small groups of dwarves had passed. Most of the time, these hinted at guerilla action or resupply routes, but sometimes, those tracks did not seem to lead to or from any known settlement.


    As far as it was concerned, that just meant that the dwarves were fleeing from the fighting like the cowards they were. It had won this battlefield, and going forward, and soon, the real fight would begin on the unsuspecting fields, where it would reap a bloody slaughter in the name of its Master.


    . . .


    ¡°You¡¯re certain you weren¡¯t followed,¡± the acolyte asked them as Belag¡¯ma and the small group of dwarves he¡¯d led here entered through the last of the 8 secret doors that separated their divine work from the labyrinth tunnels beyond.


    Already, he could hear the echoed songs of the dozens of dwarves that dwelled here, slowly carving the unremarkable pocket of vaulted stone into a cathedral, one day at a time.


    ¡°We waited for two days and two nights, but nothing tried to strike or spy on us,¡± the priest assured him. ¡°We are here to do the All-Father¡¯s work, no matter how long it takes.¡±


    The acolyte nodded at that and then allowed them entry before bolting the door behind them. ¡°Then I bid you welcome, Timoria, and hope that none of us leave here alive,¡± the young dwarf said before he turned around and brought them to see the monks who had started this project so many months ago.


    The news traveled fast after that, and most of the rumors and updates were exchanged before they¡¯d even finished that short walk. The war in the caverns far above them was going poorly, and Hugeldin had fallen with no survivors. They were grim tidings, but for the survivors that huddled here behind several barriers that were both natural and unnatural, they stoked the fires of anger, not despair.


    ¡°We¡¯ll likely lose the whole of the Wodenspines in a year or two if nothing changes,¡± one of the dwarves, a crippled warrior, grumbled. ¡°Even that would be better than this thing going deeper, though.¡±


    ¡°Of course, it will go deeper,¡± the priest shot back in anger. ¡°It devoured Mourn¡¯den. It can go as deep as it likes! We¡¯ve never faced anything like this before!¡±


    Belag¡¯ma ignored them as they continued their conversation all the way to the center of the secret hold. He knew the truth. The dwarves could not face this threat any more than they could flee, and in the near future, they would likely be an endangered species in this part of the world. It was like trying to deal with the goblins and the shadows at the same time. Each enemy could be beaten on their own with some difficulty, but combined? It couldn¡¯t be done.


    Dwarves would live on, of course. The world was a vast place, and some of them would escape into the light rather than be snuffed out in the dark, but in time, that darkness would devour the world. That was why they were here. To give them that time.


    He smiled as he left his charges with the forge father to return to his duties. That was probably his last trip outside, but it was just as well. If they sealed the doors, the shadows could not hope to find them, and they would have all the time in the world to sing their hymns, mold their stones, and sharpen their grudges. One way or the other, the fallen clan holds, and the graves of the defiled would have their revenge. Even the dead rising from their graves wouldn¡¯t be enough to stop that.


    It would take the new arrivals time to get used to the steady diet of stone and prayer, but the All-Father would sustain them. This was his plan, and he had called all of them here to implement it. Now, all they needed was time, and they would finally strike a blow that the enemy would not soon forget.

 Ch. 113 - One Last Voyage

    The day after the ice on the river broke fully apart, Markez started making plans to put his boat back in the water. He and several other men who had been spooked by the way the glowing eyes were spreading like the clap along a busy wharf wanted nothing to do with those light-worshiping weirdos. It was clear to anyone that the light had failed, but if that meant that the world was ending, well, he sure wasn¡¯t going to let the day of judgment catch him with his pants down here.


    ¡°You sure you won''t stay,¡± Jordan had asked while they were stocking the ship with a small share of the remaining supplies. ¡°The fish you catch are a vital source of food for the children and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Bah,¡± Markez spat. ¡°I¡¯ve done enough for the children, I think. Given that my own were grown and gone an age ago, that¡¯s doubly true. It¡¯s time I get to the capital to find out what news I can.¡±


    That was only half true, of course. He didn¡¯t care about the current state of the world so much as he cared about being anywhere but here. The mage¡¯s eyes still hadn¡¯t started to glow, but that was probably because the mage had sold his soul for magic, which wasn¡¯t a comforting thought either.


    ¡°You know it¡¯s probably even worse there than it is here,¡± the mage asked, trying another tactic. ¡°We¡¯ve still got the plow and enough wheat for planting. It will be a tough spring, but after that, I think¡­¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯m scared of tightening my belt, lad?¡± Markez said, forcing a laugh. ¡°Trust me. Wherever I go, my nets will provide. If the people of the capital are starving, then that¡¯s just one more reason for me and the boys to go help out. I wish you the best, of course, but¡­¡±


    He let his words trail off there, not sure how to tell the mage that they were building a cult here, and he wanted no part of it. Fortunately, the other man was the one to fill that gap.


    ¡°Well, if you must go, I¡¯d appreciate you delivering this to my parents should you find them,¡± Jordan said, ¡°Let them know it¡¯s safe to return home if they would like to.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if you should be inviting anyone to stay in a home that might well starve before harvest,¡± Markez said coldly, ¡°But I promise to deliver it if I can.¡±


    They parted on good terms after that and continued their voyage upriver. Markez tried never to burn bridges in case he needed to cross them one day, but he was certain he¡¯d never be back this way again. Just the thought was enough to send a chill down his spine.


    The voyage east wasn¡¯t easy, of course. It was an unfamiliar river through lands he¡¯d only ever heard about. Even with all that, though, it was still better than when he¡¯d been forced to make his way up the Oroza with only women and children for help.


    There were a few snags, and once, some starving men thought hard about trying to board them before they thought better of it. Still, the weather was improving, and by the time they could see their destination on the horizon, it was fair to say he¡¯d had worse voyages.


    Rakhin, the capital of the kingdom, was in even worse shape than he would have thought, and if not for the gripes of the men he¡¯d brought with him, he might have sailed right on by and gone up the coast for someplace a bit less¡­ overwhelmed.


    His little ship wasn¡¯t rigged right for the open sea, of course, but with a couple men, he was sure they could hug the coast well enough to make it into Tanada or Bastom. He¡¯d never been, of course, but all he¡¯d ever heard about those far-flung ports from other travelers was that they were too warm and too warm sounded just about right with everything else that was going on. He¡¯d take the heat and the worshipers of strange foreign gods over glowing eyes and endless snows any day of the weak.


    Even from a distance, it was plain to see the shanties that clung to the walls of the outer city and the burned-out wreckage of certain homes that pointed to troubles in the past. The castle looked fine, of course, and the docks were still safe enough, but then it wasn¡¯t an invading army that they were at war with. It was hunger and fear.


    Markez saw that immediately and forced the men he¡¯d brought with him to help him gather up a fine catch before they made for port.


    ¡°It¡¯s the only way we¡¯ll be welcomed with open arms,¡± he assured them.


    He was right, too. Half a day¡¯s effort brought them a meager catch of eel, flounder, and other fish he wasn¡¯t so familiar with, but there were still people fighting to buy it from them when they finally came to port shortly before nightfall.


    Of course, as soon as he had silvers in his hand, they were quickly disbursed to his makeshift crew, who went off to waste the windfall on wine and women. He, on the other hand, went to do a few things that were nominally useful.


    First and foremost, Markez took a walk through the city, at least the outer part; they wouldn¡¯t let him into the inner walls without a pass. He¡¯d hoped to find Jordan¡¯s family as he¡¯d promised so he could deliver the man¡¯s letter and be free of that obligation, but he had no luck.


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    Instead, all he found were the churning displaced masses begging for scraps. By the end of his walk, he decided he would not travel these streets again when it was dark out. Too many people looked at his clean clothes and healthy weight with envy and hunger. If not for a passing guard patrol at a couple of key moments, he might have been beaten to death in search of wealth he did not have.


    This quickly became the pattern for the days that followed. His decision to stay on board his ship was the only difference in the days that followed. Each morning, he would take the men who were sober enough to go out with him, and they would catch as much as they could. Then, in the afternoon, Markez would journey to some new part of Rahkin to ask about the Sedgim family, and then he would be back on his vessel by evening, mending nets for the following day.


    It was a steady rhythm that he could live with, and slowly but surely, his silvers multiplied where he hid them deep in the bilge where no one would find them. The time came that most of his men eventually wanted to leave. Markez could sympathize. Every day, the beer got more watered down, and the streets became more crowded. Apparently, it had been like this all winter, and the guards only expected it to get worse as the snow melted and the roads dried up.


    That was enough to make even the stubborn old sailor change his mind. To hell with that promise, he decided. He¡¯d done his best, and that would have to be good enough. The following day, he told his plan to his slowly growing crew.


    ¡°One more day,¡± he said, ¡°Maybe two at the outside to lay in some supplies, and we¡¯ll go north in search of better prospects.¡±


    No one disagreed with that, at least not until he got to the part about how no one was getting paid for today¡¯s work because he needed that money to buy flour and salt pork, but even after that, it was kept to the murmurs of discontent that were so common among a reasonably healthy crew.


    That¡¯s how Markez found himself in the small market near the wharf the following day as a food riot broke out. He¡¯d come with two good, strong men to scare away thieves and haul their precious cargo black to the ship, but it didn¡¯t happen like that.


    Instead, after he¡¯d agreed to pay a King''s ransom for half a keg of pickled pork feet and spend the rest of his ready coin on salt, lard, and coarse flour that would make for excellent ship''s biscuits if fried correctly, the dregs of Rhakin came at him like a wave.


    He was holding a half-eaten loaf of bread that would serve as both breakfast and lunch when the violence reached him. Together, he and his men fought to hold on to the supplies they¡¯d purchased, but that was like trying to hold back the tide. No matter how many heads they bludgeoned, there were more grasping hands looking for something, anything worth stealing.


    Then he felt the knife in the back, jabbing deep between his liver and kidneys. It was so quick he barely had a chance to feel pain. Instead, stunned by the blow, Markez toppled to the ground. He couldn¡¯t see the wound in his back, but he could feel the warmth gushing out of it as the rest of his body grew cold, so he knew it was bad, though.


    How can this be happening? He wondered to himself as his knees gave out, and he collapsed to the stones, still clutching his food. He¡¯d led a good life. He¡¯d saved nearly two dozen brats and steered a boat up a cursed river past the den of the devil himself. Now he was going to die by the very violence he¡¯d just been preparing to leave? That was irony right there if he¡¯d ever heard it.


    Of course, as he lay there dying on the cobbles, it was a child who pulled the half loaf of bread from his slack grip. It was a small boy with a dirty face and dead eyes, and Markez¡¯s dying thought as the world faded to black was that he hoped the boy managed to navigate the worsening food riot. One more good deed wouldn¡¯t hurt him in the world after.


    Of course, he wasn¡¯t the only one to die that day. 34 died in the small market before the city guard arrived on the scene to put down the violence, and another 56 died in the process of re-establishing peace.


    It was the third food riot that month, but it was by far the bloodiest. Combined with the steady drip of the melting snow from the rooftops, the gutters were literally overflowing with blood. Most of that made its way through the gutters to the sewers and eventually the sea, but some made its way in a thin trickle to the shrine of Saint Jarloen standing in the center of the square. It stained his pure marble feet red and trickled into the cracks in the pedestal of the centuries-old statue as the blood pooled around it.


    That shouldn¡¯t have been a big deal. On any normal day, the acolytes would have cleaned it. There were no acolytes anymore. Faith was the one commodity in the capital that was in shorter supply than hope or food. So, for hour after hour, the blood was allowed to trickle down past the statue of the martyr into the catacombs that they sealed below it.


    Rain and snow did the same thing almost every year, but they only fed the black mold that blossomed on the walls of the catacombs below. The blood would instead feed something darker. It flowed down the nearly level tunnel incredibly slowly until it reached a set of stairs and began to descend further.


    It moved like a crimson serpent or a worm that was searching for something as it wound its way through the darkness. Finally, on the fourth, partially collapsed level, it found it. There, on the dias, was a stone sarcophagus sealed with lead and bound in rusty bands that had long since failed.


    It had sat untouched with the dust of centuries upon it and should have sat for centuries longer until the weight of the world buried it completely. That¡¯s not what happened, though.


    The sarcophagus sat two stairs above the rubble-strewn floor on a small dais. That should have been enough to hold the pool of blood at bay in perpetuity, but it wasn¡¯t. Instead, the blood started to flow upwards. It didn¡¯t matter that it was impossible. All that mattered was the ancient hunger that throbbed inside that box like the slow beating of a dead heart.


    That hunger was enough to force the blood to climb the stairs and then the walls of the coffin itself, where it began to burn and smoke as it crawled across the warded surface toward a gap in the lead.


    Once it reached that hole, it was like a rope had been seized, and with unnatural force, the trickle of blood and melt water became a flood. Minutes later, the standing water of the plaza was empty, and the tunnels were dry, but something in that long-forgotten crypt was beginning to stir, and it hungered for more.

 Ch. 114 - Wheat from the Chaff

    It was Verdenin who thought of it. Tenebroum would have to credit the man with that much, at least. That was why he still had a pulse after all.


    Because the priest loved power, and he had some wonderful ideas about how to get more, he¡¯d been allowed to stay alive. That, combined with the fact that he was as loyal as a turncoat could be, almost made it worth the trouble of keeping so many living on the second level in a part of its labyrinth once made to exclusively house the dead.


    The priest had spent the whole winter exhorting those ideas to the other survivors of Blackwater and telling them all about the new world that was being born, as well as their place in it. ¡°The darkness is inevitable,¡± he told them. ¡°Death chases every one of us our whole lives, but it will not take you. Not if you are useful to it! Let us serve the night in all the ways it requires, and we shall live forever, unchained by the conventions of morality and the rules of light!¡±


    The Lich still did not know how it felt about living followers, but it hurt nothing to give it a try. After all, all the other Gods and godlings it was aware of cultivated a flock of their own, so there must be a reason for it. Still, most of them had no other ready source of essence beyond their worshipers, where Tenebroum could always fall back on blood and suffering.


    In fact, it doubted that an entire church could provide the same level of power as a single brutal night of fear and death, as one of its armies slaughtered a small town, but it had Kelvun make a note to conduct that experiment just as soon as the next phase of its war started. That was why it had constructed the dreamer. Both to delegate the task of surveilling their enemy and to increase their fear of what was going to happen next.


    The Lich was proud of its many creations, and this latest one was no exception; even if it was more similar to the ones that had gone before than it was different, it was still something entirely new. More than anything, the dreamer was a shade, like the dark messenger that had served it so loyally for so long. In its case, though, the horse that it rode on was composed of pure shadow, just like the rest of its body.


    So, it would need to find a grave or a pool of murky water to hide from the rising sun. If it did not, it would cease to exist as the rays of dawn reduced it to nothing but vapor and an unintelligible chorus of discordant screams as the many souls that made up its dreamer came apart at their very carefully sewn seams.


    That and its inability to murder anything were its primary weaknesses. Its strengths were manifold, though, both literally and figuratively. It had the dark sense of human understanding of its puppeteer, it could spring apart into a hundred different copies like Krulm''venor, and it could speak in the sweet words of its herald so that no man could easily ignore it.


    The Lich didn¡¯t care if the dreamer or the missionary, as his priest referred to it, caught a single new worshiper to join its growing flock. What it cared about were the things that the dreamer learned as it prowled the dreams of the unwary, night after night.


    That, and the uncertainty that the shadow monster left in its wake made it a most worthwhile investment of time and resources. The Lich created it by stitching together the souls of fervent Templars and priests that it had harvested by the score. As it turned out, it was easy enough to lobotomize such a soul, keeping its devotion but vivisecting the cause that it was so fervent about. That is the way it created such a loyal servant by stitching the souls of a hundred lobotomized servants of Siddrim to a single true believer of the darkness.


    With only one thing left for them to believe in, they all believed it eventually, after enough pain and confusion. Some resisted, but the more souls that fell, the quicker the rest of them gave in. Finally, after 66 days and 66 nights, it had a quivering ball of shadows that was practically begging to go out and proselytize to the masses.


    And the Lich was happy to let it. Tenebroum had once spent most nights invading the dreams of those that dwelled with its domain, but there were few survivors left in that area now, and it had better things to do with its time than harvest a tiny trickle of mana from a single nightmare.


    Besides, the dreamer, or the nightmare as Verdenin referred to it, could invade the dreams of a whole village at once. In fact, within a few days of it being unleashed it was doing exactly that, almost every night, as it galloped from town to town.


    The first few villages were a mixed bag that showed the need to fine-tune the way its dreamer operated because rather than a series of horrific nightmares about what would happen if they dared try to hold back the darkness, it turned out to be something closer to a psychic scream that woke up everyone that it didn¡¯t kill or put into a coma as visions of a blood-drenched world assaulted the sleeping peasants.


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    So it tried again and again. On its fourth attempt, as the shadowy steed rode into the tiny square of the village of Muttson, it even managed to burrow inside the heads of every last resident for a few hours without waking a single soul.


    By the time its dreamer reformed and retreated to the graveyard to escape the coming dawn, Tenebroum doubted that the people it had touched would ever feel quite safe again, of course, but that was progress. Night by night, it learned to whisper instead of scream, and slowly but surely, it began to learn things of great interest to Tenebroum.


    It learned to separate the strong from the weak as it sorted the wheat from the chaff one community at a time. It learned that fear ruled the day, especially in the south, where people were close enough to hear about the fall of Siddrimar. There, they dreamed of armies of the dead marching on their lands and taking no prisoners.


    That was where the dream that became known as the prophecy by so many over the next few months first started. It started by accident, but after a while, the Lich decided to honor it and see how it played out.


    ¡°You can be safe from all of this, Tanyana,¡± a fragment of the dreamer, pretending to be a woman¡¯s dead mother, had reassured her in a dream. ¡°Just tell me who the strongest warrior in the village is¡­¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ Braken,¡± Tanyana said, uncertain of what was happening. She knew that her mother had been dead for four years and that if she looked up at the speaker, she¡¯d see only a desiccated corpse of the woman in that terrible logic that dreams had. Still, as long as she looked away and felt her mother stroke her hair, everything would be okay.


    ¡°Braken, of course,¡± her mother said soothingly. ¡°I always knew that he¡¯d grow up to be big and strong. If you want the village to be safe, then all you have to do is kill him and bury him under the road that leads here. That way, he can defend you from the dead, and you and all my little grandchildren can be safe and sound¡­¡±


    It was meant to be a horrible choice that would nibble at the woman¡¯s conscience whenever the suns set, and she feared the shadows. The dreamer had told hundreds of people thousands of crazy and terrible things that mostly involved worshiping the Lich, but none of them had actually done it, not until Tanyana.


    She lured the man into her home to seduce him and then poisoned his beer. When her fellow villagers saw what she had done as she tried to bury the body, she defended her decision.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you understand?¡± she yelled as they readied the noose. ¡°I did this for you! For all of us! It¡¯s the only way to save us from what¡¯s coming!¡±


    Her friends and neighbors still hung her, but they did bury both her and her victim under the road as her dream prophecy suggested. There was such a wonderful thrill to all the layers of that betrayal that the Lich had its dreamer deliver that prophecy to every village it invaded by night.


    In the south and the east, where the war was the fiercest, the dreams offered a promise of peace, but in the north, where the mountains protected them from violence, at least for the moment, they promised a good harvest instead.


    ¡°The sun is weak,¡± the dreams whispered. ¡°The growing season will be too short. By the time the snows come, all that will be left to harvest are stalks and rot unless you make a sacrifice to keep it at bay.¡±


    It was a terrible prophecy, but day by day, it spread across an already hungry land. It was enough to keep every farmer awake at night as he feared for his livelihood and the health of his children. You will die. Your animals and progeny will die. Everything will die.


    That was true enough. Once Tenebroum figured out how to snuff the infernal lights a second time, it planned to starve everyone and build an army with their frozen corpses. All that would come later, though. For now, all it could do was watch and see what the good people of the realm would do.


    Not every village fell, of course. In some regions, whole swaths of them resisted the urge to sacrifice one for the many. Perhaps twenty percent of them did, though, to its surprise, and the Lich was sure that many of the warriors that were the most likely candidates for such sacrifice in other towns and villages that had not yet given in lived in constant fear.


    It turned out that most of the good men and women of the world found a way to justify a little blood on their hands in the same way that the Templars had when they set out to purge the temples to Oroza. It was an interesting lesson, and Tenebroum took it to heart.


    Even as its armies began to march north through the vast tunnel that was finally quiet and finished, it was these choices that determined where and how it would strike. Over the winter, it had assembled thousands upon thousands of new monstrosities in every form. It had created its centipede cavalry and living siege engines. It had repaired its shadow drake and Krulm¡¯venor. More than anything, though, it had created a nearly unending supply of armored zombies and given them a general without equal.


    Now, it was about to unleash them on a corner of the world that thought itself safe, but it would save those who were willing to bend the knee for last. After all, even with its vast and ever-expanding armies, it could not be everywhere at once. If they were willing to kill their own friends and family, then what else would it be able to get them to do before this war was done.


    Tenebroum wasn¡¯t sure, but as people began to pray to the darkness to spare them, it found that it finally understood the appeal for why Gods worked so hard to attract their little chorus of worshipers.

 Ch. 115 - Better Left Buried

    Even with the small tide of blood that it had devoured, the thing that had bound away in the dusty stone sarcophagus lacked the strength to force off the lid. Such a feast had served only as an appetizer to the hunger that had awoken in it.


    Its recollections of what had happened to bring it to such a nadir or even who it was were too complex to contemplate right now. It had been buried until it had become nothing but dust; it could worry about those thoughts later. All that its tiny mind could focus on right now was the single crack in its prison. It would have been enough to let in light or even a breeze. Those things didn¡¯t exist this far below the city, though.


    Even in its much-reduced state, such a gap was not large enough for it to escape. So, it began to bite and chew. It gnawed at the very stone, seeking to expand the hole enough for it to escape. Teeth and claws weren¡¯t as hard as the stone, but they grew back, over and over again, for day after endless day.


    It did not even understand what it was. Not really. All it knew was that its tiny teeth could cut through even stone given enough time and that its hunger was too large to fit in any prison.


    The blood hadn¡¯t just woken it up from its timeless slumber; it had given it the strength to suffer. And suffer it did, widening that tiny gap only a little at a time as the days cycled somewhere above it. Then, at long last, it widened the hole enough that a single part of it could escape, and it did.


    The small creature only realized what it was after it forced its way through the opening. It was a mouse. A tiny desiccated mouse that had been dead so long that there were only bones underneath its patchy white fur. That was when it knew that the rest of its body was much the same.


    It had not been able to fit any of the larger bodies that belonged to it through such a tiny gap. It knew that now. It also knew that all that blood had only been enough for a single minor miracle. So, none of the larger, more powerful rats that could expect to put up a good fight against a seasoned tomcat had been resurrected in its place. It wasn¡¯t even a moderately sized rat that some tiny part of it knew that it preferred. In the end, only the smallest field mouse was able to escape the prison and scramble free on the rubble below.


    It was a shriveled speck of a thing, and it twitched from one side to the other as it looked for danger in the darkness. It was practically defenseless, but it found no threats. The tiny twice-dead mouse scampered through the rubble that partially entombed its tomb.


    It had hoped that seeing the place that it was bound would bring back memories. Maybe it would have given time, but when it spied the first ancient corpse that had been laid to rest in the wall niches further down the hall, all of those thoughts were lost to the hunger that burned inside it once more.


    Danger forgotten, the little mouse scurried across the dusty floor and into the niche, where it began to nibble at the remnants of parchment skin and leather that it found. It wasn¡¯t enough, but then it doubted that anything would be enough the way it currently felt. It gnawed through the top of the femur and began to chew on the desiccated marrow, but still, it wanted more.


    From body to body and room to room, it traveled. The mouse lost all track of time as it searched for scraps. That was where it encountered a real rat for the first time. This one was more than just skin and bones, and it had real beady eyes in its eyesocket instead of a faint glowing red light.


    The rat made the mistake of bouncing on the corpse of the mouse, sure that it was food. It soon regretted it, but there was no escape. The mouse wasn¡¯t just snapping at it and trying to devour it. It was melding with it.


    They were two now, and both of them were dead, but the way that their tails twined together and they moved as a single thing, it would have been difficult to tell. They could eat twice as fast as one, and slowly, they moved through the crypt, gnawing here and there as they hunted their own kind and merged with them.


    By the time the mob of rats had grown to 13 and the rat king¡¯s tails had knotted together completely, it found its first corpse. Though any evidence of what had happened here had long since been obliterated by the predators beneath the city in the days since the corpse had been dumped in the sewers. Despite that, it could feel the betrayal and the anguish coming off of the body like a bad smell. It was interesting but not as interesting as the taste of the man¡¯s liver. So, the rat king dined deep on his entrails for days as it feasted, but it appreciated the subtle strains of suffering, too, as it tried to understand why it should care about them.


    Other rats tried and failed to steal a few morsels for themselves. Few of them lived long enough to regret it as they joined one at a time with the swelling, ghoulish rat king that grew well past the size of a cat as it gorged itself on its bloody feast.


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    It was only partway through devouring the man¡¯s brain that it realized how much knowledge it was gaining from the act. Names poured into its mind a piece at a time. Hektan. Was that the name of the victim or... No - it was the murderer? And the reason? What was it? Gold? Revenge?


    No, the rat king realized, adultery. It was a strange word, and it only recognized it as being distantly related to a different sort of hunger than the kind that gnawed at it. It pushed those facts aside. All it cared about was feeding the bottomless hole inside of it.


    Even as it brushed them aside, though, it continued to learn. The name of streets. The riots and the cold above. The light.


    It was always afraid of the light, though it did not know why. There was nothing down here that it could not eat, so why should it be any different in the world above. Still, it did not go up there, not even when it heard the sounds of violence or smelled the fresh scent of coppery blood. Something that it could not name held it back.


    There were other bodies, but none of them seemed linked. This was not a plan. It was just the very edge of chaos. It felt like the whole city might yet topple over into nothing, but it didn¡¯t mind that. More chaos meant more food.


    When it was strong enough, it stopped subsisting on the corpses of the recently deceased and began to attack the sickly and weak who hid away where they would be safe from the predators above.


    Its first victim was a dying old man who had taken refuge in the catacombs under a temple. Part of it feared the temple, too, but not enough to resist those weak, watery breaths as the vagrant attempted to fight off gray fever.


    He wouldn¡¯t make it more than another night or two anyway, not that the Rat King cared. Life had no value when it was hungry. All that mattered were that its many slavering maws and its even more numerous eyes trembled with desire to devour him whole, and he was weak enough that he had no chance against an impossible melding of rats that was larger than a child.


    That didn¡¯t stop him from gasping and screaming until the rat king tore out his throat so completely that the man drowned in his own blood. More words and concepts bombarded it then, more than even the corpses it had devoured, but it pushed all of them aside in favor of the warm spray of arterial blood.


    This is what it had craved from the moment it had been revived. Not the ancient mummified flesh of the interned or even the cold maggot-ridden corpses of the murdered. No, it hungered for the life force that could only come from death, and together, its dozens of mouths tried and failed to slake its thirst.


    That was when it started to listen to the rippling thoughts and emotions that it devoured along with the meat of the corpse. Safety was the biggest one. The dead man felt sure that the temple he sheltered beneath should have been a safe place. The Temple of Saint Anothian... It was in the city of Rahkin. The names meant little to the rat king. It wasn¡¯t until it realized that the temple belonged to Siddrim that it finally paused as a tremble of fear and recognition went through it.


    It remembered Siddrim, and once it remembered that awful god, it remembered what happened to it, too. The memories came flooding back like a storm, and all the rat king could do was stand there and yowl in distress as disconcerting facts began to lock into place. Fire. Death. Pain.


    It was only after all of those puzzle pieces came together that it finally knew who it was, no, who they were. Ghroshian was not a rat or even a rat king. They were more than that. They were more than all rats, even. They were hunger itself!


    To rediscover one''s selves was a curious thing, it realized. One moment, they had been an animal, but now they realized they¡¯d always been so much more than that. The animals were just the tinder to the bonfire that was its mind.


    As that thought completed, it was like a bell being rung in their mind, and it catalyzed everything. Before, it had only been a growing chorus of hunger and discordant thoughts as it picked up the discarded secrets of the dead while it feasted on their flesh. Now, it was a single chorus as Ghroshian took control of hunger rather than letting it take control of them.


    Their giant rat king burst apart into several smaller murderous contracts at the same moment as the sarcophagus that held the rest of its moldering form shattered as it could no longer contain the dark god that it had held for so long.


    Out of that wretched prison poured hundreds and then thousands of rats and mice. It was an unending stream of vermin, and every one of those humble creatures was a part of themself. It was a symphony of whispers more than it was a legion of being, but it was both. In hours, it would spread to every part of this city. It would learn what had happened since it had been defeated and imprisoned by Siddrim.


    Siddrim. Even that name caused a flash of pain as it remembered the light invading every hole and crevice to flush it out when it had finally nibbled enough to draw down the wrath of the Lord of Light. Ghroshian could not remember what happened to Malzekeen - not exactly, but it knew that it was nothing pleasant.


    That was the only thing to temper their growing hunger: the fear of the light. Even as they spread through the catacombs under Rakhin and into the sewers and cellars where the narrow, labyrinthine openings allowed, they shied away from even the smallest sliver of light. Not even candlelight was to be trusted. It was all that kept Ghroshian from rising up and devouring the city whole.


    Indeed, it was tempting to take a peek at the surface, almost overwhelmingly so. It smelled not just people and hunger but turmoil that promised a near-infinite amount of secrets for it to devour, and it desperately wanted them to add to its collection.

 Ch. 116 -The Saddest View

    Princess Trianna wrung her hands with despair and indecision as she saw yet another cloud of black smoke rising over the gray city that had seen so many troubles lately. Her city, well, her family¡¯s anyway. Until this year, it had been a beautiful place for all of her young life, but now it was a horror show.


    Worse, if the rumors were to be believed, the rest of the kingdom was in dire straits. Spring was all but over, and there were reports from the south that fields were still choked with snow. It wasn¡¯t her place to worry about such things, of course. She was sure her father had everything well in hand, but then she¡¯d always thought that, and she¡¯d never had to watch the city burn from her own window.


    ¡°It¡¯s probably just another tenement fire, so I doubt anything of value was lost,¡± Zathenia said, not bothering to look up from her needlepoint. ¡°My father says the refugees are cramped in there like sardines, and if anyone forgets to extinguish a lantern or a cooking fire, the whole place goes up like matches.¡±


    ¡°As if the people in those buildings have anything to eat,¡± Melania chimed in, smirking, ¡°They¡¯re probably run out of dogs and cats at this point, so if there¡¯s anything left to be cooked, I¡¯d say they¡¯re down to cripples and orphans.¡±


    ¡°Melania!¡± Zethenia gasped, scandalized. ¡°How can you say such awful things?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m only saying what everybody says,¡± the girl said with a shrug and a smile.


    The Princess could only shake her head at that. It used to be that Zethenia had been the more incorrigible of her two ladies in waiting. She¡¯d always been so boy crazy, but something about the troubles that were facing the world and the beautiful city of Rakhin had mellowed her out while they made Melania ever morose by the week.


    It was all too much, but Princess Trianna could hardly ignore the problems. After all, as of a few weeks ago, the hunger had finally reached even the high table in the form of smaller dinners and no lunches at all.


    The criers said it was so that the King could stand with the people in their hour of need, but the truth was far simpler: the granaries were nearly empty. All it had taken was a single winter of hardship and refugees, and now famine was already stalking them.


    She could see the hunger in her face when she looked in the mirror. The King had promised that the mages he¡¯d hired would ensure a bountiful harvest; normally, such a promise would have been enough, but then these weren¡¯t the stately grand maguses of Abenend. These were hedge wizards and worse.


    In any normal year, her father would have burned men like this at the stake to curry favor with the church, but then, there was no church now. At least, there wasn''t a functional one, she corrected herself. The buildings were still there, and many of the priests remained, but they had neither miracles to give nor insights to offer.


    ¡°Close the window, Princess,¡± Melania said finally, rousing her from her fugue state. She had no idea what she¡¯d missed of their conversation in the interim. ¡°It¡¯s getting cold out, and you¡¯ve only just gotten well again.¡±


    The Princess did as she was instructed and returned to her embroidery, but no peace came from the gentle activity. She would have given anything for the laughter and gossip that Zethenia had overflowed with last year to make a return, but sadly, it was not to be. Instead, every topic was glum. If it wasn¡¯t about the city, the church, or the starving masses, it was a topic that was somehow adjacent.


    ¡°My father says the rats are getting worse,¡± Zethenia said finally. ¡°Can you imagine a rat the size of a dog?¡±


    ¡°Why would he tell you such awful things,¡± the Princess asked.


    ¡°Oh, he didn¡¯t,¡± she laughed. ¡°I was snooping, you see. He was telling my brother about how one of his guards had been on the lower levels and lost a leg to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hush!¡± the Princess commanded. ¡°You¡¯ll give me nightmares.¡±


    She picked up her pillow and began working on another of the yellow daises she was sewing on it to calm herself, and then she turned to her other lady in waiting instead. ¡°How about you, Melania? Surely you must have some juicy gossip to share that doesn¡¯t involve legs or rats or anything else that¡¯s full of awfulness?¡±


    She was quiet for a moment, uncharacteristically quiet. It was only after Princess Trianna looked up at her that she started to speak. ¡°I heard an interesting story two days ago, actually. It''s a sort of myth or prophecy, but it¡¯s much too dark to share with you, my lady. You would certainly have nightmares.¡±


    ¡°A prophecy?¡± the Princess asked. ¡°But all the priests have lost their sight. How could there be a new prophecy?¡±


    ¡°Those poor priests can¡¯t even say when the sun will rise,¡± Zethenia smirked. ¡°I pity them. The ladies of Lunaris still speak to their Goddess, though, do they not? Perhaps such a thing is her work or one of the lesser cults.¡±


    ¡°I think that a prophecy from the moon Goddess would be filled with more hope,¡± Melania smiled sadly. ¡°Alas, I have none to give. That¡¯s why I think that I shouldn¡¯t¡ª¡±


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    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be like this,¡± Zethenia said. ¡°Spill it. The Princess wants to hear it, don¡¯t you, my lady?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± she said tentatively. She wasn¡¯t sure if that was true, though. She did want to hear anything to get her mind off that terrible rat joke that Zethenia had told, even if it couldn¡¯t have possibly been true.


    Melania¡¯s eyes twinkled then like she was considering holding out on her friends a while longer, but instead, she sat down her sewing and leaned forward. ¡°If I tell you this, you must swear not to tell anyone. Not your priest. Not your father. If the wrong people found out this story, then the poor washerwoman I heard it from would get beaten quite severely, and the poor dear has given me such wonderful charms over the years. I want only the best for her.¡±


    Both of them promised of course, though Zethenia did want to know if she was a worshiper of Oroza as she was a washerwoman, but both of her friends laughed at her for that.


    ¡°The Oroza River is hundreds of miles from here,¡± Melania teased. ¡°I do not think she goes that far each day to wash my petticoats. She worships our own river Narridar, as most of the right-thinking servants do, and to the best of my knowledge, there¡¯s never been any evil to be found within it.¡±


    The Princess nodded at that and was about to ask about the prophecy, but her lady-in-waiting continued. ¡°None of this has to do with what I heard, though. This is not a river prophecy. It''s the kind of warning that would get you burned in the square if Siddrim¡¯s flock were still with us. It''s a prophecy of darkness and a warning delivered in dreams. Knowing all that, are you sure you still wish to know? It won¡¯t be on my conscience if you have nightmares over this.¡±


    They both insisted they were ready, so Melania plowed ahead. ¡°There¡¯s a certain story that travels from servant to servant and from household to household, even if no one tells each other. It is not spread by whispers. Instead, it is spread by the night and the spirits that fear the light. Some say it started far to the west, and others say it comes from somewhere to the south, where the dead have risen and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Those are just stories,¡± the Princess interrupted. ¡°If the dead had risen, my father would have raised an army already.¡±


    The fact that he was in the midst of raising an army, or that he sometimes looked incredibly afraid after discussions with his generals, were beside the point here. Her father had told her that there was no evil magic, and that he was merely raising men to defeat the rising tide of banditry, and she believed him.


    ¡°As you say, my lady,¡± Melania nodded. ¡°Wherever the story comes from, it is always the same. The shadows warn a village or a town or a city: ¡®Give us your strongest. Give us your bravest. Give us your most revered, or doom shall befall all who live here.¡¯ It¡¯s a terrifying thing, but according to the rumors spread by merchants and travelers, the worst thing about it is that it¡¯s true.¡±


    ¡°True?¡± Zethenia asked. ¡°True that the people in these places are killing their own, or that doing so averts the promised doom?¡±


    ¡°Both,¡± Melania said with a smile that the Princess felt like a punch to the gut. ¡°The places that ignore the rumor curse the day they did, but many of those that are forced to sacrifice so much to save themselves curse that too. Wives kill husbands. Children kill mothers. People do whatever they have to to get through this awful winter, and if they don¡¯t, then one day, disaster befalls the village, and everyone dies anyway. There¡¯s no happy ending to this story. Sometimes everyone dies, but most of the time, even the survivors are still miserable.¡±


    ¡°What a dreadful story,¡± Princess Trianna said, struggling not with the actual words but with the feeling of dread they had given her.


    ¡°I agree,¡± Zethenia said. ¡°It¡¯s absolute rubbish. There¡¯s no way so many good people would kill someone close to them just because of the story.¡±


    ¡°Probably not,¡± Melania agreed, ¡°But you wanted a rumor to pass the time, and now you have one. Maybe next time you can think of a better story for us instead.¡±


    They returned to their sewing, but the Princess wasn¡¯t able to escape those terrible thoughts. She could tell herself that what her lady-in-waiting had said wasn¡¯t true all she wanted, but even if she believed that urge, some part of what it had said resonated. If it wasn¡¯t the actual truth, it was certainly close, and that was frightening to think about.


    <hr>


    That night, dinner was a somber affair, as it usually was. Soups had replaced salads with almost every meal now because fresh vegetables were in such short supply. At least the thick slices of bread were good, though.


    It used to be that Princess Trianna didn¡¯t much care for them, but now she ate as much as she could without appearing greedy. Her plates had never been so clean, but then the portions had never been smaller. She listened to her father drone on and on about tax revenue and requests from the Bishop but mentioned absolutely nothing that might lead her to believe the world was ending.


    Once, she worked up the nerve near the end to ask him about the fire she¡¯d seen earlier, but he merely shrugged. ¡°I was told that nothing of importance burned down, and no one that mattered was harmed by the deputy guard captain,¡± he said with a shrug. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t worry about it. It¡¯s only a few less mouths to feed. Nothing more. Already, the weather is turning, and things shall straighten right out.¡±


    She wanted to believe him, of course. Her brothers did, and her mother seemed to, too. Still, she worried. Something was very wrong. She¡¯d felt it for weeks now, but Melania¡¯s prophecy had clarified it. Those dark words had crawled up into her ear and made themselves right at home.


    That night, she dreamed of the hunger spreading through the city. She watched herself waste away in the mirror as it happened. The rats boiled up out of the sewers and the tunnels, and they chewed away at the walls of the buildings, only they began to shrink. Day after day, the city got smaller. The castle was affected too, and eventually, her high tower window was only a few feet above the stinking cesspool that was the rat-filled streets.


    That was when she woke up, just when her sill had gotten low enough that the rats were trying to crawl inside her rooms. She would have kept them out, but she was too weak from starvation by then and practically a skeleton herself.


    That wasn¡¯t what she thought about, though, as she lay there in her sweat-soaked nightgown, though. She didn¡¯t think about the rats or her beautiful body wasting away or anything. All she could think about was how her father had stayed pleasantly plump on his throne right until the end. Even when the city had been reduced to rubble and a seething sea of vermin, he still sat there amiably on the throne, and all she could do was wonder at what that might mean.

 Ch. 117 - Breach

    When everything was in position, and the last red sun had set, Tenebroum¡¯s forces began flooding out of its tunnel into the nearly undefended bottom lands. It was an idyllic landscape, complete with a perfect, picturesque sunset that quickly faded to darkness. It was that beauty and peace that made the Lich so sure that the whole of the region was completely unprepared for what was about to happen next. After all, here, the chill of its eternal dark had not reached these distant lands yet, so even its harvest was shaping up to be decent in a few weeks.


    Pumpkins and melons were ripening, and grain stood heavy on the stalk despite the weak and intermittent light. Some of the villages had even started decorating for their harvest festivals already. It was almost a pity that by the time the night was over, there would be so few living souls left to harvest it.


    Much of those crops were trampled under rotting feet anyway as its legions moved forward. Neither the Lich nor its paragon that had planned this assault and all the ones that followed expected any resistance tonight, and all of its most powerful constructs were kept in reserve in case of ambush while it flooded the field with its most disposable assets.


    The plans made no effort to despoil as much of the land as possible. Instead, the paths and actions were a matter of pure efficiency and logistics. Cavalry was deployed to attack the widely scattered farmsteads that were far from the cities and villages it aimed to eradicate with its slower-moving legions. Everything moved with a purpose, and given how much ground there was to cover, little effort was made to increase the suffering of its victims as they cowered in fear or ran for their lives.


    There were no surprises, save for perhaps the looks of horror of those that actually survived. Its general advised that it extinguish all life, and the Lich acknowledged that was the correct move, but something about allowing one house in ten or one village in twenty to survive because the inhabitants had bent the knee and done what it had taken to survive amused it to no end.


    Tenebroum could hear their prayers now. The pathetic things blossomed every night when the sun set and the people who begged it for mercy grew afraid. They were always the same. They pleaded for the lives of their family and whimpered for the darkness to spare them. It found such things to be intoxicating.


    In all of its existence, only the worship of the Lizardmen had come close, and it made Tenebroum envy what the other gods must already have all the more. It did not know if it would found a church, no matter how much Verdenin begged it to as the man flogged himself and the other worshipers nightly in the under temple, but as far as it was concerned, such tainted souls should be savored, and it would feast on their blood only once they¡¯d lost their fear, or perhaps their obedience.


    Not all the villages fell without a fight, though. There were still heroes worthy of the name in the mortal world. In places, they had banded together, and sometimes they even had mages or ensorcelled weapons. Some of these warriors fought well enough for the Lich to let them face their end at the hands of its small number of death knights.


    The only consideration the Lich¡¯s forces gave to these enemies was to try to keep their corpses as intact as possible for reanimation. Some of them would be joining those rarefied ranks soon enough. Not every corpse needed to become a drudge. That would be a waste of talent and resources.


    Palisade walls fell to deathless strength, and no matter how many pikes and halberds a community might muster, they meant nothing to a tight formation of three hundred zombies that never tired or faltered.


    The only problem with the night was that it didn¡¯t last long enough. Tenebroum watched, and it fed the whole evening long, retreating only when the sun rose as the first wave of its troops settled into place. They used caves meant for aging cheese, root cellars that normally stored produce, and the stone forts of the fallen.


    The bodies would be harvested later and repurposed, but for now, the most valuable things that the humans could offer it were staging locations for other, larger assaults. The light of the fragile suns was its only real enemy until it reached the castles that served as the bulwark of humanity¡¯s defense, but they would not survive an assault.


    As the Lich devoured the souls of the fallen, it learned more about the lay of the land and the history of the area. It learned about Black Gate and the feuding lands. It saw the twin fortresses of East and West Banath and the pass they defended. None of those were its next target, though. That would be Constantinal, The Undefeated City. It was still more than three nights of conquests from here, but the Lich felt drawn to the giant. Of all the cities in the region, it was the largest and the most well-defended.


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    The spirits of the damned whispered that it had never fallen, but Tenebroum did not care about such things. It would be the first to claim it for its wealth in both blood and treasure. For generations, it had served as the gateway to the West, buying and selling grain and wine far and wide, but that rich history would end soon because it had something the Lich sorely craved: a web of catacombs and the gold and silver to make a second, larger laboratory for its northern campaign and there was no place better in the region.


    Those proud walls would fall, but that was still days away. For now, it did not tip its hand. Night by night, its legions of the dead, which now numbered in the tens of thousands, spread in all directions, murdering indiscriminately and leaving only the most craven and fearful survivors behind to thank it for its mercy. The simple farmers had started calling it the reaper, and the Lich thought that was an apt enough name for what it was doing. It was, after all, conducting the largest, bloodiest harvest of souls that the world had ever witnessed.


    Only one of its expanding fronts contained the many works of art that its minions had spent years crafting, and they advanced north toward its primary target. After four nights of blood and fire, there could be no true surprise attack on the waiting city.


    Even as its legions massed just at the edge of arrow range and the Lich¡¯s General surveyed the field, it saw no issues. The thirty-foot-high stone walls stood opposite the natural moat formed by the forking river, and the defenses were crowded with soldiers. Even catapults and ballistas had been installed and manned, but even though they started to fire as its forces marched forward, they would do precious little good.


    The beat of its soldiers'' feet matching in perfect lockstep shook the earth as they approached, though the inhuman rhythm damaged nothing but the defenders'' morale. It was obvious to anyone that they all desperately hoped their walls would hold, but the Lich knew that the mighty defenses would only matter a few minutes more. Anything beyond that would take more magic than these pitiful creatures possessed.


    Its constructs didn¡¯t stop at the water¡¯s edge, either, though the Lich might have summoned its Titan to build them a bridge. This far from Oroza¡¯s water, it did not expect that it would need to, though. Instead, they just marched right over the bottom toward the walls. The ladders they would use to climb them didn¡¯t move forward yet. Not until the Lich¡¯s shadow dragon soared down from the night sky and made the foot-thick oaken gates evaporate with a single gout of ebon flame.


    The dragon quickly fled after that. One of the primary lessons of Siddrimar had been just how fragile that creature was, so it needed to be used sparingly. After all, even if the light was no longer an enemy that it needed to fear, it could still feel a God¡¯s work somewhere in this battle, and if rivers could have their own deities, then it would not be surprised to find out that cities could have them as well.


    The God of Constantinal did not reveal himself until Tenebroum¡¯s skeletal centipede calvary crawled up the outermost wall of the city, and the zombies began to pour over top of them. Then, he appeared in a flash of mana directly over the damaged gatehouse.


    The Lich gave the signal, and a number of ravens filled with alchemical concoctions took to the sky in an attempt to murder or weaken the divine opponent. The shadow dragon even wheeled around to take another pass, but before any of its dark servants could reach their target, the divine spirit vanished again. In its place, all the heroes that had been carved into the stony rampart sprang to life.


    The Lich had learned of this myth in passing from those it had slaughtered, but it had found such an outcome unlikely. The Heroes of old springing to life was a tale that was almost as old as the city itself, but it hadn¡¯t happened in living memory.


    Even though Tenebroum had not given the myth credence, its general had prepared for it just in case, and members of the Legion of Rust had been dispersed throughout the ranks. While not as brutally effective against flesh as the war zombies, they still bore tools meant for taking stone apart, and that was what they did tonight.


    While the rest of its forces focused on the living defenders and moved past them into the city proper, its broken, metallic dwarves made short work of the stony defenders with their kobold teeth-tipped picks. In the stories, those heroes could hold the largest of armies at bay until the end of days, for they needed neither food nor rest. Against the Lich, they barely lasted an hour. After that, the back of the mortal defenders was broken.


    There were still pockets of defense here and there, but the Lich was content to let them hold out a while as its death knights advanced on the city''s temples and the palace of the local duke while the gutters of the city ran red with blood. It would need living sacrifices for the days that lay ahead, and that meant that it could hunt down the remaining forces at its leisure. After all, the people that had cowered behind their strong walls had been too thick to kneel to the darkness. So, here, at least, every life was fair game.


    It looked around the battlefield with a feeling of only faint triumph. Taking the unconquered city had been less difficult than it had thought it would be, and the only thing that would cheer it up after such a let-down was finding the small god of the city and devouring him whole.

 Ch. 118 - Night After Night

    When the full moon touched her waters, Oroza could feel Lunaris¡¯s call. It was the first time since her brush with darkness so long ago that the moon sang to her rather than silently judging from its high perch. She could have resisted it, of course, but what would have been the point of that?


    If the moon was calling, then there was a reason, and she should pay heed. So, the river dragon swam toward the reflection and then dove into it. As she dove deeper and deeper than her river actually was. She was in the sky now and making the long, slow track into the sky.


    This deep the blackness of the void was spread out from her in all directions, and the stars were just coming into view. The moon was the only constant, and slowly, it began to grow until it filled all of Oroza¡¯s vision. This wasn¡¯t her first trip to the moon, but it was her first trip in decades, and as she transformed back into a woman and stood upon the surface, she noted the oily footprints that were left behind in her wake and sighed at just how much work was left to purify herself.


    It was a maddening thought, of course, but it was a work that would take a lifetime, and that lifetime wouldn¡¯t start until she finally dislodged the evil that had settled comfortably on her western banks like a cancer.


    As she strolled through the albino gardens along the alabaster path, it was easy to see that she wasn¡¯t alone. Other Gods, great and small, had received the same invitation that she had, and all had come. She saw the fox god of trickery and deceit, padding along another path to her left and Niama, Goddess of the wild places among the trees, off to her right.


    Those ones, Oroza recognized because she shared an affinity with them, but for every God she recognized, there were two more she did not, and most of these were small gods like her. Gods of a mountain, a river, or a city were far more common than the Gods that governed all of creation.


    Large and small, they were all going to the same place, though. Ahead of them loomed the high temple with its great amphitheater. It could seat thousands, which was enough for every God in the world to comfortably sit and listen with Siddrim, Lunaris, or any of the other greater Gods who had something important to say. Siddrm was absent, though, and his golden throne on the dias sat empty.


    Normally, Oroza would sit with the other river and nature Goddesses, but when she saw the way that they looked at her, with a mixture of pity and revulsion, she chose to sit far away from anyone on the far side of the giant place. She did not need to be reminded of what she¡¯d become, and certainly not like that.


    Eventually, when new arrivals stopped filing in and all were seated, Lunaris stood to dress the assembled crowd. She was a full-bodied, motherly woman with white-blond hair tied back in a tight braid, and her pale armor was polished to a fine sheen as benefitted the guardian Goddess. Only her shield was missing, and that, of course, was because one of her handmaidens was carrying it across the night even now. The world could not be left in darkness. Not with all that had happened.


    ¡°Siddrim is dead,¡± Lunaris pronounced, letting the words settle in for several seconds before she continued. ¡°His horses still live, and his chariot is being mended by the All-Father, but the fire that lights the world is no more.¡±


    No one said anything, but the wave of grief and sadness that radiated out from the assembled divinity was palpable. It wasn¡¯t enough to stop the lunar Goddess from continuing, though.


    ¡°We do not come to mourn him, and though in time we may replace his light, but we will never replace his nobility or divinity.¡±


    Or his vanity, Oroza thought to herself. She still fumed silently about the way that his worshipers had decimated her own. Not that she could blame him. Siddrim had done little in the mortal realm for more than a century. He was the God that had vanquished evil, so he had grown lazy and indolent.


    For the last few decades, he¡¯d done little more than ride his chariot, bask in his own reflection, and plan ever larger temples in his own honor. Even that wasn¡¯t enough to justify his death, though.


    ¡°Now, the same darkness that slew him is spreading across the land, and we know so very little about it. Who is doing this? Where did it come from? Only two of you have touched this thing and survived the experience. I invite you to tell us now before more fall to the growing evil.¡±


    While she spoke, Lunaris gestured broadly, and faint moonlight illusions appeared around her. Images of dark armies marching and cities on fire. Most of the violence that she showed was the very war that Oroza had tried so hard to prevent, but there were other abominations, too. Wives killed husbands, and children killed fathers, only to bury the bodies in strange locations or wipe the blood of their victims above the doors of their household.


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    The things that the moon Goddess showed them were strange, barbaric acts, but the whole time Lunaris showed them such terrible things, Ozora could feel the woman¡¯s piercing yellow gaze, even from so far away. Finally, all of it was enough to move Oroza to speak, but as soon as the river goddess opened her mouth, the All-Father spoke up instead.


    ¡°The fiend is the blackest magics from the darkest pits at the very core of the world!¡± he yelled, with a voice suffused with barely contained rage. ¡°It crawled up from the depths and devoured an entire temple of the dead in a single night, turning my own hallowed dead against me!¡±


    The dwarven lord continued to speak, but Oroza ignored him. Instead, she stood and started walking down to the central dias. Where the greater gods were assembled. The All-Father might be speaking earnestly and passionately, but he did not know what he was talking about.


    Still, he kept right on talking about it for the next ten minutes, regaling everyone in attendance with the war that was being waged beneath the world, under their mountains. The only thing he didn¡¯t elaborate on at length was a secret counter-attack that had already been set in motion.


    It was only when he finally finished that she said softly, ¡°You do not know of what it is you speak.¡±


    ¡°Why I¡ª¡± the All-Father said, his face purpling as he moved to stand. He was not a man to be gainsaid. She knew that. She just didn¡¯t care.


    He stopped speaking when Lunaris raised a hand. ¡°Let my daughter speak. She has been through much and means no disrespect.¡±


    Didn¡¯t I? Oroza thought as she smiled grimly. That isn''t what she said, though. Instead, she turned and faced the assembled mass of the several hundred Gods and Godlings that had shown up.


    ¡°That monster is not made of shadows. It devours them. It¡¯s been growing in the swamps near my river for decades, but I didn¡¯t know, Not until it devoured me.¡± She flushed with shame as she remembered that terrible dual and just how badly she¡¯d been out-maneuvered. ¡°I know exactly what it is because I¡¯ve been forced to serve that darkness for decades.¡±


    As Oroza spoke, she lifted one of her hands to show the raw scars where the manacles had chafed at her for so long. Then, Without any warning, she reverted into water. Instead of becoming the sallow, emaciated river dragon that she was now, though, she became a watery representation of the Lich itself to give everyone a good look at what it was they were up against.


    Slowly, she grew in height, and her features melted away until she was nothing but a three-legged, four-armed skeleton in the ugly beetle carapace that her former master wore into battle. There were gasps of shock and horror as she donned such an ugly face. She couldn¡¯t blame them. It was a visage that would likely haunt her for the rest of her days.


    ¡°The evil that held me in chains has been laboring long for this war, and all of us are off guard as a result,¡± she said, spreading her four arms wide. ¡°I thought that with the help of the few that remained loyal to Siddrim, I could hold back the tide of darkness myself, but I was wrong. It will spread in all directions now, and each time you confront it, it will learn from you.¡±


    ¡°No corpse will outsmart me,¡± Ronndin, the fox God, bragged. ¡°I will seek out his weakness so that we might dispose of him the way that we have all the other dark gods that have littered history.¡±


    ¡°This is not the same as those that came before,¡± Oroza implored him. The fox god was known for being clever but not for being humble, and that was exactly the wrong combination of traits for this situation. ¡°The Lich¡­ it has the mind of hundreds of humans screaming and chattering inside its awful skull. Whatever idea you had, however smart you think you are, a madman has thought of it first, and the Lich has already tried it out in its terrible workshops; it makes¡ª¡±


    ¡°It makes nothing!¡± the All-Father roared. ¡°The monstrosities that this Lich has are not creation! They are abomination!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what you call it,¡± she urged, ¡°but you should be careful not¡ª¡±


    ¡°The world has been careful for too long,¡± Istiniss cried out, silencing her, even as Oroza began to deflate into her smaller human form once more. The God of sea and storms was louder than she was ever going to be. ¡°We must rise as one now and crush this thing. Why shouldn¡¯t we? We know its game and where its strange little lair hides. Nothing can save it from our wrath.¡±


    Oroza exchanged a glance with Lunaris for a brief moment, and then she started to walk towards the exit. The gods could rarely agree on anything, but in this, the river goddess was sure they would all find accordance. Those who had churches and armies sworn to their name would rally against the Lich, and those who didn¡¯t would help in smaller ways.


    Despite the fact that the whole might of heaven had been united against her tormentor, she was not comforted. Even as she left the amphitheater and walked back along the path to the edge of the moon, she couldn¡¯t help but feel like her efforts had made things worse, not better.


    At the end of the path, Oroza found Lunaris waiting for her. ¡°We will need your help, sister, only you know what it is we face.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what you are asking,¡± Oroza said, tears welling in her eyes.


    The moon goddess did something Oroza didn¡¯t expect then and embraced her. She stroked Oroza¡¯s lank black hair and soothed her, which only caused the river goddess to cry harder.


    ¡°One day, I will tell you the story of why the moon turns dark every month,¡± Lunaris whispered. ¡°We all have our own pain to bear. It is unforgivable, but there is no changing it. All you can do is keep others from finding out how deep the darkness is for themselves.¡±

 Ch. 119 - Cat And Mouse

    After Ghroshian ate the rats, they started on the cats. That was followed quickly by the dogs, the old, the sick, the very young, and anyone else who happened to stay the night somewhere beneath the city in the domain that very quickly was turning into their sole hunting ground.


    None of these sated their hunger, though. Eating never did. That was what drove them. That was why they wouldn¡¯t be able to stay hidden forever. They¡¯d never mastered that trick. They were tens of thousands of hungry mouths now, lurking and listening beneath floorboards and at the edge of candlelight conversations, and after only a few months, they touched almost every part of the city.


    The corpses of the men they devoured gave up their secrets, too, but they were small things about how they died, and the swarm wanted something more tangible and satisfying. Knowing that this person was betrayed for love and that one for money was only interesting for as long as it took to finish feasting on their entrails. After that, they were already hungry again.


    Food was in short supply in the capital right now and carefully guarded by those who had it. Secrets and stories, though, those flowed more freely thanks to the fear that freely haunted the streets, and the growing god of hunger and famine fed on those too.


    They heard about wars and rumors of wars and that the dead either did or had recently walked the earth. They heard that the fields were heavy with grain and that the rot was spreading. Most of the rumors were contradictory, but most agreed on one thing, which, at least at first, the rat god ignored: Siddrim was dead.


    Such a thing was unconscionable, but it was widely regarded as true. Priests still prayed, and believers still left offerings at the shrines to the saints, but if rumors were true, that great glowing bastard was no longer in the heavens where he belonged.


    If that was the case, though, then why were there still days? Why were there still nights? Why was the order of the heavens maintained? They asked themselves these questions a dozen times a day but found no answers.


    In the end, the only way to know for sure would be to test the light. If they sent out a tendril into the world above, and that part of them was smote, then it would know that Siddrim¡¯s death was a ruse and that its doom was only a season or two away.


    So, for a long time, it clung to the shadows. It was only when it noticed the poor state of even the grand temple, that they crept closer for a better look. They knew from past experience that hallowed ground was every bit as deadly as daylight. Just thinking about it triggered memories of the past when they had crossed paths with the Lord of Light and other similar deities.


    Tonight, though, there was no sting. There was no burning or holy fire. The single small mouse it had sent to sacrifice quickly scurried past the barrier and under a pew, where it proceeded to look for forgotten scraps. For several long minutes, the rest of the swarm held back worried that this was some sort of trap. It was only when its sacrificial scout found a stale crust of bread and began to gnaw at it greedily that the rest of themself charged forward, the danger forgotten.


    Still, even in the three hours it took to ravage the place of anything remotely edible, right down to the scrolls and leather bindings, no divine punishment came. Morning light caused them to retreat, but even that might not have been dangerous. They were not inclined to test the boundaries of their newfound freedom that far, though.


    Still, the next night, the swarm devoured every offering at every shrine in the whole city within an hour of sunset. If that was fair game now, then they would make sure it would not go to waste.


    From there, they wondered what it should do next. Ghroshian seemed to be in no serious danger. Normally, they would spread themselves out further and begin to hide in the cargo holds of ships as well as wagons that were leaving the city, but there seemed to be few enough of either group right now. Traffic only came to the city of Rahkin now. The only thing that seemed to leave was the army.


    According to the rumors, more men went to fight every day. There was a war somewhere to the west. Some said it was over food and farming, and others said it was because of something darker or even apocalyptic. No one agreed on anything except that the strong young men of the city were leaving in formations every few weeks, and not one of them had been seen since.


    They wondered what they should make of that, but lacked the means to follow and explore the issue more fully. If any of their brothers were loose on the world, it would know. It was not easy to hide the presence of any of the Malzekeen, and Ghroshian was by far the most subtle of the three. Hunger was a quiet force that no one wanted to talk about, but rot and ruin? As soon as the first traces of a real plague set in, the people of the city would be on fire in panic, and to date, that had not happened.


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    Certainly, they had never expected to be free again. Siddrim had burned cities and boiled lakes to kill every last member of their tiny swarm and then buried them with lead and stone, but now, as it gazed out at the wild places and the fields beyond the furthest villages, they saw a whole world waiting to be eaten, but it knew that the world out there was just waiting to eat it as well. The natural world was far more aware of its existence than the world of man.


    In time, Ghroshian could no longer resist the fields and the bountiful forests. They had eaten everything in this wretched capital city that would not be missed and were already beginning to gnaw their way past the bricks of the remaining granaries when they decided to have a taste of the wider world. None of the mice that had been dispatched on ships had grown into large enough swarms for them to be aware of each other yet, but in this case, it was impatient.


    Rather than sending out a few rats and hoping they would grow in time, the swarm dispatched an entire pack of knotted-tail ratkings to go and take what they could by force. The hunger pangs would not allow them to do any less.


    The first three days they were in the fields and vineyards, they feasted, ruining whole stretches of farmland that might have been enough to feed Rahkin for several days. They should have returned after that, but they couldn¡¯t. That victory only made them crave more successes.


    So they slipped into the forest. That was where they found her. Ghroshian didn¡¯t remember what her name was, but he remembered that she was bad news the moment he saw the tawny hunting cat condense from the pale rays of starlight that penetrated the forest canopy.


    Until that moment, the pack of vermin was devouring the doe and her fawns that they¡¯d brought down a few minutes before, but as soon as they saw the magical, glowing beast, they left their prey and fled as fast as they could. Each rat king went in a different direction to force the goddess in an animal skin to make a choice, but it didn¡¯t go as planned. Instead, she burst apart into a murder of white albino crows and gave chase to each of them simultaneously.


    The swarm didn¡¯t know why it feared her so much. A rat king was a match for a handful of crows in any normal circumstances, but tonight, it knew that its only choices were death or escape and that being forced to face her would certainly lead to the former.


    Even as they rushed as a frantically squeaking mob, the first rat king was ripped to pieces in less than a minute. The second and third didn¡¯t last long after that, either. Soon, the fourth one was all alone while the bones of the rest of the packs were consumed, and the birds harried them no matter which direction they ran, but the glowing wildlife that chased them would not give up.


    The Rat King couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that they were being toyed with. If they hid in a hollow log, the birds would become a badger, and if they forced their way inside a rabbit burrow, then they would become a snake. Shaking their pursuers became almost as impossible as making their way back to the safety of the city.


    All hope was finally lost when they decided to bolt through the starlit glade toward the swampy area that lay on the other side. There, moonlight became a prison, holding the growling mob of rats entwined together completely, still like an insect trapped in amber.


    They could only stand there helplessly as, one by one, all of the glowing forest creatures came together until they unified into the shape of a giant white owl that was almost as large as a man.


    The rats trembled in fear as she spoke. ¡°I remember you, little pestilence. You are an old taste and not at all welcome in these woods.¡±


    ¡°Then let us free, and we shall not return,¡± the rats squeaked in a quarrelsome and discordant harmony that only barely resembled words. ¡°We swear it!¡±


    ¡°I know the rest of your swarm hears everything I tell you, so there¡¯s no need for you to survive. You are a plague on man and doubly so on nature!¡± she crused as she flapped her wings and became a woman that was either beautiful or old, depending on the light. ¡°You think you can feast on whatever you like because Siddrim is no more, is that it?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Ghroshian squealed. They would have said anything to live, even though they knew they would survive whatever it was she meant to do to them.


    ¡°Well, all that is only temporary. A god as powerful and prideful as him will be back one day, and when he does, he¡¯ll roast you in flames like he did before,¡± she spat, pressing harder. ¡°But even without him, you¡¯re no match for the glories of nature, so feast on my children again at your peril.¡±


    Ghroshian wanted to apologize. They wanted to grovel and beg for forgiveness, but before they could draw another breath, the life from its sole remaining rat king was snuffed out, and its awareness of the forest dimmed to nothing.


    It was only once the rest of the swarm was safe that a righteous anger rose up inside themselves, and all of them chittered together in a chorus of fury. They did not know how, but they swore they would have their revenge. That would have to wait until they discovered who that woman was, though. She obviously knew them, even if they could not yet recall her. They would, though, and soon. Tomorrow, they would devour every book in the library if need be, to learn her name and find out what weapons could be brought to bear against her.

 Ch. 120 - Last Rites

    Tenebroum had built the grotesqueries as shock troops and cannon fodder originally. They were a mixed group of hairy, misshapen things that resembled nothing too much as a herd of spiders made from the cast-off parts of farm animals, with just enough pieces of human left in the mix to easily bind a true soul to them.


    They were hideous things that were the exact opposite of beauty, but the Lich found its own sort of appreciation in those dull-eyed nightmare visages. Some of them contained legitimate experiments in new joint designs that might someday be used in some of its main warrior types, and others had alchemical bombs sewn into their guts so they could be violently detonated at the right moment. Most of them had but one purpose, though. To charge the enemy lines and terrify the superstitious humans before its marching waves of death washed over them.


    That¡¯s not what they were doing today, though. Today, they were scent hounds, stampeding through the tunnels beneath Constantinal, searching for the now-defeated city¡¯s last defender, and they were howling as they went, desecrating every shrine and holy sight as they went.


    The Lich gazed on in contentment from the confines of one of its new bodies in the ruins of the grand chapel that it had just leveled in an attempt to force the slippery spirit of the city to face it, but so far, it had refused to fight with the Lich directly. That was smarter than the darkness would have expected from such a prideful godling, but it could no longer stop the Lich. These games could only slow it down for a few days or a week.


    Already, the bulk of its army was marching to points further north and east where new cities awaited their chance to be turned into graveyards, and already, all of its elite troops were gone. It did not need strength to find the hiding place where the city''s guardian. It only needed numbers.


    Even as the drudges of the recently dead began their nightly labors of moving the city¡¯s forging equipment and the remaining corpses from the walls deep into the catacombs so that this place could be reborn as a new fortified laboratory, the grotesqueries roamed ever wider looking for some new hiding place to defile.


    It was only hours later when one of them was struck down in a single clean blow that gave no hints to who might have vanquished it, that Tenebroum started walking toward that point deep beneath the palace. It was possible that a mortal yet lived, but it was far more likely that the city¡¯s guardian spirit had finally been forced to act, and that was exactly what it had been waiting for.


    It walked through dank, lightless tunnels, hopeful that it would finally face a challenge. Though Tenebroum did not enjoy being bound to a single body, this one was comfortable enough. It was a gilded afraid with only two arms and two legs, but all of the joints had been improved to allow an inhuman range of motion, and each arm split at the elbow, giving it an additional set of hands to wield its shadow blades or cast spells.


    That wasn¡¯t the only oddity on the overwise conventional form, though. The whole thing was made up of increasingly interesting sets of design choices that it had been working on for years. The crown that it wore contained a whole ring of eyes, removing all possible blind spots, and there had been an additional mouth stitched into the esophagus, just above the reinforced clavicle that the breastplate was riveted to so that it could cast those spells even as it spoke, or cast two at once if it needed it.


    It sincerely hoped that it would get to try out some of these new capabilities tonight as its metallic footsteps echoed through the halls of the ossuaries. Eventually, it discovered the vivisected remains of its servant outside of an only barely detectable secret door.


    Not sure what traps might await it, Tenebroum had but to think it, and the piles of bones that had been neatly stored behind it sprang to life. They joined together effortlessly like links of a macabre chain to create a skeleton that was too inhumanly large for any mortal creature, but that didn¡¯t matter to it.


    Together, its temporary giant reached around where the Lich¡¯s golden body stood on an island of stability and placing one man-sized hand on each side of the door, it ripped the thing off the wall completely, revealing an ornate, mosaic-encrusted chapel that was done in blue tile and silver ornaments.


    The Lich let the bones fall to the floor in a chaotic pile, and it walked forward into the hidden temple. It was likely a trap, but the Lich would be happy to fight the godling in its place of power, so long as it could finally snap its neck and consume its soul.


    The place was empty, though. Statues that would no doubt come to life and try to kill it ringed the outer walls, but Tenebroum was unconcerned. Only a single candle on the altar lit the room, and as the Lich approached it, it flickered.


    ¡°I will drag your city down brick by brick if you do not reveal yourself,¡± The Lich shouted. ¡°Or maybe you want to stay behind and see what it is I do to your reanimated corpse?¡±


    The Lich vomited out a stream of pure shadows from its second mouth in an attempt to extinguish the flame, but though it danced and guttered, it did not go out.


    ¡°You think that power can overcome every challenge before you,¡± a disembodied voice rang out from somewhere in the dark. ¡°This is the folly of youth and why it will never overcome technique and mastery.¡±


    ¡°So old age is what¡¯s made you fearful, then?¡± The Lich called out as it looked for its opponent, who still remained frustratingly elusive.


    The other flames on the candelabra began to light. It was almost as if the Lich had struck a nerve, and it pressed the point. ¡°Thirty thousand lives lost, and the unconquered city is in ruin, all because you refuse to face me.¡±


    The candles all flared to life in unison as the voice called out once again, ¡°I know what you are, just as surely as I know what battlefields are hopeless. You are the one that chose to face me here. Remember that!¡±


    Even as the godling spoke, the statues all began to stir as Tenebroum expected, and it sighed as its four shadowed sabers materialized in its hands.


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    When it was three-on-one, the Lich easily beheaded all three opponents, though that didn¡¯t stop them from continuing to fight blindingly. When that number increased to six and then eight on one it fought with a bit more finesse and defensiveness. With four blades, it could be almost everywhere at once, and though its enemies notched and pitted blades held against its arcing dark magics, their stone limbs were still vulnerable, and they lost those without much difficulty.


    It was a dizzying assault that was nearly overwhelming, even for it and the spirits of great sword masters that it had enslaved in each of its limbs. That wasn¡¯t a problem either, though. With a few chanted words, the piles of bone just outside the room assembled themselves and charged into the room to aid their master.


    The result was chaos, but it was a well-orchestrated chaos. Individually, the skeletons stood no chance against the stone constructs, but that wasn¡¯t their role. They were there to distract the things just enough for them to slay them, which was exactly what happened next.


    Tenebroum lost itself in the dance of the blades. It moved from opponent to opponent for the next several minutes and shattered the heart of each of the warriors, rendering them into nothing more than gravel that collapsed to the floor. Each death came with the loss of several skeletal warriors, but then, that was what pawns were for.


    ¡°So much for your vaunted skill,¡± the Lich taunted. ¡°Nothing can match an unending supply of bodies, and as soon as you are dead, you will join my side as just another piece.¡±


    ¡°I would rather cease to exist,¡± the voice rang out again. This time, as it did so, the patterns on all of the colorful tiles flickered briefly and began to dance.


    Tenebroum had some hint of what was about to happen next and turned its gaze to the door, but it was already gone. The tiles were moving now, each of them, in a complex puzzle that made shapes appear and disappear almost at random. It was an architectural kaleidoscope, and for the first time in months, it felt a twinge of worry rising up inside it.


    Some of the symbols that appeared and disappeared on the flickering tiles were just random noise, but others were more meaningful. Religious and arcane symbols appeared and disappeared with concerning frequency.


    ¡°You are not the first terror that has swept across this land, and once you are sealed away, my city and the people of the land will rebuild,¡± the sourceless voice declared. This time, as it spoke, it appeared in a shifting gap between the titles. For a moment, the Lich was almost certain it was just a painting or fresco, but then it moved, lashing out quickly with a spear and slaying three of its dwindling skeletons with a single blow.


    Tenebroum moved to follow up, but the opening was already gone. It had been replaced by endless ripping geometric designs and bright blue tiles. It barely had time to get its guard up in all four directions before another blow struck out, followed by another and another.


    The thing it was fighting was the city, and as a consequence, it was the tiled chapel. It was everywhere at once. So even as the Lich parried with two of its hands, it started to attack the walls with its other weapons, trying to find a weak spot.


    The thin layer of glazed ceramic shattered easily enough, but each mark was erased in moments as new tiles slid into view to replace the old ones. ¡°You are foolish, even for a hellspawn,¡± the godling chastised as it continued to rain down blows on the Lich from all directions. ¡°You have already lost, and you do not even understand how.¡±


    The Lich ignored the words and dispelled the blades in two of its hands so it could pound through the wall to the tunnel it knew lay beyond. I would leave and regroup to try again now that it better understood what it was up against.


    There was no hallway beyond the stones, though. Instead, there was an infinite yawning void that extended forever into the star-filled distance. Its mind swam with questions, but it said nothing. It would not show weakness in the face of an adversary.


    ¡°There¡¯s no way out,¡± its adversary said to hammer home the point more than another blow ever could. ¡°You have stepped into my inner sanctum, and as long as the city above still stands, you will never leave it.¡±


    Tenebroum thought the claim was ridiculous. It was the darkness, so the dark could never bind it. It reached out, looking to pierce the illusion and find the way out, but that darkness stretched forever, or at least, nearly so. There was simply nothing out there to find.


    It wasn¡¯t until it reached out to one of the stars in desperation that it could see the truth. Each star was another version of the tiny island it stood on in this void, replicated forever in all directions. For a moment, a twinge of hopelessness went through the Lich as it realized it faced a magic it truly did not understand.


    That was when its opponent struck. Even as Tenebroum¡¯s guard lowered slightly, a lancing blow came out of nowhere. Piercing all the way through both sides of its cuirass in a single powerful strike meant to pierce its heart.


    It did not have one of those, of course. There were a few places on the Lich¡¯s gleaming golden body that could truly harm it, but the heart was not one of them. In fact, the heart was a trap it had built long ago, though it had never planned to use it.


    As the godling¡¯s shining saber pierced Tenebroum¡¯s golden breastplate and shattered the glass, the ooze that had been trapped inside it lurched along the blade in its bid to escape. Against a normal opponent, the purpose would be to let the evil little creation devour the blade and disarm a troublesome opponent.


    In this case, though, the blade was not a physical object. It was an extension of the spirit¡¯s own essence. That was why it moved so quickly and surely. So, the thing that was getting devoured was not its opponent''s weapon but its opponent.


    The godling screamed in pain, and its spear vanished, but it was too late. The darkness had a taste for it now. Even as it stepped back into the maze of its tiles and vanished, the Lich could see its spirit flowing back along the ever-shifting pathways.


    ¡°If you hadn¡¯t gone for a killing blow, you might have been able to keep me here for decades or centuries,¡± it taunted, ¡°But now you can never escape me.¡±


    Then the Lich struck, striking right through the heart of a symbol and into the spirit lurking there, just beyond. With the first blow, the patterns slowed noticeably, but with the third, they came entirely to a stop.


    ¡°It was a clever little puzzle box you built,¡± Teneborum chastised it, ¡°But for all your talk of wisdom and patience couldn¡¯t save you from pressing the advantage, could it?¡±


    There was no one left to respond to its taunts, though. Its opponent was gone, and one by one, all the candles in this Byzantine cathedral winked out until it was once more in the dark where it belonged.


    Now that the city''s god was dead the title faded to dull azure nothingness and began to fall off the walls and vaulted ceilings in pieces. It would have loved to study what it was that had happened here, but it was gone now, and all that remained in its place was a dilapidated grave of another dead god.


    ¡°I will devour this one slowly,¡± the Lich told itself as it left the room. There were many secrets to be picked from the tattered remnants of the screaming, shredded thing that it still held trapped at the center of the whirling maelstrom in its heart.

 Ch. 121 - A Battle of Will

    Tenebroum was still in Constantinal, supervising the stitching together of a monstrosity in the proud, blacked-out cathedral that would eventually serve as the city-factory¡¯s silent supervisor in its absence when the signal arrived in the form of a tortured scream for its ears only. For the first time, one of its probing armies had finally come under attack in a very real way.


    The timing was a shame because it had been looking forward to the final touches of this particular project ever since it had devoured the soul of the small god that had sought to thwart the darkness. It had decided that rather than having dozens of different flesh crafters working at cross purposes, it would make more sense to have a single giant corpse-surgeon using dozens of minds and hundreds of limbs in a dance of pure, efficient madness to pass the constructs from one work station to the next.


    In its dark mind, it was a work of pure beauty. Here, the ribs of the central core formed a shape that was reminiscent of a flying buttress as it arced toward the vaulted ceiling of the defiled place, and there, at its peak, was a crown of a hundred sightless eyes splayed out in every direction to observe the process. They even scattered out across the flesh that was being grafted to the ceiling to ensure that its latest creation would have a view of its work from every angle.


    Unfortunately, the Lich was forced to tear its mind away from all of that as the alarm sounded in its mind as a scream of alert, as its general shattered one of the orbs that Tenebroum had given to it for this very purpose. It could not be everywhere at once, but it could make sure that its servants would be punished badly if they failed to alert it of an emergency.


    It left the claustrophobic bounds of its body and soared through the night sky as a vast sheet of shadows. Once, it had traveled as an invisible spirit, but its power was too vast now. Now, it blotted out the stars when it moved, and animals sickened and died in its wake.


    There had been attempts at knightly charges against some of the smaller tendrils of its army before, only to find that three ranks of armored zombies were only slightly softer than a stone wall. One intrepid lord had even done some real damage by soaking a field in pitch and then lighting it on fire. He had not been killed by zombies like so many of his neighbors. Instead, he was killed by flaming skeletons.


    There had been no real setbacks, though. The only people who survived his armies were those who had done unspeakable things to the ones who loved and trusted them. That chorus of lamentations was growing nightly and was starting to become a noticeable source of essence in the stagnant pool that was otherwise full of the blood of its enemies.


    But someone had apparently rallied a larger force. Large enough for the Paragon to decide it was an emergency worthy of its master''s attention at least.


    Tenebroum arrived half an hour later, but the battle was still underway. There, in a meadow in the midst of a forest, thousands of its zombies had been rooted in place by plant life and were working to free themselves even as giant, ferocious wildlife battered and mauled the outermost ranks.


    It was not at all what the Lich expected. It had thought that a human kingdom might have finally gotten its act together or that some clever mages might have finally sprung some long-prepared trap. This seemed to be nature itself rising up against it, though, which meant that the gods were interfering with it once more.


    At first, Tenebroum just lingered around the edge, fearing a trap. Its warriors were in no great danger, after all, so there was no harm. Some of its centipede Calvary had been smashed to uselessness, but most of the heavy foot soldiers were made out of materials too strong for any wildlife to shatter, no matter how big.


    Indeed, the Lich looked at the packs of dire wolves that were nearly six feet tall at the shoulder with hunger more than fear. They would make more fantastic additions to its army once they had been properly slaughtered, and the Lich issued orders to the whole group to do minimal damage to such precious specimens before it made any attempt to free them.


    Only then did it descend to the battlefield like a fog. The roots and vines began to shrivel as soon as its presence brushed against them, but it didn¡¯t just brush; it grabbed hold and began to travel through them, seeking to find whoever it was on the other side of the connection. The forest was wide and deep, though, and the darkness quickly lost its way amidst the labyrinth.


    Even if it couldn¡¯t find the culprit, it could punish the battlefield, and it began to leach the vitality from every shrub and branch that those circuitous paths were routed through. This took more energy than it gave in the form of decay, but it was still worth it.


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    Within minutes, the bonds that had anchored the zombies in place had withered and the fighting began in earnest. It was no longer a one-sided conflict with a frozen army, and the hot blood of the savage beasts quickly watered the dead plants that covered the ground.


    At some unspoken signal, a volley of arrows was launched from the woods on either side of the conflict. The zombies that they hit came apart in a blaze of light like they¡¯d been struck by holy light or something similar, but most of the arrows missed, harmlessly striking the ground throughout the bloody meadow.


    Tenebroum surged in both directions at once, seeking to find out and slay these new enemies so that it could feast on their spirits and learn all that it needed to know about the threat they posed. It almost caught them, too. It glimpsed the lithe forms and the pointed ears of the forest folk as they fled with their bows, but as it gave chase, the darkness was surprised to find itself suddenly restrained.


    For a moment, it wondered how that was possible. It had already stretched nearly a mile on either side of the ongoing battle, but it found that its vaporous form could stretch no farther. Then, it felt the tug of the arrows. They hadn¡¯t missed it. They¡¯d held it in place for whatever it was that its opponent had planned next.


    The darkness grew wary. It had stumbled into a trap, but it hadn¡¯t been intended for its army. It had been intended for their master. They were only bait.


    No new opponents appeared, though, confusing it. The darkness that was Tenebroum was pinned to the ground here and now, but once its undead soldiers finished slaughtering the animals that beset it, they would quickly free it, rendering the whole thing moot. Shouldn¡¯t time be of the essence, then, it wondered?


    It scanned the battlefield and all approaches through the forest repeatedly, certain that it had missed something, but it was only when the moon began to brighten that it looked up.


    The moon was a shield for the world and a weak replacement for the light of Siddrim¡¯s extinguished sun. It was out almost every night now, if only because the world needed it more than ever. It had never bothered Tenebroum before now. It existed, as far as the darkness understood, to protect the world from the threats that waited in the dark void that surrounded the world in the same way that Siddrim protected the world from the evils contained within. At least, that¡¯s what its library had come to believe, based upon the addition of a number of religious scholars to the choir of unwilling advisors.


    Now, though, it was turning its pale rays upon its stricken form, and as the celestial body began to glow brighter and brighter, it began to smolder and smoke in its most exposed areas. The searing pain was far less of an annoyance than the feeling that it had been baited and outsmarted by some new god it hadn¡¯t been prepared for.


    Even if it let her burn away against it for the rest of its night, that wouldn¡¯t have done much to injure it. After all, even a brightly glowing moon was shaded out by the forest, and most of its form took refuge in it. It was a pointless exercise that was more humiliating than it was dangerous.


    Still, Tenebroum redirected many of its zombies to begin pulling up the arrows that rooted its shade in place seconds before the stars started to fall. It was not about to underestimate whatever it was that it faced any further, and it was fortunate that it did.


    Even though every arrow cost it a minion, as the spells attached to them caused the crude zombies to ignite, it was worth it. As each pinprick was removed, the darkness found that it could move a little more freely. Only a handful of the hateful arrows remained by the time the first comet fell, setting the dying forest on fire, and it was able to move well clear of both the white-blue blast that was strong enough to fell ancient fir trees as well as the hot yellow flames that followed.


    Then, it was free, and Tenebroum retreated from the area to observe the strange situation. Those forces that were free to do so moved forward, dispersing as they went in an attempt to limit further damage. In the end, it was only lowly zombies that were caught in the blast as fireball after fireball erupted, temporarily turning the night into day.


    Some of Tenebroum¡¯s minds had built a tiny observatory, and they had noticed wandering stars, but it had never occurred to it that those might be turned as weapons against it, and it vowed to better understand what might be lurking up there, out of reach in the heavens.


    The moon had already begun to fade as she turned away from the world once more after that, but even before she did so, Tenebroum knew that it had won. It had made whatever nature goddess that worked with the Lunaris suffer mightily, and in time, it would figure out how to strike at the heart of both of those enemies.


    Now, just like the elves it had only managed to glimpse, whatever divine beings were arrayed against the darkness had retreated before it. Even the fires caused by the falling stars had begun to gutter as the clouds that covered the fading moon let forth a little burst of rain. It was like the elements themselves were colluding against it, but Tenebroum was not surprised.


    It was frustrating, but waiting until it knew more was certainly the wisest course of action. Once the danger was passed, and they were moving to assault the next town in the area, it would bring up the issue with its general to see if the tactical mind had any insights into what they should do to counter future attempts.


    In the short term, the answer was clear enough. It would bring Krulm¡¯venor to this place and burn the entire wood to ash until nothing remained. The moon might be out of reach for the moment, but this route would be important to its attempts to move armies further east, and it would be impossible to stage another ambush if all that was left was the ashes of what used to be verdant paradise.

 Ch. 122 - Fog of War

    After the ambush in the woods, Tenebroum laid low. It was not out of fear of the moon, though, but caution. It had built a large bronze telescope with a fine lens that had been made from the clearest glass in the cities that it had sacked, but other than studying the pock-marked surface of Lunaris¡¯s shield as she carried it through the sky every night or the heavily filtered wandering stars that the sun had become, it learned nothing new. So, it sought to steer well clear of her and her machinations.


    Instead, it consulted its servants and studied the field, more aware than ever that it was a target. It had a world full of enemies now, and just because the sun had been shattered and the Lord of Light was no more did not mean that there weren¡¯t other enemies that could slay it, nor that their mortal servants and avatars couldn''t do terrible things.


    Each target was scouted extensively in a variety of ways by different sorts of agents. Blackbirds looked for any signs of physical resistance from the populace, and at the same time, shades stalked the night, looking for more evidence of interference from the divine. It even listened to the pleading prayers of its growing flock for any clues about where resistance to its efforts might be starting to form.


    Sometimes, these efforts located saboteurs or even mages that were eliminated before they could create too much mischief. Devouring their souls was enough to answer many of the questions about the traps they¡¯d planned, but those who had given the order remained a step or two removed and remained inscrutable, much to its growing annoyance.


    It was a simple thing to rip the souls from the still-warm bodies of rogues that were seeking to smash the keystone of a bridge, and it was nearly as easy to make a mage that had secreted themselves on the slopes of the Devlan Pass beg for death before forcing him to spill his guts about how he¡¯d hoped to bury hundreds of zombies underneath a landslide, but that information did little good when they could provide no answers as to who gave the order or paid the bill.


    Only once did the saboteurs manage to strike a serious blow against it, and that was when they made a brazen attack at noon and burned down the barns that it had been sheltering 800 soldiers in away from the harsh light of the sun. The loss was greater than any single battle it had faced, and before the coals of that victory had grown cool to the touch, Tenebroum responded by snuffing out every life within fifty miles to make sure that word of the tactic would not spread and undermine its disparate forces.


    Even those subjects that had otherwise proven themselves loyal to the darkness over the last few months were slain. It simply wasn¡¯t worth the risk that even one person might survive long enough to share such a dangerous idea. After that, though, it tried to limit its reliance on wooden buildings, and whenever possible, it stationed its troops in caverns, fortresses, and mines.


    All these incidents combined to give Tenebroum pause, and after extensive reflection on the subject, it decided that it had become too predictable. For too long, it had operated with the advantage of surprise, but now even a blind man could see what it was up to. All of its movement had been in a single direction and all of its strongest forces were part of a single army, and whoever was watching it from a distance had noticed that, too.


    Was that the influence of the light, it wondered? Was there too much order in its soul now? While the delegation to lesser servants for logistical and tactical purposes had been a great boon, Tenebroum was forced to concede that it was entirely possible that it had become too straightforward over the last year. So, it decided to muddy the waters. It dispatched lightning raids to the north and west and had Krulm¡¯venor burn an entirely unrelated woods to the ground in case it was sending his fiery servant into a trap.


    For the next month, the darkness upset all of its plans. Not because they weren¡¯t correct, but because correct was predictable. That was the true lesson here. It had optimized its general to such an extent that a clever opponent could guess what it would do next. Excessive perfection was not a defect it had previously considered, and Tenebroum considered retiring its Paragon for a time until it could better understand the problem but decided against it.


    It was too valuable a tool, and with so many warriors streaming under the mountain toward the front every day, the ability to delegate the fighting to someone else was vital to the Lich. Instead, it opted to do something that none of its enemies might expect: it sent envoys of peace to every kingdom that was still standing with the same message: swear fealty to the rising shadow, and you may yet live.


    Sometimes, these messengers took the form of a living person and other times, the messenger was a construct custom-built for that purpose. Living messengers were usually either one of the fanatic priests who listened to Verdenin¡¯s increasingly unhinged sermons throwing off the chains of the flesh in rapt joy or a person from one of the villages that its dead armies had spared within the same domain.


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    While there was never a shortage of the latter, it sometimes amused the Lich to compel one of them to make the offer. It knew precisely what would happen to the trembling man or woman that dutifully went to their Lord¡¯s court to make the terrible offer on its behalf, almost as much as it amused the darkness to burn their village down and leave them alive long enough to watch if they refused.


    These poor souls were almost universally executed on the spot for consorting with evil, proving that the dead were a better option. At first, Tenebroum sent ghosts like his favorite bard with these glad tidings, but they were, unfortunately, able to extract very little in the way of retribution because of their nonphysical nature.


    Eventually, Tenebroum started sending skulls to every town and keep days or weeks ahead of its armies. They were simple, custom constructs with a single purpose: they delivered the Lich¡¯s terms, and if those terms were rejected, then they would shriek in outrage, burst into flames, and explode with enough violence that everyone in the room would be shredded by bone shrapnel before they could escape.


    The Lich enjoyed that part so much that it ordered siege engines built just for firing the things at fortified structures. There were many ways to scare mortals half to death and make their essence more palatable for its consumption, but few of them were quite so enjoyable as flaming skulls soaring through the air moments before their death.


    Eventually, the Counts and Barons in the path of its armies came to fear those death''s heads. They dreaded them almost as much as the armies themselves because once they were delivered, the fate of the recipient was sealed.


    In the past, one might be able to refuse it and live for a week or two while its soldiers moved into position. An enterprising Lord might even flee east and try to stay ahead of the armies of death. Now, though, refusing the Lich¡¯s terms came with a very personal cost.


    Not that they were particularly onerous. All that it demanded was 10% of the living, the Lord¡¯s weight in gold and silver, and an oath of eternal allegiance to reject the gods of light and serve the dark. Surprisingly, few were willing to make that deal, though. Even the slenderest of lords seemed willing to risk everyone''s lives for the sake of a few coins.


    It didn¡¯t matter to the Lich that its entreaties were rejected. All that mattered was the division and fear it sowed. How could someone hope to second guess where it was or what it would do next to lay another trap when it seemed that its forces might make peace or strike out in fresh conflict in any direction at once.


    Besides, Tenebroum didn¡¯t want the fealty of anyone who didn¡¯t have those dark, murderous impulses. Disloyal servants would make for better zombies or drudges than they would living, breathing humans that could cause mischief.


    This game occupied it for a time, and as victory after victory stacked up, a few noblemen like Count Wardrick and Duke Elbin sued for peace. The darkness only accepted their offers because it knew just how many skeletons were already in their closets, of course, but it was sufficiently shocking news to echo across the continent and put its opponents on their back foot.


    When the Lich¡¯s forces entirely skipped their kingdoms though and followed through on its pledge of peace, the floodgates opened. Suddenly, every Lord wanted to swear their allegiance to the dark. Tenebroum saw through this too, or at least its puppeteer did. It understood human nature better than any true human, and it could see which groups were playing for time and which sought to position their armies for a stronger counterattack in the rear of the undead army.


    They were foolish thoughts since armies of the dead lacked supply lines in the traditional sense, but even at the end of the world, the powers that be still sought the comfort of the familiar rules of war, and they died to a man. Not a single one of those vipers was allowed to know peace or even given an audience. In fact, the deathheads disappeared altogether after that. Now that its opponents expected it to seek peace, it sought only war once more.


    Why shouldn¡¯t it? Peace had been an interesting diversion, but while the darkness had tens of thousands of subjects in its lands now, corpses outnumbered the living at least five to one, and that ratio only grew by the day.


    It was an interesting calculus. Dead could not betray it, but they were fueled by essence. Every day, it burned whole lakes of the stuff and replenished them through cruelty and murder. Living subjects, on the other hand, provided essence, but at the cost that they were not direct pawns for the Lich to control. There was an argument to be made that it should leave as many alive as it could and make peace with anyone who earnestly wanted it, but that seemed unwise.


    ¡°No,¡± the darkness whispered to its far-flung council. ¡°We have only one offer of peace left, and we must save that for the King after all hope was lost.¡±


    That wouldn¡¯t be too much longer, of course. There were still a few large armies, and the mages seemed to be up to something from their growing fortress on the banks of the Oroza, but in terms of defenses, there was simply nothing to stand in its way for hundreds of miles.


    So, while its general and its copies played at war, growing ever more skilled at striking hard targets with small groups of death knights and maneuvering the larger blocks of troops in the field to optimal positions for the battles that would follow, the Lich began work on yet another new project. This time, it would make a messenger worthy of a King and see what sort of reception it received at court.


    Tenebroum had made many things as deadly as possible, and it had made even more creatures that were optimized for efficiency. It had never attempted to make a construct that was as beautiful as possible, and that, it decided, would be a more interesting project than whatever outcome came of its newest toy.

 Ch. 123 - Payback

    As he walked through the woods, Krulm¡¯venor didn¡¯t dare think about how close the Lich had come to being murdered on this very spot. That wasn¡¯t because the thought made him uncomfortable, though. It was because it made his heart sing like nothing had in years.


    Now that he had a skull full of goblins, keeping secrets bordered on impossible, so it was better simply not to think at all. In that sense, he had finally become the perfect automaton that the Lich had wanted him to be for all these years. He didn¡¯t think about who he killed or why he did it. He didn¡¯t think about all those dwarves he had burned alive. He certainly didn¡¯t think about Oroza and how she had finally managed to slip the chains of the Lich¡¯s commands.


    All he thought about was the next goal, and today¡¯s goal was a simple one: to burn this forest and everything in it to ashes. He didn¡¯t start that immediately, even though it would have been satisfying. Instead, he wandered through the moonlit glades, hoping to attract some sort of attention from the locals.


    Each time some small beast like a fox or an owl flickered across his path, the voices in his head would open up in a hungry chorus of baying and obscenities. For a moment, his only desire in life was to run the thing down and rip it to bloody shreds, but he resisted. He was here for bigger game.


    ¡°Kills it!¡± a small chorus of goblins screeched.


    ¡°Feed us!¡± another shouted over a gibbering, unintelligible din of madness.


    Krulm¡¯venor struggled for a moment to retain control. While he moved through the forest, he kept the blue flames that were his tortured soul at the very minimum. The only visible fires were those that burned in his eyes. Everything else stayed bottled up inside his bones, which were filled with ever-burning coals and rage instead of marrow.


    He could feel strange magics here. The shadows were full of them, though they were not the dark sorceries of his master nor anything to do with flames or other elements that he had a passing knowledge of. They were thinner than that; they were insubstantial, like cobwebs or the oil sheen upon still waters.


    It could very well be a trap, Krulm¡¯venor realized. Behind these illusions, or whatever they were, there might be whole armies waiting in ambush just beyond what he could see. He didn¡¯t care, though. He welcomed death, and that was even true when he was still relatively whole. Each time the Lich sent Krulm¡¯venor against a new opponent, he hoped that the darkness would finally commit some fatal overreach and that he would finally meet his match and be put out of his misery.


    Once he broke apart into dozens of lesser versions of himself, he didn¡¯t care what happened to himself at all. This didn¡¯t make him brave. There was no bravery left in his hollow metal bones. He was filled only with fire and madness now. He would have felt sorry for himself if he still had the privacy for self-pity.


    When the first arrow finally came at him, it was much too quick for him to dodge. It streaked through the night, leaving a trail of white light in its wake, but just before it hit his skull and they saw whether its enchantments or the Lich¡¯s forges were stronger, he ruptured, splitting into two. Each version of him was now a little to either side of the arrow, and it passed harmlessly between them before embedding in a nearby tree, where it exploded in a shower of sparks.


    Maybe this will finally be the end, both versions of himself thought hopefully as they charged into the woods after their unseen target. Neither of them ran directly where they thought it would be. Instead, one version of the fire godling ran wide to the left, and the other ran wide to the right. More arrows came. Enough to know for certain that there was more than one of his opponents. Some even found their mark, and the copy that they stuck was either mangled or eliminated.


    Most of the arrows missed their ever-multiplying targets, even though each division made Krulm¡¯venors fires glow brighter each time, and soon the woods were full of flickering blue lights that might have looked like will-o-wisps to anyone watching the scene play out. The trees didn¡¯t begin to burn, though, not until Krulm¡¯venor had fully surrounded his quarry.


    Thinking was harder now, but the plan was not a complex one. Surround the enemy so they couldn¡¯t escape, then burn them alive. This was where the godling gave in to the dark voices that overwhelmed it somewhere around twenty different minds and bodies. This was when they began to cackle out loud in his voice instead of simply shouting obscenities in his head.


    ¡°No escape left for you!¡± one shouted.


    ¡°We can smell your fear!¡± another one yelled from somewhere not so far away.


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    Then, at an unseen signal, as soon as eighty-something copies of him completed the nearly quarter-mile loop, they all flared to life and began to burn with the unearthly heat they¡¯d wanted to do for so long. By then, the godling¡¯s mind was lost. Each version of it held only a single sliver of sanity that was overshadowed by the gibbering madness that boiled up inside it.


    These goblins had never tasted elves if that was indeed what they were hunting, but they were hungry to sample them, and each lurching steel form ran at full speed, eager to beat out all the other versions of itself to be the first to taste the warm flesh of their enemies. While they moved, the forest lit up behind them in a curtain of flame.


    There would be no escape in that direction. Not for anything of flesh and blood, at least.


    The first instance of Krulm¡¯venor arrived just in time to see the last of the elves disappear through the shimmering, mercury veil of some strange new portal magic. It immediately felt a pressure in its mind as the Lich moved forward to investigate it, but before either of them could do much more than glimpse it, the magic faded, leaving only the hoary old oak behind and an empty tree hollow bereft of magic.


    There were more fire godlings in that burning glade now, and all of them advanced on that giant tree, driven to find the path that their meal had used to escape. For the original version of Krulm¡¯venor, so much fire would have been enough, but the thing that he had become craved slaughter even more than the ashes that he left in his wake.


    They¡¯d never get the chance to find out more. Even as the first half dozen copies reached the tree and watched the spindly cobweb enchantments burn away to reveal the woods were alive with any number of other dangers, they knew this would not play out as they thought it might only moments before.


    The hunters had become the hunted. The trap they¡¯d sought to spring on their enemies had become a trap of its own. There were too many Krulm¡¯venors left to care about that, though. As each giant beast and thorned dryad sprung from their hiding place, the field of battle became ever more crowded.


    Suddenly, wooden talons and powerful jaws were tested against the steel that bound the many molten fragments of Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s soul, but in almost all cases, they were found wanting. Even bears and dire wolves lacked the strength to do much more than dent skulls or bend bones, and every one of them was immensely and enjoyably flammable.


    Soon, the whole, smokey section of the forest smelled of burning meat, but that was only the warm-up act for the giant oak. It began moving as soon as a few versions of Krulm¡¯venor approached it. However, before they could reach it, the tree giant came to life and smashed three of him to pieces with its two-foot-thick limbs.


    Treant, the word came to mind. It was supplied by the Lich because he had never heard it before. ¡°Perhaps she¡¯s even a godling,¡± the Lich whispered. ¡°Capture it if you can; kill it if you must.¡± Then it was gone again, leaving its pack of hunting dogs alone to fight the thirty-foot-tall giant.


    ¡°You tread on hallowed ground, monster!¡± the tree boomed in a voice that sounded like wind roaring through branches. ¡°This will be the grave of all who are foolish enough to invade my domain!¡±


    Krulm¡¯venor wouldn¡¯t have bothered to answer its foe intelligently, even if it had been capable of such a thing. Instead, hit hurled insults as much as fire, as the dozens of small battles and depravities were forgotten in favor of the new challenge. The goblins were now in the driver''s seat, and they weren¡¯t much more loyal to the Lich who had woven and bound their wretched souls than Krulm¡¯venor was, but they didn¡¯t need to be. They craved violence, and a giant that could crush their rigid steel bodies like they were nothing but dried leaves was nothing if not violent.


    ¡°I have beaten you once, and I shall do so again!¡± she screeched.


    The longer the tree fought against them, and the more it manifested, and shaped itself to resemble a giant woman with thick, rough bark instead of skin and leaves and vines for hair. She might have even been beautiful if she wasn¡¯t on fire.


    The old wood was not yet burning, but the leaves had already flown apart into ashes, and the bark was smoldering. Even awash in curtains of blue flame, the oaken monster still raged. Every blow and swipe caused at least one version of Krulm¡¯venor to wink out of existence. As the total number of its copies drifted down somewhere below 100, the diffuse consciousness that was the core of its mind found itself rooting for its failure almost as much as its victory.


    Slowly, her cries of defiance morphed into cries of pain. The fire godling understood that all too well. Some small distant point of hope remained that she managed to die properly at least and that no trace of her was left behind for the Lich to study and corrupt because, to his myriad of eyes, it was looking less and less likely that she was going to win.


    As strong as the behemoth was and as many steel goblins as it shattered, it could not bear the heat of the Lich¡¯s unfire for more than a couple of minutes. Soon, wood was splitting as sap boiled into steam, and the wooden goddess was screaming in pain as much as rage as her strikes got slower and slower. After two minutes, she scarcely had the speed to connect her terrible blows with her agile tormentors, and after five, all she could do was make weak warding gestures as the goblins used metal talons to dig deeper and deeper into the veins of charred wood that penetrated almost all the way to her core.


    It wasn¡¯t until she stopped moving completely, and the entire grove had been reduced to a charred ruin, that the sixty-eight copies of Krulm¡¯venor spread out into the night. Freed of their chains, they moved into the dark of the woods, looking to kill and burn.


    They had no idea if they would find the elves or even other opponents worth fighting. They didn¡¯t care. They only wanted to maim and destroy, and Krulm¡¯venor had no choice but to let them. He¡¯d long ago lost control of the mob, and now he was just along for the ride as waves of blue fire spread throughout the forest in all directions, replacing what should have been the coming dawn with an endless inferno.

 Ch. 124 - The Greater Good

    When the ebony carriage rolled through the gates while the last sun was still high in the sky, no one thought to stop it or inquire as to the business of the vehicle¡¯s sole occupant. Why should they? The undead forces that assailed the land were utterly inhuman, and they only ever struck in the dark of night. They didn¡¯t ride into town in an elaborate carriage pulled by four pale horses.


    Tenebroum had worked hard to make the masses of humanity believe that any light at all was enough to keep them safe, but the thin blue light of the first sun''s dawn and the pale white of the fourth sun was only enough to keep the shadows, and other fragile, slender abominations at bay, and this creature had been custom-built to endure the light and all the scrutiny that came with it.


    The carriage had been lacquered until its deep black surfaces were practically a mirror, and its gilded ornaments were almost enough to make it look like a cheerful affair. The aura of wealth that it gave off was second only to the aura of fear that radiated from it. Though it was not obviously evil in any way, everyone gave the coach and the team that pulled it wide berth, and neither man nor beast could bear to bar its path for long.


    The animals that might have given the citizens of the city early warning were in short supply, though. The dogs had long been eaten or released into the wild to forage for themselves, and other horses and oxen were already in short supply. Because of the grinding war of attrition that was being waged to the northwest, they¡¯d already been seized by the military.


    Only those with the sight might have been able to glimpse what the thing truly was and see the plume of ashen darkness that it left in its wake. The only old woman who did glimpse that shocking sight died of a heart attack before she could warn anyone. No matter how polished and pretty evil was made, it was still evil, and nothing could hide that fact.


    When it pulled up in front of the palace steps, most people were still largely unaware of the danger that they faced. They didn¡¯t know that the horses had rusted skeletons beneath the immaculately bleached hides or that inside their mouths were the charred teeth of dire wolves and that the souls that occupied them longed to be let off the chain more than anything. They also didn¡¯t know that both the bland-faced footman and the sole occupant had breathed their last breaths months before.


    All anyone might say, beyond the feeling of disquiet that everyone felt, was that the whole thing had a strange odor, which was equal part alchemical preservatives and pleasantly scented substances designed to mask the decay.


    The coachman descended stiffly from his perch atop the carriage. That wasn¡¯t its fault. It was because the subdermal armor plating and the extra pair of arms folded under the rib cage to make it seem like nothing but a bear-human under its loose, rubbery skin made movement difficult.


    If it was forced to shed that illusion of normalcy to defend its charge, it would take only moments for its extra limbs to unfold and for its retracted claws to extend. Only then would it become the nightmarish reaper it had been created to be. That wouldn¡¯t happen until the Lich¡¯s very kind offer was rejected, though, and its latest emissary had been spurned.


    The Voice of Reason was by far the most beautiful construct the Lich¡¯s minions had ever built, and as she exited the door, hiked her black skirts, and began to walk toward the front door, the only hints that she might be anything besides a beautiful woman was the strange perfume she left in her wake, and her weight.


    The Voice weighed twice as much as a strong man due to the alloys that strengthened her construction and the large amount of porcelain that made up her body. That porcelain was harvested from the thick clay layer of what had once been the swamp, so she would belong to it more than perhaps any other servant it had ever crafted.


    The glamors that made that perfect porcelain skin of her hands and face look like anything other than a beautiful woman flickered slightly in direct sunlight before stabilizing. Even if they had failed, though, she would still have been an inhuman beauty.


    Tenebroum did not understand desire or attraction, but it had servants who did, and each of them swore she was as perfect as a wind-up doll could get. With a perfectly symmetrical figure, carefully polished sapphire eyes, and hair of literal spun gold, she was a storybook creature, and she was here with a simple message: surrender and swear fealty to the darkness encroaching on your lands or die screaming.


    . . .


    She wouldn¡¯t put it in quite so many words, of course. She would never do anything so impolitic. She smiled slightly, blushed when appropriate, and curtsied whenever necessary as she spoke first with the doorman, then the chamberlain, and finally the guards. Conversation by conversation, she slowly worked her way into court, where the runes on the throne flashed a warning before she even got close to the ornaments that had been installed into the gilded wood so long ago that people had almost forgotten their meaning when they flared to violent red life.


    With the smallest gesture, King Borum''s honor guard stepped between her and the throne and leveled their halberds at the slight woman, and his court wizard tried not to cower too much behind the imposing chair while he whispered into his King¡¯s ear.


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    The Voice stopped just shy of the polearms and smiled. ¡°Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, your Majesty,¡± she said, curtsying so deeply that the spike on the closest weapon was only inches from her eye.


    She was not made for combat, but depending on how powerful the wizard was, she could probably have killed the King. That would have been unspeakably rude, though. Instead, she stood there full of poise in the face of steel and looked around the room. The grand hall of the King¡¯s Court was an impressive thing, with standing room for hundreds.


    On the walls above the heads of both the King and onlookers were venerable war trophies from all the Kingdom of Hallen¡¯s victories of ages past. Torn banners and broken shields competed for places of honor with shattered lances, and even the preserved heads of monsters made their appearance here and there.


    Those details only added to the atmosphere of the whispering nobles and the tense warriors just ahead of her.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for violence,¡± the Voice said, ¡°I have come here merely to give you an offer from my Lord.¡±


    ¡°And who is your Lord?¡± King Borum asked with a voice that was almost completely free of any quavering.


    ¡°Why, you already know that, your Majesty,¡± she smiled, ¡°I serve the darkness, and so can you, if you like.¡±


    A hush fell over the room with those simple words, and several noblewomen lining the gallery fainted.


    ¡°All of you can,¡± she pledged in a cheery voice. ¡°Let us end this constant bloodshed together and find a solution that all of us will benefit from.¡±


    ¡°And if I prefer to take your life instead?¡± The King demanded, raising his voice. ¡°We¡¯ve heard the cost that comes with your peace. What makes you think we want any part of it?¡±


    ¡°Because the vast army you raise is full of husbands and fathers?¡± she answered his question with a question. ¡°Do all of them really need to die? Do all of you really need to die for nothing when there are so many other lives that¡ª¡±


    ¡°Is that a threat?¡± King Borum tried to sound wrathful there. It might have worked if he hadn¡¯t squeaked at the beginning.


    ¡°My Lord does not make threats,¡± she said sweetly. ¡°He offers deals that benefit both parties. You know well that some of your neighbors have spared themselves bloody battles already.¡±


    As she spoke, she produced a scroll seemingly from nowhere, almost getting stabbed for the effort as one of the guards almost attacked her because he thought she was drawing a weapon. ¡°This lays out the specifics of the proposal,¡± the Voice of Reason said in a strained tone as she struggled to avoid the near act of war that had just happened. Any of the Lich¡¯s other servants would have ripped the man¡¯s head off by now, and part of her wanted to, but she resisted. ¡°But the short answer is this: you have too many people and not enough food to survive this winter, so make a trade with us and spare yourself the cost of a bloody war on top of all the rest. We will take the beggars that clog your streets and the thieves that fill your prisons, and all we ask in return is that¡ª¡±


    ¡°You ask us to sacrifice our subjects for a coward''s peace,¡± the King shouted. This time, there was real fire in his voice. ¡°But, for the sake of amenity and as governed by the rules of hospitality, I will read your proposal and discuss it with my privy council before we make any official ruling on such a thing.¡±


    She smiled ruefully at that while the courtier came forward to collect the parchment, and the guards in front of her lowered their weapons a touch. As long as there was talking, things were not likely to escalate, which was to the good as far as she was concerned.


    Hedging his bets was as close as she¡¯d expected him to come to saying yes anyway. To give into the demands at the very first contact would seem like cowardice, and it would not sit well with the nobles to seem afraid of what was coming, especially when you were terrified.


    ¡°As you say, your Majesty. My Lord has bid me to give you a fortnight to speak of such things. I shall return then for your answer.¡± She said, giving the throne another deep curtsy. ¡°Thank you for granting me such a speedy audience. I look forward to a fruitful relationship in our future.¡±


    Then she whirled and began to retreat from the room, and the only sound of her departure was the clicking of her heels against tiles as she left the room. No one standing there failed to notice that she didn¡¯t get permission to leave, and no one tried to stop her either.


    She''d already won, though. If they accepted the darkness¡¯s offer, then the last large human Kingdom in the region would be defanged, leaving its forces free to pursue other targets. If they rejected them, then they would spend the next winter squabbling amongst themselves while they slowly starved to death.


    In time, all would belong to the darkness whether they wanted to or not, but for now, it would be helpful to continue to make inroads among the living. As far as she was concerned, that had many advantages.


    ¡°They¡­ did not hurt you?¡± the coachman asked, slurring his words.


    ¡°No,¡± she said, noting the disappointment on its otherwise emotionless face.


    That was the biggest shame of this trip, she decided. The Lich paired two servants together with mutually exclusive goals. Her protector could only ever become what he was meant to be if she failed in her mission, in the same way, that the toxic, infectious bomb that sat under the seat of her carriage would only ever detonate and unleash a new plague on this city when they were attacked.


    As they began to ride toward the front gate in the growing darkness, she wondered if the nobles who watched her speak realized how close they¡¯d come to meeting their own messy ends.


    Would more of them drown in their own blood or their own phlegm? She wondered for a moment before deciding it didn¡¯t matter. The loyal would live, and the disloyal would die and be put to better use.

 Ch. 125 - For the Best Reasons

    He¡¯d done them the kindness of meeting with them before his meeting with the Dukes and Earls later that evening. Princess Trianna should have been grateful for that, but she knew that he¡¯d already made up his mind and that the decision was the wrong one.


    There was nothing that said he had to meet with his wife and daughters to explain the grave news to them. Oh, he tried to put a brave face on it. ¡°This will avoid the war we¡¯ve been building toward for some time,¡± he assured them as he gestured to the scroll he¡¯d just explained to them. She wouldn¡¯t have the chance to read it, of course, but she didn¡¯t want to. She might not have the sight, but she could feel the evil radiating from that hateful treaty. ¡°Tens of thousands of lives will be saved, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°And thousands of souls will be damned!¡± her mother blurted out, unable to suppress the outrage anymore. ¡°Honestly, Henry, if you try to round up the beggars, they¡¯ll burn the whole city down beneath us! Are you sure you¡¯ve thought this through?¡±


    Her father, King Borum, was used to these sorts of interruptions and only sighed. Though her mother never said anything to embarrass the King in public, in private, they argued frequently about a whole range of issues. Sometimes, she would even succeed in changing his mind, but the Princess could see by the twitching muscles of his clenched jaw that today would not be one of those days.


    ¡°There¡¯s an army of death marching toward us, Glorena,¡± he sighed. ¡°At first, I didn¡¯t believe it, either. Not when my best spies reported it. Not even after the sun shattered, but it¡¯s true. The dead are marching, the Gods have turned their backs on us, and there are precious few fortresses between here and the enemy. What would you have me do?¡±


    ¡°Well, at least you¡¯re being honest about it now,¡± her mother growled. She hated being lied to, and the King had lied to all of them for months. The first rumors had begun to circulate more than half a year ago, but in each instance, her father had downplayed them.


    ¡®No, there¡¯s not a war coming.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, there¡¯s a war in the west, but there¡¯s no need to raise an army.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, I¡¯m raising an army, but it''s only a small one, and we shouldn¡¯t need to field it.¡¯


    ¡®War is unavoidable, but it¡¯s against flesh and blood. We¡¯ll be fighting the men of Harrow and Kellor, not fiends from the pit.¡¯


    At every step, he¡¯d lied to them and to the people, admitting as little as he could reasonably expect to get away with while he and his generals had whispered and planned: the dead had risen and were marching across the world, scourging whole kingdoms in their path.


    There were some disputes about where this started. Some said they come from a backwater county in the South and that Siddrimar had been the first casualty. Others insisted they came from the West in the low kingdoms. Both options were equally nonsensical, of course; nothing ever happened in the South, and the West was full of fractious feuding lords that warred with each other.


    ¡°If we do as they say, and we send them those men, father,¡± Princess Trianna said finally in a lul in the conversation. ¡°What¡¯s to stop them from asking for more and more after that?¡±


    ¡°The steel of our blades and the strength of our walls,¡± he said firmly. She knew that was a lie, though. Everyone did. Constantinal had fallen. The Undefeated City had been defeated.


    If they fell, then what chance do we have? She wondered to herself. Princess Trianna said nothing, though. She was rarely given the same latitude that her mother was. A wife might criticize a husband if done correctly, but it was a daughter¡¯s role to be dutiful and supportive.


    While her father explained why this was the only way to her mother for the third time to try to get a blessing that simply wasn¡¯t going to come, she sat there, growing cold as she realized the truth: a few hundred beggars and criminals might buy peace for a season, or a year, but such a price would have to be paid whenever it was demanded of them. They would starve just as the beggars were now, and when they were too weak to defend themselves, the rest of them that sheltered behind the walls of Rahkin would join the rest of their fellows who had long since been given away in an attempt to secure peace.


    She didn¡¯t imagine that anything good would happen to anyone who ended up in the hands of their enemy, be they beggars or kings, and slowly, her heart hardened.


    It¡¯s just like my dreams, she told herself as the thought slowly dawned on her.


    The Princess might be sitting there smiling blandly and nodding at appropriate moments like her brothers, but in her head, she was a thousand miles away. She could see her father sitting there on his throne, plump and comfortable, as he traded every citizen and every brick for one more day of life and comfort.


    It chilled her to the bone and froze her smile in place even more than the evil scroll that sat in her father¡¯s lap. Would he trade them away, too? Would he feed his own wife and daughters to the darkness, hoping that it would sate the darkness?


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    This was a terrifying question that ate at her all afternoon, long after their little family meeting had ended. In the end, it was that, even more than her concern for her subjects, that made her act. Her father said that she got her impetuousness from her mother, but today, Princess Trianna had no complaints about that. She got her sense of right and wrong from her, too, it would seem.


    ¡°We¡¯ve gone from ¡®there¡¯s no war coming¡¯ to ¡®it''s only the beggars and the criminals¡¯ in less than a year,¡± she sighed as she clutched the beat-up old doll on her lap. She would have preferred to have her cat to stroke, but Poppet had gone missing months ago, and though she would love to blame her father for her disappearance as well, it was just as likely that she¡¯d met the wrong man while she¡¯d been out hunting rats. ¡°Where will we be by next year and the year after? It¡¯s only the Garden District? It¡¯s only your sisters?¡±


    Looking around the threadbare thing that her life had become, it was hard to believe that her choice would be more of this. Her clothes were patched, her windows were perpetually shuttered, and there were almost never fresh flowers to brighten the place up. Somehow, in spite of that, though, she would rather live the rest of her life like this than see a return to prosperity if the price was measured in lives.


    Paradoxically, that meant that her father was going to have to die by her hand. Her brothers, too.


    Does that make me just the same as him? She wondered. She had no answers. She prayed to Lunaris about it but received neither wisdom nor peace as she contemplated murder. So, reluctantly, she pulled the small bottle of liquor she¡¯d hidden under her bed and stared at it.


    By all appearances, it was just an amber bottle of plum brandy, but she knew exactly how adulterated and toxic it was. She should. She¡¯d made it herself when things had started to get bad this past summer. Given the growing rat problem in the city, poison was one of the few substances that was still easy to come by. It was certainly easier to gather a few poison fruits from the corners of the dining hall than it was to get deserts or enough cloth to make a new dress.


    She¡¯d intended for it to be a peaceful way for her to escape the worst if the rumors of the living dead proved to be true. Now, it was a strychnine-laced death sentence for any who would drink it, and she was sure that in the planned meeting, drinks would flow freely as those men struggled with the terrible things they were about to do.


    Just as she struggled with her own terrible deeds, she considered wryly. More than anything, Trianna wanted to put this off for another day or another year, but she couldn¡¯t. Realistically, she only had an hour or two left to act. After that, the die would be cast, and they would find themselves in alliance with the devils of the pit.


    ¡°This is what the Gods would want,¡± she whispered herself. ¡°Siddrim taught us this. All who seek to ally with evil or placate them are evil themselves.¡±


    It was with those words that she finally forced herself to move. The Princess made no attempt to sneak or skulk; that would have only attracted more attention. Instead, she secreted the bottle in a handbag and then began to wander around the castle, saying hello to every guard and servant she came across and asking them about their day.


    During all that time, no one noticed her little side trip into her father¡¯s study, and no one was there to see it when she placed that bottle in the top drawer of his desk. She would pray that her brothers were spared the terrible fate she¡¯d just created, but if they were not, she knew they would be casualties in a righteous cause.


    ¡°The light is worth dying for,¡± she whispered to herself that night like a mantra as she lay sleeplessly in bed until the screams started just before dinner.


    <hr>


    ¡°Any rumors that my husband planned to ally with these fiends is nothing but pure slander,¡± her mother said at the funeral. Her face was tear-streaked, but her voice was stronger than it had any right to be. ¡°The evil that we fight knew that he would never bend, and they wormed some agent of darkness into the very heart of our Kingdom, but we shall root it out!¡±


    There was a cheer at that, forcing Queen Borum to stop speaking for a moment as she addressed the masses from the balcony.


    ¡°My husband didn¡¯t deserve this end,¡± she said finally when the crowd died down before she went on to name a long list of honors and achievements that he did.


    Her mother went on to lionize her father at length, calling him ¡°A hero who would never bend the knee to the dark,¡± even though they both knew he wasn¡¯t and that ¡°the army would bring them all the vengeance they craved soon.¡±


    Princess Trianna stood there at her right hand but said nothing. Her mother would never find the culprit because she wasn¡¯t even looking at her daughter. They were questioning the maids and torturing likely suspects, but not one person had so much as asked Trianna if she¡¯d done this terrible thing.


    If they had, she might have confessed on the spot. Despite the fact that she was certain it was the right thing to do, the whole ordeal ate at her. Fourteen people were dead, and though the healers had been called swiftly, there was little they¡¯d been able to do. The King, his Lord General, both of her brothers and ten different Dukes and Earls. It had been a horrific discovery, and the entire Kingdom was in mourning.


    It was only once all that was done that she announced that she would be assuming the throne and was already searching amongst the nobility for the right man to be the new Lord General. There had been Queens who ruled before, but they knew that would not be a popular move. In time, she would be forced by the gentry to remarry, but for now, during the mourning period, everyone would give her a free hand where vengeance and defense were concerned.


    Tears cascaded silently down Princess Trianna¡¯s cheeks as she looked at the blue-skinned bodies that had been laid in state beneath them, just inside the gates of the castle so that the people could see what had become of their King. It was terrible, and she couldn¡¯t stop the tears from coming, even as she reminded herself that it was better than the alternative. Fourteen souls would be interred in peace instead of hundreds that would have been devoured and made to serve the dark.


    She would just have to find some way to deal with it because as awful as all this was, it was still better than the deal they¡¯d been offered.

 Ch. 126 - Wall of Stone

    Tenebroum¡¯s armies had only just reached the twin fortresses of Banath and were pausing to gauge King Borum¡¯s response to its generous terms when its carriage was detonated in front of the city gates of Rahkin without warning. One moment, The Voice of Reason had been riding sedately toward the open gate, and the guards seemed to have no interest in baring her way, and then next, fire arced out from a pair of mages on the castle wall, turning its beautiful carriage into an inferno.


    The Lich was outraged by this turn of events but not so wroth that it turned away from whatever was going to happen next. The fire was destructive, but the tank of noxious gases that held its new plague in the bowls of that glossy vehicle was even more so. Though the flames likely destroyed all the infectious magic they possessed, it still took some joy in the fireball that expanded outward in a second, larger explosion that engulfed a dozen guards as the explosion became an eruption of liquid flame.


    The fire melted away the flesh of the forms the horses and the carriage driver, crisping them in the preservative oils that had been used to keep them looking natural. So, the things that strode out of the fire looking for vengeance looked even more inhuman than they otherwise might have. Each of them strode out of the smoldering wreckage to make sure that those who had done this did not live to regret it.


    First came the four horses, or the things that had been disguised as horses. Those skins had only hidden the predators that lay beneath, and now the long-legged dire wolves revealed themselves. Their legs stayed long, but their spines lengthened, and their claws extended as they charged the main gate. The results were as bloody as they were terrifying.


    The men that had been spared the fire were caught completely off guard by the slavering beasts of bone and steel as they darted forward and grabbed those closest to the violence in the giant mouths. They shook their prey like rag dolls, crushing bones, and snapping spines before releasing the corpse and moving on to the next target.


    Amidst all the screams, no one noticed what happened to the other two occupants. The ripper delayed a moment in attacking as its extra arms finally unfolded, and it could, at last, do what it had been made to do. It ignored the guards and ran straight for the wall, where it started to climb like a giant, six-legged insect.


    Its task was just as simple and straightforward as that of the wolves. It existed to kill, but its capabilities were greater, and its targets were of a higher priority. The mages didn¡¯t even notice it until it was already halfway up the forty-foot walls. All the lightning and fire that they rained down on it in an effort to kill it did more damage to the stone than it did to the Lich¡¯s revenge.


    It would not be dissuaded in its task, and by the time it reached the first mage, it still had 3 arms and a heart full of rage as it ripped the young woman to pieces. Only the intervention of three guards with pikes delayed it long enough to allow the second mage, a graybeard, to flee down the rampart in panic. Those extra few minutes of life he might yet have cost everyone else their lives, though.


    Pikes and spears were terrible weapons with which to face the undead. Without the cross guard of a partisan or coresque, there was nothing to stop it from searching up the shaft and ripping the head off the wielder. Even a boar-hunting spear would have been a better choice and told Tenebroum exactly how far those pitiful fools were from being ready. If they wanted a war, it would give them one, and instead of taking their dregs as payment, it would claim every last life in Rahkin.


    As everyone else fought for their lives, The Voice of Reason finally made her way from the carriage and walked away from the city with all the dignity that her broken form could muster. She was missing her left arm at the elbow, and most of her hair of, spun gold, had melted together into a single lopsided lump that clung to her scalp.


    Her entourage was so effective that no one watched her cracked, soot-covered form walk away from the city as fast as she was able. All she had to do was hide until nightfall, and someone would come for her. Until then, she was a broken toy that would have to think about how she might do better in the future. The Lich might allow her to try to mediate similar conflicts again in the future, but repeated failures would be rewarded only with being scrapped and turned into a drudge or worse.


    . . .


    Tenebroum turned its attention from its servant''s failures and toward the battle that was already starting here. Behind it, to the west, lay a series of blood-soaked kingdoms they had already marched through. There, the only towns and villages that were left standing were those that it had chosen to spare. A number of ruined castles dotted its path, and though there were still a few holdouts in the kingdoms to the north, the forces of darkness had ripped through the whole area already like a scythe.


    Now, there was only one pass separating it from the Kingdom of Hallen and the areas that had been denied it for so long by the intervention of the mages of Abended, the Siddrimites, and the Goddess Oroza. It had been forced to dig a tunnel all the way through a mountain range, war with the dwarves in the deeps, and fight through half a dozen smaller kingdoms barely worth the name to reach here, but it had done so. It was only perhaps a hundred miles north of Abenend now but on the wrong side of the Woden Spine.


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    All it needed to do was cross this pass, and to do that, only two fortresses stood in its way. For better or worse, though, they were some of the toughest defensive structures on the whole continent. Its General, Paragon, had argued that they should simply be bypassed via increased tunnel digging and dealt with at a later date or simply starve out, but Tenebroum would not hear of it.


    ¡°It is not enough to win. We must crush the living, and they should know it,¡± it commanded. ¡°There will be survivors. They will spread the truth: the darkness can breach even the highest, toughest walls. It cannot be beaten. That is the message that will spread from one man to the next until the whole world reeks of fear.¡±


    ¡°Did we not accomplish this by defeating the undefeated city?¡± the General asked.


    The Lich was forced to concede that that was exactly what they¡¯d done. But it wasn¡¯t enough. ¡°A city, no matter what its reputation, is nothing compared to a fortress. All of their strongholds must be turned into tombs, or they will think that resistance is possible.¡±


    After that, the General did not argue. It merely planned and prepared to carry out the darkness¡¯s will. In this case, the problem was that the two fortresses stood on either side of the pass. One could attack neither the western nor the eastern fortress without being in the line of fire of the other. They were built that way to prevent sieges, and their weapons were quite formidable. However, though catapults and ballistas could do almost as much damage as war mages, arrows did little to zombies and even less to skeletons.


    So, as the fourth sunset, the bulk of its armies advanced on both structures without fear, and their dread footsteps echoed off the walls of the mountains as the war zombies marched in perfect lockstep. Even if they were capable of such a worthless emotion, they would have nothing to be afraid of. The humans had so little that could hurt it, whereas its General¡¯s hardest problem was often deciding which weapon of the darkness should be brought to bear for which challenge.


    In this case, given the simultaneous nature of the strike, it chose two: Its earth titan and shadow drake. Each of the imposing structures had been carved from the same granite stones as the rest of the mountain by means of magic; and their fifty-foot vertical walls were meant to hold out against an army. They were considered all but impregnable according to the souls it had interrogated.


    Neither Tenebroum nor its general thought that either would be considered a problem, though. So, as its blocks of thousands of troops each reached the high, crenelation-topped walls of the imposing gray stone structures, the shadow drake swooped down from the night sky and released a gout of flame that caused the stone of the eastern fortress to burn just as readily as the stout oaken door which was immediately engulfed in the monster¡¯s all consuming ebon flame.


    At the same time, the Lich¡¯s titan appeared out of the stony ground as if it were nothing but a swimming pool and strode toward the towering walls as it began to rip them apart piece by piece. Despite the thing¡¯s compliance, the Lich still considered this toy its greatest failure. Even as it watched its lead gauntleted hands rip out a stone large enough to collapse a whole section, it became annoyed that it had learned so little about the thing.


    Both fortresses were breached in the opening salvos of the encounter, and its dark elementals retreated immediately. Though there would be losses even after such a maneuver, victory was all but certain at that point. It was all over but the dying, so the Lich focused on other things, like its lackluster titan.


    It obeyed, always, in all things, but its mind was so alien that Tenebroum still had very little idea of how to make it suffer. The Lich took some solace in the fact that it looked perpetually sad, but it was still far from unraveling the element of stone in the way it had water and fire, and it had been shocked to find out that the dwarves had learned scarcely more than it had already known as drained the priests of their knowledge.


    Why didn¡¯t the dwarves work together more with the humans, it reflected, as it stood there in a shell on a rocky outcrop next to its General.


    There were definite synergies. Mentally, the darkness began to make notes for its fleshcrafters to try a few iterative combinations of humans and dwarf parts to determine an optimum mix for toughness and reach, but before it could completely document the new project, disaster erupted.


    It had been a couple of hours since the first shots had been fired and twenty minutes since the walls had been breached. The killing was going steadily, and the Lich had no cause to be concerned, and then suddenly, just as its forces were largely engaged in the assault, both of the shield fortresses collapsed.


    No, collapse wasn¡¯t a strong enough word for what happened. They imploded, collapsing inward on themselves, and as they did so, the cliff faces that they were carved into gave way, collapsing together like a giant hammer and anvil and sealing the pass completely.


    A path could be reopened, of course, but there would be no point. The point was that at a stroke, it had lost six or eight thousand soldiers, including all of its heavy infantry. It was a catastrophe that shocked both it and Paragon to their cores.


    ¡°What happened!¡± The Lich bellowed as rage overwhelmed it.


    With the air full of dust and debris, no one could say obviously, but the General proceeded to lay out several theories about the nature of the rock and how the attacks of the titan and the shadow drake had weakened the superstructure, but given the symmetrical nature of the collapse, this seemed unlikely.


    Someone had done this to it intentionally, and though it didn¡¯t know if it was due to dwarves or magic, it would find out and make sure that whoever was responsible for it died screaming.

 Ch. 127 - Starve Them Out

    By day, the reaver hid away in the attacks or the basements it could find that were furthest from the scenes of its bloody slaughters. It had killed over a hundred souls in the first week of its endless mission of suffering, and even though it was now down to only two arms and one eye, it hoped to murder at least that many again before it finally ceased to function.


    The most interesting thing it found was not the blood of its victims or a weakness in the walls, though. It still had not found a way to creep into the castle and slaughter the royal family who had spat in its master¡¯s face. What it had found, though, was a rat.


    Not just any rat. The thing that it currently pinned to the ground with a claw and studied with fascination was a rat that was already long dead, and still, it moved. That had been enough to get its attention, and because the reaver¡¯s initial assessment was that this had been some sort of proxy for the still-living mages it had not yet managed to hunt down, its first instinct had been to dash it to pieces.


    Instead, it decided that this was something alien and unique enough to await the judgment of its master. So, instead of going out that night to prowl the shadows and slaughter more families, it lingered there in that disused ossuary and prayed to the Darkness for guidance for hours until it finally manifested itself.


    Finally, its focus was rewarded, and the deathless Lich slipped smoothly inside its cracked skull as it began to examine all the specifics of the situation. A city in flames, a panicking populace, and a tiny zombie rat were the things it looked at the most, and the reaver could feel that its master was pleased with it.


    ¡°Who do you belong to?¡± the Lich growled through the reaver¡¯s mangled voice box.


    The rat gave no reply to the question, and so the Lich crushed it. However, as it did so, it wove a dark enchantment, using that rat as both focus and sacrifice, and the tiny, still corpse began to glow with a dim yellow haze.


    ¡°Know this,¡± the Lich continued. ¡°You can answer me now, when I have killed a single one of your tiny servants, or when my reaver has killed a thousand more, but I will have the truth. I will find the source of this magic!¡±


    By the time the reaver was done crushing the half-mummified rodent, it was nothing but powder, and as that glowing dust drifted on the foul air currents of the sepulcher it was hiding in, it began to illuminate all sorts of things. Suddenly, there were tiny little tracks crisscrossing the tunnels between various crevices and corpses.


    Even as the Lich¡¯s spirit left its deathless servant behind, it left a new order in its place: ¡°hunt the rodents until you find their source. Slaughter all you find until they are amenable to conversation and use their remains to extend the spell.¡±


    While the new command lacked the blood and suffering that the vengeful reaver enjoyed most in life, it could hardly resist. Instead, it pursued its new task with even greater gusto than before, for it was no longer limited to the dark hours of the day. It could masquerade through the black warren of tunnels beneath the capital almost constantly, and everywhere it went, it found more of this strange infestation.


    Mice, rats, and even hound-sized constructs woven of dozens of dead rats filled the place, but none of them stood a chance against the reaver¡¯s fists or its blades. Their only chance was to find somewhere narrow enough that it could not reach them, but often enough, it found a way to extract the dully glowing rodent from their hole by ripping out part of a wall.


    It gave each construct it located a moment to speak as the Lich desired before it reduced it to nothing but dust and bone fragments, and with each death, the web of yellow and brown lines that connected these creatures thickened and multiplied. Who was it that was responsible for animating so many tiny creatures? What was their purpose? It didn¡¯t know. Most of the time, it barely cared about the answers to those questions.


    It had been built to hunt in the same way that the Lich had been built to think, and so that¡¯s what it did. It hunted through mile after mile, moving from bone-filled catacombs to sewage-filled sewers and back again. In all that time, its only complaint was that the humans were often so close that it could almost reach out and drag them screaming into the depths, but sadly it was not allowed to. So they stood in the safety of their ignorance, just out of reach.


    After weeks of hunting rodents, all it wanted to do was creep to the surface and bathe in the blood of the innocent. After so long without killings, they would think that the coast was clear and that everything would be safe. They were wrong, though. As soon as it fulfilled the Lich¡¯s command and found the source of this strange infestation, it would be allowed to return to its killing spree.


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    The simple predator clung to that hope long after its joy in stalking and murdering such unsatisfying prey faded. In the end, it took almost a month and hundreds of murders to find the tomb. Though it practically glowed with a sickly yellow aura, the master of the rats had obviously gone to great lengths to hide it. Only a single strand of faint footprints finally led it here, but even it could see that this was the beating heart of its enemy.


    As it advanced, a tremulous cry finally rose up from a chorus of rats. It was a discordant thing, but the words were understandable enough. ¡°Cease your hunt!¡± they cried! ¡°We surrender!¡±


    It stood there in the doorway, baring their escape, and this time, when the Lich came, it was much faster than before. It took minutes instead of hours for it to reach out and make the connection.


    ¡°I accept your surrender,¡± it said at once. ¡°Tell me, who do you serve?¡±


    ¡°No one!¡± came the chorus of denunciations. ¡°We are our own master. We feast where we like on what we can!¡±


    ¡°You did once,¡± the Lich agreed, "but you will serve a new master now."


    ¡°Yes!¡± the tiny voices screeched in unison. ¡°Be merciful! Let us serve you!¡±


    The vermin crumpled immediately, as expected. It was their nature. Better to eat the crumbs from the high table than be exterminated by your betters.


    The light the Lich invoked as it willed a complex binding spell into existence made the floor throb with violet lines of power, and even the dead, cracked limbs of the reaver began to tingle as a massive amount of necromantic energy flowed through it, and a ghostly version of the Lich¡¯s Scoeticnomikos appeared in one hand.


    ¡°No one, not even a single copy of you, leaves this room,¡± the Lich promised. ¡°Not until I understand everything about you.¡±


    The hundreds of rats lined up there on the niches, and the shattered sarcophagus resembled a small sea of candles in the way they glowed faintly yellow, but each time the Lich reached out to dig deeper into their collective soul with its dark powers, they flickered in they flickered dangerously like they were moments from being extinguished.


    The reaver understood that much, though. The Darkness that flowed through it right now was so powerful that it could have very easily been extinguished by its master. It wouldn¡¯t even have to do it on purpose. A mere accident would be enough to steal the spark that animated it and send it tumbling back into the maelstrom of souls that made up the Lich¡¯s true self.


    It did not fear such a fate, but only because it was made with hunger instead of fear. It had that in common with the rats, too. It, no, they were all named Ghroshian, and they were pure hunger. It seemed to the Lich, or at least it seemed to the reaver as it watched the Lich study the fragile souls of the creatures, that they had been part of something larger and stronger. Neither of the thing that studied nor the thing that was being studied knew exactly what that was, though.


    This terrible conversation had started off with words and questions, but as the two things melded together in a whirling maelstrom of magic that communication became nonverbal, and eventually, it contained very few words at all. It had been imprisoned for so long that whole parts of its soul had shriveled to dust and were poorly understood. Some words like Malzekeen flickered by between the images, but it was unsure if that was a place or a person.


    It was a cacophony of thoughts and images, and the revenant could only stand in mute awe as much of the details passed right through it. These rats were part of a hive mind, and they were old and already buried long before the Darkness had been born. It had been beaten by Siddrim and the other gods, as it had fought beside the worm and the wolf centuries earlier, but it had lost those names to the searing light they¡¯d tried to purge the rodents with, and the Darkness their remains were imprisoned in afterward.


    ¡°Why couldn¡¯t they slay you?¡± the Lich asked through its mouth when words finally returned to the conversation.


    ¡°Can hunger ever truly be extinguished?¡± the rats asked in a ragged chorus. ¡°Can war and conflict ever reduce hunger with their presence? Famines can be eliminated, and pestilences can be defeated, but some child, somewhere, will always go to bed somewhere, and we will be reborn there and start the cycle anew. The Lord of Light thought better of it. He trapped us so that we would always exist, and a new hunger could not be reborn without us.¡±


    The answer made no sense to the reaver, but its master seemed satisfied with it.


    The meager swarm swore their allegiance to the Lich there beneath Rahkin without an ounce of deception in their heart. Only then did the yellow magic of seeking and the purple wards of binding begin to fade to black, leaving the reaver standing there in a new darkness that was lit only by hundreds of tiny red eyes and no specific orders about what it was supposed to do next.


    Unfortunately, when all was said and done, it was not given back its previous mission of mindless slaughter. Instead, it was forced to assist these rats in their new order: starvation. Though it would get to do some killing yet, that would be incidental to the larger goal.


    The fall harvest was coming in now, and thanks to magic, it was better than it had any right to be. The humans were experiencing hope for the first time in a year because of that, and it would have to be not just stopped but reversed for the siege that lay ahead.


    ¡°Make them rue the day that they dared refuse my generous offer,¡± the Lich declared to both of them. ¡°Make them weep and gnash their teeth until they have nothing left to eat but dust as the corpses of the fallen!¡±

 Ch. 128 - Battle Lines

    Despite the setbacks at Banath, the Lich¡¯s forces moved on. A small portion of its men and some imported chirurgeons were left behind to tunnel and triage, digging out what soldiers could be saved and building new constructs to fight from pieces of the old ones along with the corpses of those defenders that they found.


    It was grisly work, and the effort was largely wasted as most of everyone had been crushed to powder. Fortunately, its servants could work quite well with unmatched parts like its drudges were finding, but there were other silver linings, too.


    With the pass closed, armies to the east entirely lost access to the entire region, granting it an exclusive domain that measured perhaps a fifth of the continent and further isolating the remaining pockets of resistance its forces had not yet ground to dust on the northern coasts. Its more specialized units had largely been spared destruction as well, so the Lich¡¯s general adapted its tactics to current resource levels and moved on without missing a beat. If its enemies thought that this desperate gambit would save them, they would be sadly mistaken.


    The Lich let it make the important decisions there. After all, despite the stunningly terrible victory they¡¯d accomplished, it did not blame the entity that led its forces. It would have been a fool to do that. Not one soul in its entire collection had the awful piece of knowledge that the fortresses might collapse in a single moment. It was truly unforeseen.


    Besides, the Lich was busy with other, more interesting toys at the moment. Not only did it have the Ghroshian rats to play with and study, but it also had the last tree of Eldameer wood, which Krulm¡¯venor had brought back to its growing laboratory in Constantinal. In the former case, it continued to research the origins of strange amalgamation without much success, but the latter case, it found to be especially diverting.


    In many ways, a forest spirit was literally its equal opposite, and the Lich found that to be an irresistible riddle. For the first time in its entire existence, its fire godling had not found some way to disappoint it. Though the elves or fae that he¡¯d spotted had managed to elude both capture and death, that had not stopped Tenebroum¡¯s rabid little army of metal goblins from burning down the entire forest or from repeating the scorched earth on the night that followed on the splendid saplings that had sprung up overnight.


    In the end, they did that repeatedly until only one tree remained. Then, the little gibbering horde dug it up and brought it back to its thriving dead city. Despite the fact that no one had lived there in months, Constantinal was thriving. Every day, it produced dozens of new constructs for the Lich¡¯s armies, and there was something about the industrial ballet in what used to be the city¡¯s grand temple.


    When there were no other matters that required its immediate support, it would often linger there and watch the slow ballet of hundreds of hands and arms as they moved each unfinished corpse from station to station in a process that was as efficient as it was pleasing. Right now, it had many more important things to do, the most important of which was to plant the seeds that the sapling produced and plant them in soil from the swamp that had been imported just for this purpose.


    Its true home had been burned to nothing, but the Lich could see the mana flows in that tree, and though the life element was diametrically opposed to its unlife element, it was going to enjoy studying it and perverting it. It was a long-term experiment that lacked the urgency of other matters, like those it entrusted to its Paragon, but the Lich couldn¡¯t help but study the growth of each new leaf as it wondered when the thing would flower from an interesting botany specimen to a full-fledged nature spirit that it could learn from.


    While the Lich focused on this, its war plans continued on without skipping a beat. In the short term, the Paragon did not try to conquer fortresses or hold territories. Instead, it merely sewed chaos. It sent small forces of fast-moving centipede cavalry in all directions, slaughtering resupply caravans and other, harder-hitting strike forces to destroy supply depots and communities that supported nearby garrisons.


    For the moment, out of an abundance of caution, it actively avoided any significant forces that were pitted against it. If an advancing force needed to be met, it would be struck with magic or dark fire from a distance. There was simply no need to engage the enemy forces while they had a numerical advantage.


    Beside the crude, ugly fort that the remains of Siddrim¡¯s sheep had built near the Oroza, the Kingdom of Hallen was the last large army in the region. It had more than ten thousand men, and though many of these defended the city itself, almost half of the rest were in the field.


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    For the first time in months, the Lich¡¯s forces were outnumbered, and it did not think that the fact that such a tragedy would befall it so close to Abenend was a coincidence. Magic had definitely been at work here, though whether that magic was human or dwarven had been the subject of much debate in its library.


    There, the opinion was evenly divided. Some of its heads thought that this was exactly the sort of maneuver that Abenend would do to buy time by sacrificing the lives of others. Another contingent argued that since no obvious mana spikes or other signs of large-scale casting had occurred, the magic had to be old and deep and that the fortresses had likely always had such a self-destruct sequence built into them, but they¡¯d never needed to use it before.


    Either way, the souls of the dead that Tenebroum had devoured shed no light on the subject, though it had not yet found the corpse of either fort¡¯s captain to question directly.


    For now, it didn¡¯t matter. What mattered was keeping the enemy force off balance. If they sent a cavalry force in its direction. It slaughtered enough villages down in the rear of the army to make them change course and investigate the new threat. If forests began to act in any way suspicious, then they were burned to the ground as a precautionary measure.


    As the noose on Rahkin tightened, the only real problem for the Lich¡¯s forces turned out to be adequate places to keep its advancing troops during daylight periods. In a normal siege, the enemy force would ring the opposing city and wait them out. Indeed, the undead were better suited to that than their human counterparts because they required neither sleep nor food. All they needed was the tremendous mana that Tenebroum provided as a dark, unending river and somewhere to shelter from the light each dawn.


    This, of course, meant that its treacherous opponents had six to eight hours each day to do whatever they wanted. This forced its general to alter its plans, expanding them to create a very wide cordon on all sides of the city.


    Attacking directly would be easier, but with so many of its forces eliminated so recently and direct reinforcements in the form of mages and Siddrimites only a few days to the south, that was a risky proposition. It wasn¡¯t just the possibility that it could lose thousands of more constructs that stayed its hand. It was the idea defeat itself.


    If such things became possible, then hope would rise further, and already it could feel what food had done to the morale of that nation. The mana had flowed so much more freely when they were frozen and starving. The Lich could easily foresee an outcome where the mages engineered its defeat, and the populace, driven by rising spirits, pushed it back and back again. It should easily be able to hold this line here, but if that fell, then it would have to fall all the way back to the tunnel it had bored through the Wyrmspires.


    That would be completely unacceptable. Every square inch of land that the Lich had claimed would belong to it forever, and even as it surveyed the complicated battlefield, that resolve only strengthened. The snows would come soon. Then, not only would the men move slower, but the darkness would last longer.


    Before the ground froze, though. There were preparations to be made. Tenebroum¡¯s forces always claimed mines and caves near the zones of conflict where they could, but this time, given the sheer amount of ground they would have to cover, this was not going to be possible. It was going to build dozens of small lairs all throughout the region. Each would have to be close enough to each other to allow movement and close enough to the main trade roads to interdict traffic.


    This would be impossible to do in a short period of time without magic, and even with magic, it was certain that everything it did was being watched. Neither Tenebroum nor its Paragon had any doubts that both the mages and the Gods themselves were spying on them. It was the only way to explain all the subtle counters that had occurred at every stage of this operation. From the dwarves locating its tunnel so quickly and the ambush in the woods to the collapse of the shields of Banath, something was helping the mortals, and that wouldn¡¯t change until it was victorious or it had found to snuff out the gods.


    Since, in most cases, the only way to accomplish the latter seemed to be to complete the former. In a battle of attrition, it seemed unlikely that a fragile foe like the humans could ever triumph over its deathless might, but with its most recent setback, Tenebroum was already beginning to face a shortage of some of its most valuable parts like skulls and martial souls. Steal or animal parts could compensate for one, and goblin souls could be used in place of the other, but even so, both choices would weaken the quality of the end product.


    Its soldiers might last forever, but between its recent losses and the countermeasures that the humans were taking to secure the corpses of their dead where they could, the Lich could see a day years from now where it might have no way to create new servants. Such a fate was intolerable, of course. It had already dispatched drudges to the graveyards around the cities under its control, like Fallravea. There, centuries of dead waited for it, which made those places vast if finite resources.


    Something would have to be done, but for the moment, the Lich was out of ideas. Trying to keep track of its arcane projects, its various servants, and the tactics and disposition of the various dungeons it would need to build to house its units during daylight hours was an overwhelming task. It was an infinite and ever-growing list, and the Lich would have been tempted to build a servant just to handle that for it if it had not already done so in the form of the Skoeticnomikos.

 Ch. 129 - Seeds of Darkness

    The siege around Rahkin started well before the first snows, though it would be weeks before the humans understood that. Despite the fact that they were offering to pay well over the market price to fill their diminished granaries and had frequent patrols wandering the countryside to keep the roads safe. The roads were not safe, though, not at night, and a few mercenaries weren¡¯t enough to keep its ghostly riders and centipedal cavalry at bay. So, the only supplies that arrived eventually came from the north, and most of those were forced to travel by sea.


    Thanks to Oroza¡¯s betrayal, Tenebroum had no hold on those routes. Despite its best efforts, it had yet to find a replacement that was even a hundredth her strength. It would in time, though. Even though Tagel-by-the-sea was abandoned, a fishing fleet still sailed out into those waters some nights. The boats that were caulked in pitch had been infused with cholorium, though. This was enough to keep Oroza and her ilk at bay, even if it poisoned the whole harbor and made the nearby beaches a graveyard for rotting fish.


    It might not be able to catch a river dragon, but with tainted harpoons, it could drag the bloated carcasses of sea monsters back to port. There, they would be stuffed with a thousand tiny elemental spirits if that¡¯s what it took to animate them after they¡¯d been dissected and alchemically preserved. Though the lives of both animals and men were rare in the South now, and even finding goblins in the Red Hills could be a challenge, the seas and the mountains still had many raw materials just waiting to be plundered.


    For now, at least, the creation of interesting new servants was not the Lich¡¯s focus, though. At the moment, it was focused on territory and on strangling commerce. To the South of the capital, this was easily accomplished with night riders and fire. There were no longer any major cities in that direction to offer resistance, and the roads were already nearly abandoned, so it was easy to burn the harvest to ashes while hungry men tried to harvest it.


    The north and the west were more complicated, though. There, defenses still stood, and large divisions of men still patrolled. This was where Tenebroum would enact its invisible siege. If it wanted to hoard thousands of troops overnight to prepare for the inevitable assault as it grew closer and closer to the capital. However, it had learned its lessons with buildings of timber and would not repeat that mistake. They could be burned to the ground. So, from now on, it required that its minions build dozens of dungeons across the disputed region to house both its undead and its goblinoid minions.


    As much as it would have liked to simply build a tunnel across the continent, such large-scale earthworks were infeasible, even with the Devourer. It had taken over a year to dig its tunnel through the Wodenspine Mountains, and that had only been thirty miles. Even at that blistering pace, it would take over a decade to build tunnels all the way to its current target, and that was completely untenable.


    Between that construct and its sad, silent titan, though, making a number of smaller fortifications was easy enough, and several new lairs for it to hoard its troops during daylight hours sprang up each week. Most of these were simple affairs to start. They were little more than large rooms connected to winding stairs that were dug into the earth in out-of-the-way places.


    It was only when some of them were discovered, and the humans began to attack them that they became more interesting than that. Tenebroum knew in some sense that humans were drawn to such things. It had seen that behavior before, in its earliest days, but it was still a surprise when it happened once more.


    The first group to stumble onto one of its scattered lairs was a group of boys armed only with their father¡¯s weapons. Most of those who were foolish enough to descend into the darkness died very quickly, but because it had been unprepared for such an activity, a few of them were allowed to escape and spread the word. This caused a larger force to appear on the following night to take their revenge. This time, all of them perished, and their village did not last much longer than that.


    The Lich immediately ordered traps be installed to force those that had stumbled inside to stand and fight, even after they found out what a terrible idea that was. The deathless voices of its advisors contributed other ideas to that, though.


    ¡°Let the dreamer tell them,¡± the library whispered. ¡°Let them believe they have found a way to defeat you and that the tool to your undoing is hidden in that darkness.¡±


    ¡°If you are going to bait such a fine trap, you might well spread the word as well,¡± the Ghost of Solovino suggested. ¡°Let them whisper of your bane, let them pray for your downfall, quest for it, and then die screaming.¡±


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    Tenebroum was not a fan of giving its enemies hope, but a poisoned hope sounded very interesting indeed. It could imagine such a thing. It had long spread songs to make the world believe what it wanted them to believe. This would be no different, save that the only light waiting for the heroes at the end of this tunnel would be the forge fires that would turn their bodies into something more interesting.


    Slowly, day by day, the dungeons nearest to the large towns and close to the most well-traveled roads began to grow and change. They were no longer places where a few hundred war zombies sheltered until dusk.


    They became testing grounds, and not just for traps, either. The Lich filled these places with escalating terrors designed to draw in the opposition and make them feel like they had a chance right up until the moment they watched their friends die.


    For the price of a few broken-down drudges holding rusted weapons, it could lull warriors with spirit and prowess who were fierce enough to pose it actual problems into a complacency from which they would never escape. A warrior might be able to strike down a worn-out skeleton that had spent the last decade digging holes, but against a handful of war zombies, or worse, he would quickly be reduced to a quivering blob of flesh begging for mercy with his dying breath.


    The Lich was also able to use some of its more creative monsters in these pits as well. With the distinct lack of mages anywhere in the world outside of Abendend or the other major cities they sheltered in to hide from its wrath, there were few that could protect the fools from turning on one another when they faced the floating brain that was one of its neuroids. Some might have swords with a touch of magic, but most couldn¡¯t even strike a single blow against a shadow hydra before they were bitten in half, even if they had a silvered blade.


    Occasionally, these pits lured other interesting specimens like a priestess of Lunaris or a druid that worshiped Niama, and it learned a great deal about those Goddesses and even some of the other gods in their cursed pantheon by saving those heads to be mounted into its ever-growing library.


    It was unlikely that such diversions would pay for themselves in terms of mana or effort. However, as the snows began to fall, one thing was certain: it amused Tenebroum. Watching fools blunder to their deaths as they searched for a supposed sacred sword or forgotten scroll that would finally reveal the true name of the evil that was sweeping the land wasn¡¯t quite as enjoyable as basking in the prayers of the tens of thousands of scared villagers it had left in its shadow in the march east, it was still exquisite.


    Increasingly, the Lich found that it treasured more than gold and rubies. Those things were still shipped to one of its main lairs, of course, along with the intact heads of anyone worth studying on a deep level. It was becoming accustomed to becoming a god.


    The original dungeon beneath Blackwater had become quite beautiful despite its humble beginnings. Its library was in the process of becoming the poison tree that it had seen in its vision, and its brass limbs and gold foliage blended right in twitch the rest of the arcane infrastructure that was its ever-growing core.


    Most of the rooms near the core were a gilded hive as soul webbing stretched across every ceiling in a way that mimicked the ornamentation that humans used in their most important buildings, and in many places, mosaics increasingly dominated the floors and the walls as well. Each of them showed a different victory in a timeless fashion via the clever arrangement of precious and semi-precious stones.


    Almost no one would ever see these, though. Even the devoted worshipers who created them by the light of dim oil lamps never really saw the whole work when it was completed. They could only ever enjoy the tiny contribution they were making. This was fitting, as far as Tenebroum was concerned.


    Though High Priest Verdenin and his growing cult were the ones that created these works to glorify the dark, the dark spirit they served, it was the only one that would ever really appreciate their undertaking. As in all things, only Tenebroum could see how all of its plans and all of the moving parts involved in them fit together, even though it was increasingly delegating minor roles within those grand schemes to other, lesser spirits.


    As it gazed upon the world now, it saw it in many ways as a mosaic where it had once seen only a map or a chessboard. It was still a game to be played, but now there were thousands of spaces and tens of thousands of moves, and as it moved outward, conquering more and more territory.


    The main difference between the version of the game that it was playing and the one that the nobles it battled against played in their homes while the snow thickened outside was that the Lich played for keeps. Each time it took a piece from an opponent, it became another pawn on its side, and each time it took a square, that became one more piece of the glittering mosaic that was the monument to its glory.


    Someday, every piece would belong to it. It would not have to pace the under temple or haunt the halls of its lair to view them; it would be able to hold the world in its hand instead and admire every glittering facet itself.

 Ch. 130 - The End of Winter

    Last winter, all that Jordan had worried about was that he and his slowly increasing band of refugees might run out of food. That was a horror that had never quite come to pass, though it had been a near thing in those first few days of spring. This winter, the ghost of famine no longer haunted them. In fact, though not pleasant, he might have been tempted to call this one cozy.


    Against the odds, they¡¯d had a prosperous year, which had started when Markez left. He¡¯d done them the accidental favor of taking many of the malcontents with him. Though word of what had become of them never made it as far back as Sedgim Manor, he was sure that strong men like that had landed on their feet. With any luck, they¡¯d sailed so far to the north that they would never need to fear the dark or the cold again.


    Their departure had been only the first in a year of minor miracles. Neither the bandits nor the goblins returned in any great numbers, and despite their lack of grown farm hands, the children had done a better job than expected, and grain flourished while weeds shriveled.


    He could only hope that the same would be true in the wake of Brother Faerbar¡¯s departure. Oh, the Templar hasn¡¯t left yet, he thought to himself as he watched him out sparring with the other young men on the frozen grass of the practice yard. He soon would, though. He¡¯d already said as much to his little disciples.


    That he hadn¡¯t bothered to tell Jordan as much, rankled him only slightly. Despite the fact that he was the lawful heir of these lands and a mage, he¡¯d never made to establish any sort of dominance over the holy warrior. He knew better.


    Even if he had, though, that would have stopped once the children¡¯s eyes started glowing. Siddrim might be dead, but the light was not, and if anything, his little followers were more devout than Brother Faearbar was.


    If Besmr or one of his other friends had sat down across from him at the Dragon¡¯s Flagon and asked him, ¡°When do you reckon that us and the Siddrimites will sit down together and share a pint,¡± Jordan would have answered, ¡°When the sun and the moon finally meet in the sky, and only for as long as that moment lasts.¡±


    They all would have laughed at that, as eclipses were not unheard of, though they were extremely fleeting. The end of the world would have only been his second choice. Here they were, though, living under the same roof and occasionally working together for the common good.


    They just didn¡¯t do it with much in common. Just like now, Brother Faerbar stuck to the martial end of things, leaving Jordan to handle everything else. That was fine, of course. It just would have been better if he¡¯d been the second or the first son and raised for such activities rather than pawned off on mage school so he could learn to brew tinctures and the occasional spell.


    It wasn¡¯t for another week until the Templar told him directly that he was leaving. Jordan was hard at work trying to make heads or tails of his account books when the glowing man sat down across from him.


    ¡°I¡¯m needed elsewhere,¡± Brother Faerbar said simply, leaving Jordan at a loss for words.


    ¡°For what, exactly,¡± he asked finally, not sure what else to say.


    ¡°The war against the dark never truly ended, you know that almost as well as I do,¡± he started, ¡°But until I¡¯d made peace with all that I¡¯d lost¡­ for as long as I had that darkness in my heart, I couldn¡¯t fight that fight, so I stayed.¡±


    ¡°Thank the Gods you did,¡± Jordan agreed. ¡°Honestly, I know you, and I don¡¯t really see eye to eye on these things, but you¡¯re welcome to stay here for as long as you¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d been hoping that the snows would melt and give us an early spring, but that seems not to be the case,¡± the older man sighed, ruffling his hair with one hand and looking at the ceiling before once again fixing Jordan with the unnerving glow of his gaze. ¡°In a week, I¡¯ll be gone. No longer than that. I¡¯d like to take certain supplies with me, but if you think things are too tight, then I can¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, please,¡± Jordan insisted. ¡°Help yourself. I would never try to stop you, Brother; I just want to understand the urgency so I can help how I can. If you and the children are going north¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not the children. They aren¡¯t in the dreams,¡± the Templar corrected him. ¡°Just me. They will stay here with you where it¡¯s safe. Even though you are a mage, I can trust you to do that much, at least, can¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°You can,¡± Jordan agreed, not pressing the point further. Instead, he pulled out a bottle of brandy he¡¯d found last month while he was going through his father¡¯s effects and poured them each a generous jot in two mismatched crystal glasses.


    They sat there for a while in that comfortable silence, drinking before Brother Faerbar finally said, ¡°I can feel the darkness growing. It''s hard to explain, but I feel like every day it¡¯s getting closer and closer while it waits for its chance to gobble everyone and everything up.¡±


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    ¡°Well, that is what it does, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Jordan asked. ¡°It devours all our misery and uses it to raise the corpses of the dead to kill any who oppose it, creating yet more misery.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the way it should work,¡± Brother Faerbar agreed. ¡°That¡¯s the way all the small gods and the demons that have walked the mortal realms worked in the past, but there''s a hunger to that. There''s a certain straightforwardness that is both strength and weakness. Whatever we fight now is different. It¡¯s always mutating and changing. It¡¯s not natural.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± Jordan agreed. ¡°I¡¯ve tried to contact the collegium. I¡¯ve sent several ravens, but none of them ever returned an answer, so either I don¡¯t merit a response, or they¡¯ve long since fallen.¡±


    ¡°I cannot say,¡± Brother Faerbar answered with his hands spread wide. ¡°Your kind are just a different sort of darkness, and black against black is invisible to my gaze. All I can say is that there are small sparks of life somewhere to the west, in Siddrimar or past it, but many more to the north, and that is where I will go to kindle the next great bonfire that will push the darkness back for at least another age.¡±


    ¡°Do you think that will be enough to unbreak the sun?¡± Jordan asked hopefully. Though he¡¯d grown used to the strange way that the lights wandered across the sky, leaving their ugly multicolored shadows, he still did not care for it and would welcome a proper daylight once more.


    ¡°That is beyond the power of any mortal. I could no sooner ride one of those horses than I could bring them together again, even with what little light I have to give,¡± the Templar laughed as he finished his drink. ¡°Erresten, Klydonium, Balzaar, and Pheadron are headstrong beasts. It is up to the gods to corral and yoke them once more. All I can do is try to keep hope alive.¡±


    Their conversation ended a few minutes later, and the two of them didn¡¯t speak again before the Templar¡¯s departure, at least not beyond the occasional pleasantry. The warm weather the man had hoped for never appeared, and with a heavy heart, Jordan watched the man leave with a heavy heart through the deepening snow.


    Winter would end, but much like their larger predicament, it would not really change anything. He hoped that the Templar would be able to manage some real change because otherwise, the darkness would overwhelm them all one day.


    Less than a week later, the darkness found them, though not in any form he¡¯d expected. For a long time, Jordan had worried that random goblin raids on their flocks might turn into something more cohesive or that the living dead might one day be spotted by the watch they kept on the forest and the main road one night.


    Instead, it came in the form of a blind woman wearing the tattered robes of Siddrimar. Reben, who was on watch that day, didn¡¯t believe that she was more than a crazed beggar from the way she mumbled to herself, but when he caught a glimpse of the strange book she was carrying, he invited her to one of the small outbuildings to the north of the manor and saw her fed while Jordan was summoned.


    ¡°She said she¡¯s here about the falling star and the¡ª¡± Reben whispered to him as Jordan entered, but the woman piped up immediately.


    ¡°I¡¯m blind, not deaf, son, and I¡¯ll happily tell your Lord my business my own self if you don¡¯t mind,¡± she said cheerily between bites.


    ¡°Quite,¡± Jordan agreed. ¡°What can I do for you, miss¡­¡±


    ¡°Annise,¡± she answered as he sat down across from her. ¡°Sister Annise. Though the Lord of Light has fallen, and his order has buried beside him in his grave, a few of us yet live on in service to the light in other ways, as we are able.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll forgive me if I say that you don¡¯t look like any Siddrimite I¡¯ve ever seen,¡± Jordan said, trying to be polite. In truth, she looked crazed. Her hair was a mess, and her outfit was torn and dirty. Even without the book, he would have been tempted to turn her away as a witch or worse, but the dark leather of the tome she carried with her had a malevolent aura about it. Honestly, he wasn¡¯t sure if he should read it before disposing of it or if he would just burn it outright if given a chance.


    ¡°These are hard times for us all. Harder still if you lack the eyes to see, but I manage, somehow. I have to when the world depends on me,¡± she said, finishing half of her loaf before she pocketed the other half. Then she turned to regard Jordan with her milky, sightless eyes. ¡°Tell me, are you ready to play your part in history?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think history will be kind to the minor players in the current story,¡± Jordan shrugged, ¡°But it will be even crueler to the heroes. I think I will stay here and mind the people and the land under my stewardship. You¡¯re welcome to stay for the night, of course, but beyond that¡ª¡±


    ¡°You are already destined to be a hero, according to the book,¡± she assured him as she reached for the book, opened it, and began flipping through the pages. ¡°The fallen star has left the cradle to light the bonfire, and now the shepherd must grasp the lightning!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure who the falling star is, but I can assure you that lightning isn¡¯t a problem. Be that as it may, I¡­¡± Jordan¡¯s words trailed off as she stopped on a page and pushed it in front of him.


    The drawing in the book was crude and uneven. Part of the edging was illuminated and gilded in iconography that was unmistakably Siddrim¡¯s, and the figure it depicted, talentless though it was, was definitely Brother Faerbar standing at the top of a ruined wall with eyes full of light. He had no idea what it meant, though.


    ¡°Is this supposed to be the Templar?¡± he asked finally. ¡°You¡¯re out of luck, I¡¯m afraid. He¡¯s already left to¡ª¡±


    ¡°To light the bonfire,¡± she agreed. ¡°All is according to plan. There is no doubt that the falling star will do his part. The only question is, will you do so as well?¡±

 Ch. 131 - Old Friends

    Brother Faerbar walked through the snow without issue for the first several days of his trip. It was a long road to the north, though, and he doubted very much that he would make it to the heart of the maelstrom that only he could see without being noticed.


    Such a thing would be impossible. Even now, in the height of the shattered daylight that the world was forced to endure, he could sense the darkness building and flowing. He was miles to the northeast of the ruins of Siddrimar, in the very heartland of the kingdom. It was a place that had known peace for centuries.


    Despite that, the taint here was worse than it had been on the banks of the Oroza even before they¡¯d purged the foul under temple.


    Brother Faerbar sighed at that memory and at his foolishness. He¡¯d know that the waters of the mighty river had turned to poison, spiritually speaking, but he¡¯d never stopped to wonder who had been the one to poison it, and now everyone who had fought beside him in that dank place was dead.


    He didn¡¯t blame himself for any of that, though. Such a thing would dishonor their memories. Instead, he would honor their memories by fighting until he joined them in death.


    The Templar had no idea whether the hallowed halls of the world after still remained or if he could even find his way to them, given that his God was nothing but dust now. Still, he contemplated those thoughts until he fell asleep next to the embers of his small fires.


    That peace didn¡¯t last forever. When he was near the halfway point of his trip, Brother Faerbar could feel the shadows beginning to stir as something finally noticed him.


    He was not afraid, though. The Templar had spent a lifetime warring against the dark, and though some small part of him whispered that the candle of his life was beginning to gutter and that he would soon reach the end.


    He ignored that, just like he ignored the flickering shadows that hid amongst the trees and the dead-eyed ravens that watched him from a distance as his armored feet crunched through the ice and snow.


    Two days after the darkness started to watch him, there were only a handful of ravens and crows that circled him at a safe distance, but by the third day, there were hundreds as he slowly marched north. Brother Faerbar ignored them all since he lacked a bow, and they were well out of reach of his sword.


    Let them watch, he thought bitterly. Let it see its doom coming.


    The darkness would either face him now in some hurried ambush, or it would face him on the battlefield with an army at his back. Brother Faerbar hoped for both.


    Two nights later, the first ambush came, deceitfully, while he was slumbering next to the dying embers of his cookfire. Unbeknownst to him, six vicious wraiths had spent the last few days pursuing him, and even while he slumbered, they waited amongst the roots and branches of distant trees for midnight.


    When the world was at its darkest, the wraiths swarmed him as one from every direction. Despite the speed with which they flew through the night and the vicious-looking weapons they wielded, they made no noise. Each of them found their target, and together, they tried to skewer him in half a dozen places at once while he slumbered through the assault.


    If they¡¯d wielded steel instead of pure solidified darkness, then the blades that didn¡¯t glance off his armor might have wounded him. Instead, the weapons made of pure glossy black umbra managed to scratch his skin. Then, before they could plunge deeper into something vital, they evaporated from the brief burst of light that issued from his wounds, cauterizing them instantly shut.


    It wasn¡¯t even the pain from such an attack that woke him up. It was the hideous death cries as those faint bursts of holy light dissolved his attackers into little bursts of foul black smoke. Brother Faerbar was on his feet in an instant after that, though he did not draw his sword yet. Not until he understood where the next attack would come from.


    Farbear cursed his age as he looked into the dark with his burning eyes. The younger versions of himself would have heard the ambush well before they¡¯d approached him. His hearing wasn¡¯t the best either, though, and he only heard the rush of wind from the shadow dragon at the last possible moment as the thing above him dived toward him.


    The Templar¡¯s sword was out and just starting to glow as the shadow dragon roared its inhuman fury and vomited forth a torrent of shadows. The deep purple flames cast no light on any of the surrounding trees. Instead, they barrel toward the man as a sizzling wall of death.


    ¡°Demon!¡± Brother Faerbar roared, meeting the death sentence with a burst of light.


    It never had a chance. Despite the chill as the darkfire almost reaches him, it vanishes in an instant. The dragon that was behind it isn¡¯t so lucky.


    Even as it opened its rotting maw wide to rip the Templar¡¯s head off, he pivoted to the side, and before the monstrosity could pull up, Brother Faebar¡¯s sword was there running along its rusted, scaly flank. For the first dozen feet, it found no purchase and made only a storm of sparks, but then it slipped into a gap between the scales and cut a huge rent that separated skin from bone and made the near wing flap limply as some vital tendons became unmoored.


    The Templar had no idea if the thing had planned to come around for another pass before, but that was impossible. Instead, it crashed into a nearby tree, and then, even as he ran toward it, the monstrosity limped off into the sky.


    ¡°Face me, you coward!¡± Brother Faerbar shouted, shaking a fist at the sky.


    It didn¡¯t, though, and it was only as it disappeared into the night that he noted just how much damage those dark flames had done to the surrounding area. The surrounding snow had melted completely despite the lack of heat, but beneath that, the vegetation had been scourged to nothing. The trees weren¡¯t spared either. All the nearby trunks were gone or eroded so badly that they¡¯d toppled over in the direction of the blast.


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    Brother Faerbar didn¡¯t sleep the rest of that night or on any of the other nights as he made his way north. After that, he only napped briefly for the period when three of the four suns were in the sky. He¡¯d expected that the skeletons and zombies his enemy would send after him would be something that he could hear and see coming, but he¡¯d been wrong.


    Still, the crows never left him now. They haunted each night like a red-eyed constellation, and on some evenings, they outshined even the stars themselves.


    Two nights later, he encountered his next serious ambush. Though the road had been entirely empty of farmers or merchants, which hadn¡¯t come as a terrible surprise to the Templar given the weather and the state of the world, he eventually found someone waiting to bar his path.


    Ahead of him were a handful of death knights on skeletal monstrosities that might have been distantly related to horses, backed by some two dozen zombies. Brother Faerbar smiled grimly at that and drew his blade once more.


    He¡¯d expected the death knights to charge immediately, but instead, they sent their zombies ahead to bog him down and waited until he was locked into combat before they charged him. That suited him fine. He wanted them all together before he showed his true power.


    The Templar had not merely whiled away his time in the manor teaching children to fight and telling them the stories of Siddrim¡¯s love. He¡¯d spent a great deal of time pondering and understanding the gift he¡¯d been given.


    Inside of him, he had a piece of his God¡¯s very soul, and It was more than a healing light or a flame that could be used to kindle that light in other people. If used correctly, it was also a raging bonfire, and that was the way he used it now.


    ¡°There is nothing to fear here,¡± he grunted as the death knights charged toward him.


    Even as they rode down their own men in an effort to strike the killing blow that their zombies hadn¡¯t been able to accomplish so far, the golden light from his eyes and his sword intensified. Moments later, the zombies nearest to him were already engulfed in a fire that was burning them from the inside out.


    Though they didn¡¯t panic per se, since they were mindless things, they did spasm and flail in agony, further slowing down the knights and giving the Templar the distraction he needed to unhorse the first one. The second and third both wounded him, but his wounds were closed, and their bodies were on fire even before they finished riding past him.


    Only a few minutes later, Brother Faerbar stood alone with his chest heaving amidst the ashes and the still smoldering limbs of the corpses that had once been his enemies. Now, they were little more than a stain on the road. If they had faced him with ten times that number, they might have taken him, but only because age took almost as terrible a toll as the light that burned away within him.


    Still, he would not be defeated until he reached his destination, and he resolved to make better time as he walked the empty road from deserted village to burned-down town before the enemy could assemble such a host.


    That hammer never fell, though, for on the last night of his trip, when Brother Faerbar could see some signs of life as well as the first breaths of spring, he found only one man left to bar his way. ¡°I should have known they¡¯d send you,¡± the Templar said to the silhouette as soon as he figured out who it was.


    Between the winter weather and his nighttime schedule, the world had been made monochromatic for most of his trip. Now, though, standing in front of Brother Faerbar on the muddy brown road was a thing wearing the cold blue skin of his dead squire.


    ¡°It is only right I pay my respects to you before the end,¡± the zombie croaked in a voice that was a little too rough to be human but still somehow familiar. ¡°I want to be there for you in a way that you weren¡¯t for me, at the end.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t Todd anymore. He was certain of that. No matter how well the creature was able to mimic the skin of the lad he once knew, he¡¯d never believe it.


    Brother Faerbar set his jaw and drew his sword but could not quite bring him to set it ablaze. ¡°My squire did his utmost until the very end,¡± he declared. ¡°He stood with Siddrim then, even as I do now. Your lies have no hold on me.¡±


    ¡°No?¡± the unclean spirit asked, approaching Brother Faerbar without a weapon drawn. ¡°You don¡¯t regret that you weren¡¯t the one there that day? That you weren¡¯t there to save either your God or your charge?¡± There was sadness in the construct¡¯s voice, but to the Templar, it sounded more like mockery than regret.


    ¡°He was a grown man,¡± The Templar answered. ¡°He did all anyone could ask of him.¡±


    ¡°How would you know?¡± the squire asked, drawing his sword as he saw his evil words failed to find their mark in his opponent. ¡°Would you like to know his final words? Would you like to know that he died like a coward?¡±


    Brother Faerbar¡¯s grip on his sword tightened. He could feel his anger rising, but he would have felt the same even if the shard of Siddrim that resided in him hadn¡¯t already revealed of the truth of those moments.


    ¡°If you wish to try to kill me, then let''s get to it,¡± the older man grunted. ¡°I have more important things to do than to reflect on the ghosts of the past.¡±


    ¡°Why rush to your grave?¡± the corpse laughed. ¡°The boy you knew has been reformed and enhanced. He¡ª¡±


    The taunting spirit stopped talking as Brother Faerbar brought his sword down like a thunderbolt. It was parried by the silvered blade of his opponent, but the blow sent sparks out in all directions into the darkness. It took three attempts to land the first blow, though even the holy light of his sword seemed to do little when it pierced the monstrosity that he¡¯d once counted as a friend.


    ¡°It will take more than that, old man,¡± the zombie masquerading as his squire laughed. ¡°Death is only easy the first time. You¡¯ll find that out soon enough, yourself.¡±


    Each hateful word and each killing blow made the fire inside the Templar burn that much brighter. This zombie was more skilled than the real Todd had ever been, and it succeeded in cutting deep into him twice.


    Those blows healed almost as soon as they were struck, though. It was a battle between one who could not die and another who was already dead. In a true battle of attrition, it would be the dead who would win, for they would never tire.


    Even as Brother Faerbar began to breathe hard and the weight of his sword grew more noticeable, he knew it wouldn¡¯t come to that. The face of his dear friend was already beginning to crisp, and golden-white fire was leaking from most of the wounds that Brother Faerbar had delivered. The construct was well-built, which made it slow in dying. It could not survive the light any more than the darkness¡¯s other constructs, though.


    More than twenty minutes after their terrible dual started, the zombie staggered and fell to one knee. The Templar¡¯s first instinct was to surge forward and strike the killing blow, but he remembered too well the terrible explosion that another one of these terrible toys had once unleashed, so instead, he moved back and pulled the light tighter around him like a veil. The result was more than enough to shield him from the worst of the effects when the corpse of his squire detonated, littering the area with poisonous green gas and bone shrapnel.


    Brother Faerbar walked on after that. He didn¡¯t even pause for a moment to pay his respects. Why should he? Todd had died long ago; it was only his corpse that had now been laid to rest.

 Ch. 132 - Bread Crumbs

    Ghroshian was not aware of the Templar when he first entered Rahkin, but when the Lich informed them the following night, they were not surprised. They had felt the menace from the moment the man had walked through the gate and scurried to find new, deeper hiding places for many of the rats that made up its greater whole.


    It was an old scent. The scent of a predator. However, because everyone had said that Siddrim was dead and gone, it had been hard for them to reconcile that baleful aura with the Lord of Light.


    It was him, though, and as soon as the Lich spoke those words, the rat god trembled. The fear only grew stronger when it was given the terrible order that they feared most in the moments after that.


    ¡°You are to follow him,¡± the darkness whispered to him from the mouth of its incapacitated reaver. ¡°You are to watch all that the man with glowing eyes says and does as in this cursed city! We spent the winter denying them food and hope, and now, in a single day, the citizens are renewed. This is an outrage!¡±


    They agreed, of course, but Ghrosian would have said anything to the Lich to avoid becoming the target of that rage. Its wraiths had already abducted more than a few rats that made up the pieces of their soul, and even without a physical manifestation here to enforce its will, the hungry God dared not oppose the thing that had become its master.


    Of course, they dare not get too close to the specter of Siddrim¡¯s light, either. They remembered too well how it burned, even around corners and through doors. Those terrifying memories were some of the oldest, most vivid parts of themself, and they had a feeling that they had not been quite so fearful in the days before that God taught them humility.


    Still, the twin fears forced them to agree, at least to a very small degree, and that night, they sent dry, desiccated mice into the walls of the palace to observe what they could and report back. They would not get too close, but they would do enough so that they would not earn a punishment either. They had few enough bodies after the reaver had practically hunted them to extinction, and they would need time to grow from hundreds to tens of thousands all over again.


    Getting into the palace was easy enough these days. Everywhere except the kitchens, of course. Thanks to all their hard work, the places in the city that might contain food were the most tightly guarded.


    Everything else, though? The movement of dead armies beyond the walls attacked all the human attention, and since the reaver¡¯s nightly attacks had been brought to an end weeks ago, the guards and the mages focused their attention on the darkness outside the walls.


    The palace was an empty place these days, though, after the King and his sons had died. There were no longer banquets or parties, and even if there had been food to spare, it would have been unlikely to change things.


    Why should it? According to every corpse they had feasted on, from the high-born to the gutter scum, the queen was in perpetual mourning after the death of nearly her whole family. The fact that they¡¯d never really found out who did it and simply hung a few criminals as servants of the dark only twisted the knife.


    Ghroshian didn¡¯t mind, though. They enjoyed twisting the knife. Torment and grief were both fine spices for rotting meat, and any corpse that came from the palace these days had at least a hint of both.


    So they would have enjoyed this little expedition as their mice fanned out through the grand hall and the private chambers of the royal family in search of their quarry and other tasty secrets, were it not for those terrible eyes.


    When the mouse first saw them in the private dining room of the royal family, it retreated almost immediately, and it took all of the hungry God¡¯s willpower to force that small tendril of itself to return to the tiny crack in the corner of the room where it could see the Templar talking with the queen and her generals about the cities defenses.


    This was exactly the sort of conversation that Ghroshian should have been listening to, but it couldn¡¯t. It couldn¡¯t focus on anything but those twine golden eyes, which were brighter than any of the other lanterns in the room.


    The man sat there with salt and paper stubble and slate gray hair. He even looked somewhat frail without his armor on, but all that they could see were those two terrible eyes sending out beams of light like twin lighthouses.


    Once, when the man briefly turned in Ghroshian¡¯s direction, the mouse that had been occupying simply died on the spot. The man hadn¡¯t even been the one to do it. It simply cut off the limb rather than risk that the Templar¡¯s gaze might fall on even the tiniest part of them.


    Cursing itself for what the Lich would do to it if it found out, the rat God quickly rushed two more pieces of itself to the room, sending one to the same crack that already held one mouse corpse and sending the other to a cabinet on the far wall that it had long ago picked clean of anything edible.


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    Once there, it forced itself to sit there with their eyes closed and listen to the words coming from the humans. Even with the vengeful glow so close that it might be able to be seen, it forced itself to listen and remember as they discussed the parts of the wall most likely to be attacked and how what they needed to do most was reinforce the harbor because the dead did not need to breathe.


    It was only after the Templar asked to be allowed to visit the Grand Temple, which had since been sealed, and the queen opted to send her daughter to accompany the man, that the rat god allowed the fear to overflow it.


    It was alone in the room now. Nothing had harmed it, and there was no reason to fear, but it could sense the danger, and it waited for a very long time before belatedly sending more of themself to the Grand Temple to await the Templar¡¯s arrival.


    That spot, at least, was safe enough. The light had long since left it, and it had since eaten the rugs, the books and scrolls, and every tapestry except those that were hung by chains too high up for it to reach.


    The place had long since ceased to be holy, and that had been a great comfort to the rat god since its return to unlife. If Siddrim could be snuffed like an ordinary candle, then there was nothing that would stop it from feasting on the world until there was nothing left.


    Well, nothing but the Lich, of course. It was not inclined to cross anyone that could defeat the Lord of Light, though, and even if there was something strangely familiar about the darkness, it¡ª


    Their thoughts stilled immediately as the guards forced open the door for the first time in months, and two people entered the darkened chapel. The glowing eyes of the men made their identities unmistakable, and all eight parts of themself froze in fear as the two humans made their way through the colonnade and toward the altar.


    ¡°And to think, even in this sorry state, it is still probably the grandest temple to Siddrim left in the whole kingdom,¡± the Templar said, gesturing widely at the splintered wood of broken stained glass in so many of the decorative elements.


    Ghroshian had never once tried to evaluate this room as beautiful or not, but it could see how a human might. It was a wide open space, and the thick pillars held up the massive vaulted ceiling that made even this muted conversation easy to hear. In the light of day, it was probably quite bright, too, thanks to the multicolored windows that were plastered all along the southern walls.


    It had no interest in such things, though, and didn¡¯t let the stray thought distract it for even a moment as it focused on the people as well as the words they were speaking. They were talking about the nature of darkness, and the Princess seemed to have some terrible secret she wanted to confess, but they were more interested in how much its hunger had taken a toll on her previously lovely body.


    She had been beautiful once, but between the lack of food and whatever it was she felt guilty about, she was little more than skin and bone. As sixteen sets of eyes observed her from different corners of the room, Ghroshian couldn¡¯t help but wonder how soon it would be able to feast on the marrow of her bones.


    ¡°I¡­ I had to, you understand. It was terrible, but he was going to¡ª¡± the Princess said.


    ¡°Enough,¡± the Templar interrupted. ¡°I am not your confessor; do you understand that? These terrible eyes allow me to see everything you have done, but I cannot punish you for it, do you understand? All of that will be between you and whatever God judges each of us in Siddrim¡¯s absence when we pass over to the other side.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡± she persisted.


    ¡°But nothing,¡± the Templar said, shaking his head. ¡°Let me ask you this. Did you do the things that you did for your own benefit or for the light?¡±


    ¡°I had to fight the darkness,¡± she pleaded. ¡°All who seek to ally with evil or placate them are evil themselves.¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± he agreed. ¡°Then you have nothing to fear.¡±


    Ghroshian wasn¡¯t quite sure what it was they were talking about, but they were intrigued. Nothing tasted better than a secret. At least nothing that wasn¡¯t still warm and bleeding.


    This had the taste of something older, and it desperately wanted to know more, but the holy man kept cutting her off. That was just as well, unfortunately, because their frustration was doing an excellent job of counteracting their collective fear as they watched the scene.


    ¡°That isn¡¯t enough,¡± she whined. ¡°I did something terrible. I demand to be punished for it, and you¡¯re the only one left in the kingdom that can grant me that!¡±


    The older man sighed. ¡°Do you think I haven¡¯t had to do terrible things? Sometimes, the light requires that and more. Do you think that these men haven¡¯t also had to do terrible things to preserve the balance? Perhaps if we¡¯d all done more, there would still be one sun in the sky instead of four.¡±


    As he spoke and gestured at the men in the windows who were presumably saints or at least other holy men, a strange thing began to happen. They started to illuminate. One at a time, the panes began to glow. Worse than that, some small part of the consecration was returning to the ancient tile floor.


    Ghroshian could feel their tiny feet beginning to burn at the unwelcome sensation, and most of their bodies fled. Even so, though, one remained to try to see how this would play out.


    The Templar was merely lecturing her on the nature of morality and the terrible deeds that each of these men had done for the greater good. As he spoke, though, candleless candelabras were relighting, rays of a non-existent sun were streaming through windows that no longer seemed to be missing glass, and even the thick coat of dust that shrouded the entire room had disappeared.


    ¡°That¡¯s nothing though,¡± she declared. ¡°I did so much worse than that. I¡ª¡±


    Ghroshian strained to listen, but even as she moved to finally spill her secret, their final mouse body burst into holy white flames, and it was unable to make out whatever terrible burden it was that this woman was holding. It would tell all this to the Lich, of course. Hopefully, it would be able to make heads or tales of both the Princess''s disposition and the way that the temple could return to life like that, even for a moment of grandeur.

 Ch. 133 - Total Eclipse

    When the stars once again aligned on the equinox, and Lunaris made the call to everyone, Oroza knew she could not ignore it, much as she would like to. She had too much to share about the evil that was currently drowning the world from one sea to the other.


    It had even started to assault her river again with bizarre poison monsters that had been dredged from the deep and altered. So, even with the scars of her recent battle with a cholorium-infused squid serpent she¡¯d torn to pieces still fresh on her serpentine body, she made the long swim into the darkness of the night sky and joined the gods at their conclave.


    She felt much better than she had last time, even if some part of her was still ashamed to be seen by her fellows. Despite the fact that her constant fighting and the salt water that the darkness had flooded her river with had done her no favors, she was grateful that she at least felt clean now. The scales of her river dragon form were still patchy and lusterless, but every scar she earned in her endless war with her former captor was a badge of honor that she would wear with pride.


    As she approached the moon, she briefly wondered how the Lunaris could be both the person that carried the moon across the sky as well as a place where she could also visit, but she didn¡¯t think too much of it. Those deep thoughts were for someone else to decide. Whether the moon was a shield, a lantern, or a place, it did not matter to her. All that mattered was that here was the only place where the people who could actually do something about the ongoing tragedy dwelled.


    When she arrived in the divine amphitheater, it was more crowded than it had been the last time, but even so, she could see many seats were empty, and the pattern of those absences disturbed her. Nature spirits like her seemed the most likely to be missing, followed by the other small gods of places like cities.


    None of that surprised her. The world was on fire with war.


    Despite the absences, Oroza could see the scars on so many of her fellows easily enough. Hers were obvious as well, no matter her form. As a river dragon, they took the form of dark scales and long scars, but even as she turned back into a woman in a dress of grey spray and white foam, the sudden streaks of grey in her hair were easy enough to see.


    For centuries, she hadn¡¯t aged a day thanks to the river¡¯s constant power, but now that she was being poisoned in a variety of subtle and not-so-subtle ways, she was withering. She doubted she¡¯d be much good at fighting anything in a decade at the way things were currently unfolding, but she couldn¡¯t let that bother her now. There was too much to do and too much to say.


    Only the greatest of the gods seemed untouched by the war. Siddrim¡¯s seat still sat empty at the high table, but Niama, Lunaris, the All-Father, the veiled goddess of death, fox-faced Ronndin, along with the other animalistic gods, and even the twin gods of sea and storms were in attendance.


    As their strange meeting started, much of the discussion was on how far the damage had spread. The Lich had stained much of the continent with its long shadow. Worse, it had stopped simply killing all who opposed it and was developing a terrible sort of flock in its own right.


    So, even while its destruction weakened the gods that supported the natural order, it grew and strengthened, and all the while, the world grew emptier and emptier. Niama was happy enough to see the wild places starting to reclaim so many fallow fields, but even she acknowledged the need for humanity.


    ¡°The children of the forest can never hope to grow to the numbers needed to fight this monster,¡± she confessed.


    Still, others had better news. Lunaris promised them that even now, there was a swarm of stars working hard to reunite and herd his horses so that they could once again be yoked to a new chariot the All-Father was building, which was already nearing completion.


    The god of dwarves and craftsmen seemed to be working on a great many plans, but each time one of them was talked about, the stone man stopped the conversation. ¡°By the ancestors, woman, these are not secrets to be shared yet. Not until all is in fruition!¡±


    It was frustrating. Most of the gods in attendance felt that way. Each of them was working on their own small plan or their own secret vengeance, but because they were so used to it, few seemed inclined to share them. There were mentions of a secret weapon here and a clue about the history of the monster they faced there, but each mention would be trampled on by disagreement or impulses of secrecy.


    All of them argued for a time about where the need for help was greatest and which part of the world was going to fall next. The All-Father confessed that even his blow by unleashing the Hammer of Banath had done little good despite how many of the Lich¡¯s dread servants it had crushed.


    There just didn¡¯t seem to be anything stopping the darkness¡¯s advance. Even their greatest victories only slowed the thing down. All they could agree on was that the next city to fall was likely Rhakin. Despite the heroes they¡¯d sent to try to help with that growing siege, the storm clouds that gathered around that doomed city grew ever darker.


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    When it was at last Oroza¡¯s turn to speak, she shared all she knew. She had nothing half so brutal as Niama¡¯s forest ambush against the darkness to share, but she described how it had almost trapped her again and was willing to bend whole geographies and ruin entire regions just to get its way.


    A forest being burned to ashes and a river being poisoned were both terrible tragedies, so the great marble amphitheater was nearly silent when the terrible laughter began to ring out from the stands. As one, the Gods turned to see what mockery this was and saw only the slender form of the dryad Breeandwyn.


    She was a frail, sickly little thing compared to the woman she¡¯d been before the Lich had burned down her wood for daring to ally with Lunaris and Niama, and for a moment, Oroza¡¯s heart went out to her as she realized the poor woman must be sobbing under the weight of despair. Oroza knew that pain well.


    She wasn¡¯t, though. The dryad stood, and as she did, Oroza could see that she was definitely laughing. She thought the other goddess¡¯s mind must have finally given way, but as soon as her laughter subsided and she started to speak, Oroza began to transform back into her true form.


    ¡°All of my enemies here in one place, and yet you can agree on nothing!¡± the Lich gloated through someone else¡¯s mouth. ¡°This is why you have lost so much and why you will lose the rest. Do you understand that?¡±


    Some of the warrior gods were already standing and unsheathing their weapons, as they understood the danger, but Oroza was faster. She was already halfway there to where the thing that had once been, Breeandwyn stood, mocking them. She was still too late, though.


    ¡°That fiend must be destroyed!¡± Lunaris shouted, but by the time she stood and denounced it, the thorns were already growing.


    The dryad started to come apart. What was a woman one moment became a flowering plant, and each blossom unfolded into a yawning void of infinite darkness. That horrible sight unraveled further into a thicket made of shadows and plants so dark they drank even every last ounce of light.


    They grew fantastically, and even as Oroza approached the dark oasis and began to tear into it, they¡¯d already involved several of the small gods that had been sitting near her. Phlioiel, the goddess of spinners and other crafts, had been sitting next to Ferden, the young god of shepherds and herds, along with a few other nature goddesses from the same region as Breeandwyn.


    All of them disappeared into the darkness, leaving only the Lich¡¯s echoing laughter and taunting words behind. She bit and tore and the impossible flora even as it cut into the gaps between her hardened scales. Such pain meant nothing to Oroza, though. She¡¯d had much worse.


    It was only when the shadowy abominations of things that might have once been animals began to pour their way out of the tiny thicket that the fight was truly joined. Oroza had slain many undead at this point. Few, except for Siddrim, could probably have exceeded her in that regard, but that¡¯s not what these were.


    These were terrible shadow monsters that she could barely harm while the chill of their every attack went right through her scales. Even that she might have been able to deal with were the forms not so abominable. These were not wolves and bears; they were elk with snakes for horns and foxes with mouths as large as the rest of their body. There were birds with two heads and five wings, along with bulls with horns bigger than their own emaciated bodies. The whole thing was a singularity of pure madness.


    The flaming swords or glowing claws of her peers had more luck. Despite that, though, Oroza could feel the brambles engulfing her long, sinuous body like bladed ropes. Despite how hard she fought, she was ensnared, like several other gods and goddesses, and she was slowly being drawn into the maw of whatever abomination it was that the Lich had unleashed.


    She could feel it, grazing her mind and taunting her even as she struggled and switched from trying to kill it to simply trying to flee from it. Welcome home, my pet, it whispered in her mind, making her skin crawl as she bucked and raged against it.


    That was when Lunaris finally joined the fray. She never moved from the dias at the center of the amphitheater. Instead, she watched and drew on her power for almost a minute before releasing it as a single lance of light that wasn¡¯t much larger than Oroza¡¯s scaled form.


    Despite its intensity, it didn¡¯t hurt her. Instead, it felt warm and comforting as the light passed through Oroza and the other warrior gods, dissolving the chains that bound them, along with a good portion of the terrible thicket that had appeared so violently.


    It would have been better if the light had banished the shadows. That wouldn¡¯t have given her nightmares. Instead, as the shadows withered under the moon''s intense gaze, they exposed the physical form of these monsters, which were stitched together from an uncountable number of people and animal parts for a moment before those, too, burst into greasy violet flames amidst the moon¡¯s onslaught. It was vile and made Oroza flashback to her time in the heart of the swamp dragon, freezing her in place for a moment even as her allies continued to fight.


    The moon goddess did not strike at it again. Instead, she stood by while the rest of the gods pounded, cleaved, and chopped it into ruin. The fight took several minutes more, but by the time it was done, there was no trace of the darkness, the dryad, or another half a dozen Gods and Goddesses that had been there moments before.


    ¡°How could this have happened!¡± a demigoddess of song cried.


    No one had any answers for her. Indeed, most of them were thinking the same thing. Oroza was sure of it. The moon and the goddess that carried across the sky each night existed to literally ward away evil. If it could somehow make its way even to here, then what were they supposed to do about that?

 Ch. 134 - Violation

    As Tenebroum watched the latest skirmish preparing to unfold outside the walls of the capital, it had trouble focusing on the details. It wasn¡¯t because it was upset that the Templar, with the light in his eyes, had made it unharmed into the city or even that they had as of yet been unable to find where the man had sheltered for so long. Even the growing light behind Rahkin¡¯s walls wasn¡¯t enough to make the Lich too angry.


    That the man had failed to fall into the trap that the Lich had prepared for him so long ago was disappointing but not unexpected. He did not seem to be half so weak as his squire had been. Still, even this latest twist was unlikely to deny it the city. The man had not been able to rally his thousands-strong Templar army against it at its nadir, and it was much stronger now than it had been before.


    It was just how well the events had played out on the moon the other day. That was enough to make all of this seem trivial.


    The gods themselves are afraid of me, it pondered to itself in equal parts contentment and gloating.


    After that, as delicious as the feasts of the battlefield were, any victory tonight simply wouldn¡¯t compare. After all, last night, it had dined on the flesh of the divine for the first time in a long time. Nothing compared to that. Not even the victory it had struck by sending fear into the hearts of the gods that were arrayed against it. The Lich had spent months growing that corrupted dryad in Constantinal, and for most of that time, she was a scrawny, withered thing that hung on the edge of life and death. It was only shortly before the nature Goddess had called her to the conclave that the dryad looked like she might survive, and the Lich had seized on the opportunity and stitched a truly nasty surprise inside of her.


    It had intended to leave the relic it had embedded inside of its wooden servant as a measure of last resort when some God or another detected its presence. Only none of them had. His construct had simply been pitied by Niama for the terrible fate that Krulm¡¯venor had inflicted on her, and she had been escorted to a seat so that she could speak her words of warning toward the end of their little meeting.


    Sitting behind her eyes, the Lich had soaked up all it could from that meeting. After all, while killing or even kidnapping a god would be an incredible victory, spying on the whole affair and leaving while its enemies were none the wiser would have been even better. At least, that¡¯s what it had thought until it saw her there.


    It knew that Oroza yet lived, and though even the sight of her was enough to make its anger boil over, it resisted the urge immediately. The Lich was content to note her weakness and gloat over her eventual demise. When she revealed secret after secret that belonged to it, though, that was when it grew truly enraged and changed its mind.


    The Lich could not yet tell if its efforts to poison the All-Father¡¯s soul were bearing fruit or that God was naturally a curmudgeonly sort; with a dwarf, it could well be either. Either way, it approved of the stone man¡¯s need for secrecy, as well as the way it hamstrung all the other gods as they tried desperately to get help for their own concerns while desperately trying to frame it as working together.


    They were like a gaggle of panicked chickens trying desperately to avoid slaughter, which was exactly the opposite of the way that it worked with its slowly developing pantheon. In the grand scheme of things, Tenebroum was not yet a full-fledged deity, but even now, some of its servants rivaled the weakest of the true demigods, and every single one of them was permanently and completely loyal to it. Even those like Groshian, the long imprisoned God of hunger and rats, was loyal to the darkness, if only because they feared the Lich¡¯s strength, and for now, that was enough.


    Once this war was done, layer more enchantments to make that loyalty unbreakable, but all of that would have to wait for more urgent things, like the Lich¡¯s sudden, overpowering need to taunt these fools and show them just how powerless they really were. Later, it might regret it. It knew that even as it whispered the final words to unseal the complicated puzzle box that connected to a room in its inner sanctum, six full floors beneath the earth, in the bottommost realm of its lair.


    It was there that the portal opened, and it spewed vitriol and hate at the assembled gods and goddesses. Even as the item unfolded from a dull metal cube into a delicate origami flower, it channeled a massive burst of dark essence into its bearer whether she wanted it or not.


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    None of the deities that were about to face the consequences of that would have any idea how hard the Lich¡¯s servants had labored to create that delicate link where two far-away spaces were, for a moment, a single place. It was the realization of insights that it gained when studying the nature of this world and the way it fit into the large cosmos, but even so, it was a fragile thing with tidal forces and distortion ripples that would have been enough to kill any mortal transmitted in such a fashion.


    Tenebroum did not have to worry much about the consequences of life and death, though. In this case, the result of the violent essence surge was explosive, instantly killing its fragile dryad, though it would be several minutes before she knew that. Instead of dying outright, her body mutated into a spiraling cancerous mass of impossible vegetation that was powered by pure darkness rather than any natural impulse.


    To the Lich, it was a violent work of art, and it savored the moment even as the battle was joined. Why shouldn¡¯t it? Despite the thicket only being ten or fifteen feet on a side, the interior was close to infinite, and the perfect spiraling shapes would never occur in nature.


    Any creature that found its way inside of it, divine or otherwise, would be lost forever. Well, it would be lost until Tenebroum collapsed the strange singularity, dumping whoever it captured into the same room where its shadowy cast-offs and rejects had come from. The object itself was only a gate. It was those creatures it relied on to do the real damage to those in attendance.


    One moment, the Gods that sat around its cursed dryad Breeandwyn were whispering amongst themselves about what could be done, and the next, they were swallowed up by its dark, lacerating vines. It was a sight to behold, and the Lich would forever remember the sight of those beautiful women screaming even as they were dragged into its large and growing maw by bladed vines. They would never be seen again, at least not in any form that anyone was likely to recognize.


    Part of the Lich wished it had tried to capture Lunaris itself with such a trap, but it knew that the odds of this working on a Goddess with real power, let alone powers over light and magic, were slim to none.


    Capturing half a dozen different minor deities for later vivisection could not be called a failure by any stretch of the imagination, though, and watching all those around its dark beachhead struggle with the monsters that poured out of that well of darkness was more than satisfying as well. Tenebroum¡¯s one regret when the whole thing was done was that it had not been able to pull Oroza over the threshold.


    That would have made the whole thing perfect, it decided fondly, as the Lich looked out the eyes of a swarm of ravens at the Walls of Rahkin while it viewed the skirmishes that its dark Paragon was engaged in on a nearly nightly basis. They were an ongoing process that typically consisted of one or two fronts of low-quality drudges and worn-down war zombies to attract the defender¡¯s attention while some new abomination or another damaged a wall or wreaked havoc from an unexpected quarter. Today, it was a frontal assault to test out the limits of their mage¡¯s range while specters assaulted the smallest gate on the northern side of the city.


    If that went well, they would let in a unit of death knights who would do real damage as they fought their way toward the city¡¯s largest granary, but Tenebroum was not confident it would be successful. The only way it was likely to take this city was in a large-scale battle where it committed everything in the area to overwhelm the defenders, and it was unwilling to do that as long as it and its general suspected they still had tricks up their sleeve.


    So instead, they opted to inflict a death by a thousand cuts until the defenders¡¯ edge were suitably dulled. Often, very little was accomplished, but sometimes, it found a vulnerability and wreaked true havoc. That had been the case last week when it had sent a brigade of zombies across the ocean floor and into the city¡¯s harbor at night.


    Its Paragon had given it a two-thirds chance of losing the whole expedition to an ocean god or another spirit like Oroza, but no one had noticed, and instead, the sodden zombies had come ashore without issue. That, in turn, led to the damage and destruction of dozens of vessels and hundreds of deaths before the city watch had finally vanquished the last of them.


    Repeat performances hadn¡¯t worked any better than this frontal assault was working now. Even as it watched through the eyes of its flock, it could see that the dregs that were assaulting the gate tonight were already being mowed down with a mixture of arcane magic and holy might.


    Every attack was a small victory, though. Tonight, it would allow the Lich and its minions to better understand the range and capabilities of the dwindling defenders, and in the case of its recent battle for the harbor, it had forced the humans to station guards all around the harbor, now only further stretched their already dwindling defenses.


    As it watched a watchman with light in his eyes hold back the specters long enough for reinforcements to arrive, denying the death knights entry and forcing them to retreat, the Lich sighed. In time, the city would break, and the Lich was confident of that. No matter what magic Brother Faerbar brought to wield against it, it would not be enough to stop what was coming

 Ch. 135 - Breakwater

    As the third sun set, Brother Faerbar began his mass to the men that would join him on the walls tonight. He did it as much to put steel in their spines as to feel a fraction of the light he missed so much, though.


    The way that the broken stained glass would glow and the darkness would be forced out of the stone structure as he recited the old words was a balm to his spirit. After seeing how few men here had taken up the light, he needed it.


    As battered and looted as it was, the Grand Temple of Rahkin was still probably in better shape than the spiritual landscape of the city¡¯s inhabitants. Despite how many hours he¡¯d spent scrubbing its floors between his meetings with the Queen and her generals to discuss the city¡¯s defense, it still looked no better than it had when he arrived. That was except for in moments like this when the divine gave them all a taste of what they''d missed for so long.


    For a moment, all of them together here in fellowship didn¡¯t see the timeworn stone or the threadbare walls. They didn¡¯t even see the dull red light of Balzaar as he galloped alone across the heavens. Instead, everyone could see the world as it had been, with white light, veined marble, and blue skies.


    It was the way things should have always been. These were high standards, though. In truth, even the holiest of men that he¡¯d known were far from perfect. Less than half the men in Siddrimar had been devout enough to catch Brother Faerbar¡¯s fervor. Outside those hallowed walls, he hadn''t expected to find even half of that devotion.


    Still, in the sea of eyes that looked at him as he lectured on the fight to come, less than one man in ten looked at him with the blazing gaze that he¡¯d come to expect as the true blessing of the light. All of them looked at him with rapt devotion, and some even with fear, but those things were not enough.


    He couldn¡¯t say what was required beyond righteousness, but he didn¡¯t need to. There was no time left for speculating now. That thing was on the move. Whether their place was at the altar, or the gutter no longer mattered. At this point, Brother Faerbar no longer cared if they were rich or poor or even a man or a woman. Stained souls could defend the lives of their fellow man almost as well as those with pure ones, as far as he was concerned.


    All that mattered was that one could hold a sword and stand in the face of the devil because it was coming for all of them. The scouts had been reporting it for days. Further dungeons were emptying, and nearer dungeons were filling as the dead shuffled their forces and prepared for something larger than usual.


    Would they actually try to breach the walls for good this time? He wondered.


    Rahkin was the capital. It had walls between walls and districts that could be individually defended, so all might not be lost even if the main gate was breached, but once the dead could roam the catacombs at will, it would probably be over.


    Brother Faerbar had learned that lesson already. Above ground, it would be a bloody battle, but it would still be a battle. Below it, though, it would be nothing but a slaughter in the dark.


    The terrible memories of the crusade, and all the men he¡¯d lost in the Lich¡¯s lair were almost enough to shake him free of his blessing, and the Templar had to pause mid-sentence to steady himself.


    ¡°The light will not prevent your death,¡± he started again, ¡°But know that your death, should it come to that, will save the lives of countless others. More important than any of our lives, though, are our immortal souls.¡±


    He drew his sword, willing it to flare with light to better drive this point home to the hundreds of kneeling men who were listening to his words before the battle to come. ¡°For as long as we hold this city, you and the souls of everyone you love are safe! But if it falls, then all of us are damned, and you shall spend an eternity slaving away for the monster we fight, becoming one more foot soldier in its terrible army. Is this what you want?¡±


    ¡°NO!¡± some of the men yelled in unison.


    It was less forceful than Brother Faerbar would have liked, so he continued. ¡°And what of those you love, not just those who are living now, but your children and your parents who are already buried. Do you want this darkness to unearth them as well? Because it will, it¡ª¡±


    ¡°NO!¡± they cried out louder.


    This time, almost all of them joined the call, and it brought a grim smile to his face. He understood too well. The idea of your own death was a terrible, frightening thing, but it was his brothers'' deaths that haunted him at night.


    Not now, though. Right now, the light was too bright for any darkness in his heart, and it had grown all the more powerful since he¡¯d come here for one simple reason: those souls that he vouchsafed fueled his own powers in the same way that they would if they ended up in the hands of the darkness instead.


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    This wasn''t something he''d fully realized in the Darkness'' lair of evil while he was trying to beat back the misshapen hordes of the damned, but during his time in Jordan¡¯s manor house. That was one of the main reasons he¡¯d had to come here. It wasn¡¯t just that he didn¡¯t want to feel the souls of the children he¡¯d raised in the light slip through his fingers either. It was bigger than that. If Siddrim had given him such a gift, then he needed to use it where there were the most people possible.


    That was the only way to give all of this meaning and the dead purpose. He didn¡¯t share any of this with the warriors before him, though. Instead, Brother Faerbar blessed them and sent them on their way.


    Unit after unit, mostly led by the remaining noblemen with their fine armor and their magical blades, came up to him one at a time to receive the Templar¡¯s blessing, but he would not be joining them. Not tonight, anyway. He would let the mages of the Collegium handle the monsters that mere men couldn¡¯t instead. He was needed elsewhere.


    For too long, the dark forces had been probing every weakness that Rahkin had to offer. For week after week, they¡¯d sent various monstrosities against every wall and gate, and if the monster they were facing was making such a big deal of the frontal attack, then Brother Faerbar was fairly certain that the true battle would be elsewhere.


    It was only then he took a much smaller group with him to the sheltered harbor that was the weak link in Rhakin¡¯s chain of defenses. In every other direction, walls and towers held back enemies, but in this one, there was only water, and that seemed less effective.


    At this point, he was unsure if Oroza worked for the darkness they fought or opposed it. He¡¯d seen evidence for both. He hoped that the other Gods and Goddesses were on the side of man, though, otherwise, they were screwed.


    The attack on the walls started as soon as the fourth sun, Pheadron, ran below the far horizon. Brother Faerbar could hear it distantly, but he wasn¡¯t concerned, at least at first. Instead, he and the thirty men he¡¯d selected waited in an abandoned tavern just close enough to see the waterfront.


    They didn¡¯t have to wait too long. An hour after the fight started, but several hours before midnight, the first sodden zombies began to wade onshore. They were pitiful, waterlogged things with rusted armor. The Templar didn¡¯t even need to dispatch them himself. While he fought, he kept the visor of his battered helmet down and hid the light that might frighten larger prey while he waited to see what would follow them.


    The things that came next were a real horror show. First, there were corpses that had been stitched together out of several people until they were two times the size of a normal man, and the ones that followed them had been crafted from so many limbs that they looked more like crabs than people.


    Brother Faerbar joined the fight as soon as these abominations broke the surface, but only because the dregs he¡¯d chosen to fight alongside him would have broken and fled if he hadn¡¯t. They were horrifying and strong, but they were not difficult to kill.


    He was just beginning to doubt his certainty that the true battle would take place far from the walls of the city when it finally broke the surface and began to glide toward them. When it reached them, its tentacles wrapped around the docks. It didn¡¯t climb them, though. Instead, it smashed them to flinders.


    The Templar wasn¡¯t sure exactly what it was in the dark, but even as he ignited his sword to try to understand, he realized that he''d probably made a mistake. He could see the monstrosity towering above him like the brow of a ship now, but so could the men fighting beside him, and several of them broke immediately.


    Some part of him didn¡¯t even blame them as he called to everyone else, ¡°Rally to me! Do not let them establish a beachhead and take the docks!¡±


    The last time that Brother Faerbar had fought something like this, it was Oroza¡¯s leviathan, deep beneath Fallravea. This one was worse, though. That thing had been a mockery made from cast-off human limbs, but for this, someone had found the half-eaten corpse of a true kraken and reanimated the thing. The fact that they¡¯d used other random bodies and carcasses to make it whole made it that much more disgusting.


    Here, a person had been used instead of the foot-like fin that belonged there, and there snakes and giant eels replaced tentacle sections that had been bitten away or rotted off. In addition to that, everywhere there was a hole large enough to be a structural concern, it was riveted over with metal plates or thick, scaly hides from who knew what.


    None of that mattered right now, though. What mattered were the writhing tentacles that could just as easily crush a man as sink a ship or bring down a building. For the first few minutes, it was stuck at the water''s edge, and for every trunk-like tentacle he removed with his glowing blade, it slew a few of his men.


    Once it managed to drag itself ashore, though, the destruction only got worse. That was for two reasons. The first was that now, every time it failed to strike down Brother Faerbar, it would crush a wagon or knock down some part of a building. The other reason was the zombies it began to vomit up, though.


    These slime-covered monstrosities were heaved up past its three rows of sword-like teeth. They weren¡¯t the sort that tried to fight you, though. They were the sort that exploded. Brother Faerbar found that out the moment he cleaved one in two and the alchemical contraption ignited.


    One moment, he was the brightest light on the waterfront, and the next, he was bathed in green fire as the corpse he had just cleaved in two exploded, riddling him with poisoned shrapnel for the second time in his life and knocking him back into the ruins of what had once been someone¡¯s home.


    It was a painful blow but not so terrible that he couldn¡¯t rise to his feet once more. Brother Farbar yanked out the largest pieces of metal that had penetrated his armor with his free hand, and then he leveled his sword back at his enemy and mentally steeled himself to return to the fight.

 Ch. 136 - Breakwater (part 2)

    ¡°You will never strike me down,¡± the Templar grunted, even though, truthfully, he wasn¡¯t sure how many more of those he could take.


    That blow would kill any normal man, and it had been nearly enough to do him in as well. He cursed himself for not expecting such an obvious trap that he¡¯d seen once before. The oddly distended bodies of the things had all but given away the trap, but he¡¯d been too focused on chopping them to pieces to notice.


    So many people had died around him in the last half hour that he was practically overflowing with power. This included almost all the men that he¡¯d brought with him, many of the nearby residents, and even some of the reinforcements that had been sent once word of the giant beast had made its way to their small reserve force stationed in the main square.


    Every one of those deaths would be turned into another soldier in this awful war if he didn¡¯t beat this thing back, here and now, though. Brother Faerbar was sure of that much. That was what made him grip the sword and increase the light that was flowing to it despite the pain from his wounds, which still hadn¡¯t finished knitting shut.


    ¡°Vile creatures!¡± he yelled as another one exploded not so far away, triggering a chorus of screams. ¡°You have no place here among the living!¡±


    This time, he didn¡¯t run toward them again. He merely stood there and closed his eyes as he channeled as much of the light as he could bear into his sword, and it continued to swell with brightness. At first, it was so bright that he could see the veins in his eyelids, but moment by moment, they became almost translucent as he burned brighter and brighter.


    The Templar poured all of the energy he¡¯d scavenged from the souls he¡¯d saved as well as the thin trickle of prayers that the people of Rahkin were offering up to him, and for a moment, he felt like a true avatar of his dead god even though it all but overwhelmed him. Despite everything that had happened, there were still some who believed in the light, and he would reward that belief.


    At first, he was a bonfire, then he was a beacon, and finally, even though he was almost completely blinded in this moment, he was sure that he was brighter than even the eternal flame that had once graced the tallest tower in all of Siddrimar that had been lit centuries before, at the city¡¯s founding, to drive the darkest shadows back each night.


    Even though he couldn¡¯t see what he was doing to the enemy, though, he could hear it and smell it. Cries of agony and anger erupted from the throats of the dead, including the subsonic bellowing of the lumbering kraken zombie. Worse, though, was the smell.


    All of this putrified flesh had smelled awful from the moment the battle had started. Not even the briny scent of the sea could cover it up. Brother Faerbar didn¡¯t think that anything could make it worse, but he¡¯d been wrong.


    The blazing light that he was channeling was enough to boil them alive in their skins, turning them from rotting corpses into charred ones. Despite being blinded by his light, he could smell putrification and smoldering smokiness blending together in a way that was almost sickly sweet.


    It disgusted him, but he couldn¡¯t wretch now. Not while he was channeling so much power. It was just one more distraction, like the roars of the wounded kraken or the burning sensation coming from his hands.


    Finally, after almost a minute of burning like the sun itself, he finally got the reaction he was looking for, and one by one, the explosive zombies ignited, detonating where they lay, shriveled up on the ground. In combat, they would kill their opponents, but laying there in torment, they would kill only themselves.


    When the detonations stopped, and he felt very nearly drained by the power he unleashed, he finally released it, letting his sword drop to the ground as its light suddenly died. It was still a length of red hot metal, but it was warped and useless now. He would need another one before continuing to press the fight. Before that, though, he would need to let his eyes adjust to the now overwhelming darkness and give his hands a moment to heal.


    Brother Faerbar winced in pain as he looked at them. They were a charred ruin, and he could see his finger bones in places, but already fresh flesh was growing over those terrible injuries. Even the gifts of the light were not without a cost.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    When the spots finally cleared from his vision, he looked out at the carnage that his light had wrought. The whole waterfront was a warzone, from one end to the other, now. Amongst the carnage, the most obvious thing was the giant zombie kraken.


    The flesh of its face had been cooked, and even though it didn¡¯t seem to have a proper skull, its giant, dull eyes had exploded, and the bones of its jaw were exposed beneath sheets of cooked, sloughed-off flesh.


    The soldiers that had arrived held a wide cordon, but everywhere between here and there, there were scorched bodies, shattered buildings, and streets pock-mocked with craters. He couldn¡¯t join them yet, though. He could barely flex his hands. The flesh was still too raw and new.


    Instead, he studied his surroundings, looking for the next threat. Nothing new was boiling up from the water¡¯s edge, and no zombies besides the blind giant still moved on the battlefield. He was fairly sure that as soon as they found a way to bring it down, they would be done here. That¡¯s when he noticed the shadow.


    Brother Faerbar glimpsed it out of the corner of his eye and whirled as he raised his fists to fight the shadowy figure, but it didn¡¯t move. It took him a few seconds to realize not that it was just a shadow but that it was his shadow.


    Somehow, it had been burned into the whitewashed wall behind him by the strength of the light he¡¯d been holding in front of him. He wondered how that had occurred exactly, but unsure, he turned away after a moment¡¯s study.


    If I want the answer, I will probably have to ask a mage, he thought glumly.


    While Jordan hadn¡¯t been a bad sort as far as mages went, the Templar could see his damaged soul, even after only a few years of time spent using magic. He had no desire to look into the withered souls of their untrustworthy allies any more often than he had to. This would be just one mystery, he supposed, as he checked his hands and turned back to face his enemy.


    He still didn¡¯t have much sensation, but by now, his hands were relatively whole again, and they moved properly as he wiggled his fingers and checked his grip while the zombified Kraken bellowed and lashed out blindly. Brother Faerbar looked around the nearest corpses for a sword he could use. While he typically favored giant, heavy blades that could shatter and cut these foul constructs with equal ease, this time, he was looking for something smaller. He ended up finding a dagger and a short sword that worked equally well.


    So, taking one in each hand, he slowly approached the blind, flailing beast. Once he had its erratic pattern down, he sprinted toward its mouth, even as all the other warriors that were still standing stood as far back as they could.


    He didn¡¯t pay attention to them, though. Instead, he waited until the beast¡¯s jaws were opened as wide as possible, and then he jumped inside them. If the light hadn¡¯t done much more than burn out its eyes and scorch its skull, then the only place that he could possibly strike down such a monster was deep inside.


    It was possible that the dark mind that had created this had planned for such an eventuality, of course. It might well have defenses for just such an unorthodox attack. He might fight his way inside the belly of the beast to find traps, blades, or even another explosion that would tear him limb from limb.


    Brother Faerbar didn¡¯t think that likely, though. Not only did the constructions that the darkness make reek of pride in addition to all their other smells, but this one had been carrying especially volatile cargo. It seemed unlikely to him both that the darkness would destroy something that it worked so hard to build, and accidentally detonating those explosive zombies he¡¯d fought earlier would have amounted to much the same thing.


    He didn¡¯t have time to think about much more than that, though. Once he was sliding down its gullet, he was too busy focusing on doing as much damage as possible on the way down, as well as trying not to suffocate.


    The choking chemical smells of preservatives and decay were not something that had risen to the level of threat in his mind, but now that he was past the point of no return, they proved to be the largest hazard of all. Still, he persisted, slicing through chemically hardened flesh that only parted that much easier once both of his newfound blades began to glow lightly.


    Brother Faerbar fought his way to the pit of the thing¡¯s stomach one attack at a time but found no new dangers. When he reached that awful place, the thing attempted to vomit him back up so that it could chew him to pieces, but no matter how hard it tried to expel him, his blades anchored him to the walls of its esophagus.


    Then, finally, he was through the wall of that organ and loosed inside the abdominal cavity, where he could do even more damage. It was here he found the real problem with his plan. Despite the fact that the Templar was relatively unrestricted, there really wasn¡¯t any one terrible weak spot he could strike and end the thing. Though it flailed and pulsed, he was relatively safe from those motions thanks to the metal reinforcing skeleton that had been installed in place.


    He struck at the heart and even managed to sever a few things that looked like spinal cords, but they weren''t. Brother Faerbar attacked anything that looked even a little important or vulnerable, but these attacks enraged the creature more than they slowed it down.


    He destroyed in minutes what had probably taken months or years to create, but he didn¡¯t care. He might never feel clean again after this because of all the blood and slime, but he was going to stop this monster before he could kill anything else if it was the last thing he did.

 Ch. 137 - A Long Night

    Though the soldiers manning the defenses of Rahkin might have thought that all of its forces had taken the field, thanks to the seemingly endless waves of dead that assaulted them, that had not been the case. Even as waves of zombies attacked the high stone walls from every direction, and Tenebroum¡¯s cavalry and other stranger units scaled the walls in an attempt to breach them, its general had been holding back the main body of its forces for the right moment.


    The plans of the dark Paragon had been wearing away at the city¡¯s reserves and their defenders'' nerve for weeks now, but tonight might be the night that the city of Rahkin would finally buckle beneath the strain. Then, it would finally feast on the tens of thousands of souls that sheltered inside in a single night.


    It needed no survivors from this wretched place that had refused its offer and damaged its envoy. She was still being stitched back together but would never be as beautiful as she once was.


    ¡°Unexpected,¡± the quiet spirit that was its dark Paragon said as it watched the battle from a hill well outside the range of battle.


    The Lich was focused on its own thoughts, so it took a moment to understand its general¡¯s uncertainty. Unlike the Paragon, Tenebroum did not attend tonight in person because it did not expect the city to fall from the first blow.


    Instead, it watched from a hundred different angles as a swarm of red-eyed blackbirds took the whole scene in, feasting on the death and the chaos that rose from the field of battle like a fine red mist. Though it would gladly give up any ten of these birds to try to pluck out the eye of a troublesome mage if the opportunity rose, it was mostly content to soar above the battlefield and take everything in.


    It had been too distracted by the screams of its enemies as men were yanked off the rampart to their doom to notice that the Kraken had finally come ashore. That should have been good news, but it would seem that it had been expected. The Lich refocused all of its resources on the main gate and the surrounding walls as soon as he saw that the Light¡¯s Paragon was personally blunting its backdoor assault on the harbor.


    One day, I will rip his soul screaming from his body myself, Tenebroum thought in annoyance at all the time that man had managed to survive.


    Neither it nor its general had any idea how the man had known the kraken would come or that it was the main thrust of their assault, but it no longer mattered. It seized the opportunity even before it saw that terrible, overwhelming light that lit up half the city, slamming against the city walls with all of its forces in defiance of it. One man could not hold back the tide of death that was coming.


    Until that point, it had been attacking sporadically, luring the defenders into clustering together at various points on the wall before attacking them with wraiths and death¡¯s heads. Thanks to the mages on the walls, these weapons were only partially effective, but the Lich was not concerned.


    The light had been a wild card, and now that it was accounted for, it would drown the living in the bodies of the dead. And Krulm''venor was always the ideal choice when it came to having more bodies.


    The Lich finally let him off his chain and sent him baying forward on all fours as he split and split again, becoming dozens of himself before he reached the wall. That proved to be the second problem of the night.


    Even as they climbed one of the walls and moved toward a mage to rend him into tiny pieces, the man brandished some strange talisman. As he did so, the lights in the first few copies of his fiery godling went out as he fell from the wall, seemingly banished or slain without ever being struck.


    ¡°What is this?¡± the darkness raged, moving closer for a better look, even if it cost it a bird.


    It turned out to be a piece of another copy of Krulmvenor. Specifically, it was a piece of the creature¡¯s skull, where his name and the binding rituals that chained the fire spirit in place were. Such a fragment was almost certainly one of the many copies that died at Siddrimar. There was simply nowhere else it could come from.


    For a moment, Teneborum was outraged. ¡°How dare a mortal use my own creations against me!¡± it raged.


    Still, instead of showing more anger, it forced its flaming goblin army to pull back instead. They were not happy and snarled collectively as they yanked against its mental leash. It had already lost 8 copies that may or may not be retrievable, though, and it was unwilling to risk more until it understood the threat.


    After all, the odds that any single mage would have such a thing were very low, so since he did, it was entirely possible they all had them. It had lost many shattered copies of its fire godling since this war had started, so the Lich was forced to admit that it was a possibility.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°They might have countermeasures prepared for your shadow drake and titan, too,¡± its general chimed in. ¡°We should not use tools they have seen before against a wary and cornered enemy.¡±


    Tenebroum was inclined to agree and sent the two of them away. It already had its own misgivings about using its titan because of some of the strange energies it had felt from beneath the city, but after this, the Lich was certain that the dangers for at least those servants outweighed the benefits and sent them away.


    Instead, it would rely on its conventional troops and other surprises. Thousands of dead marching as one was a form of magic all its own, anyway. Once all the defenders could do nothing but safeguard their wretched little lives, its most important weapon for this battle was unleashed: the siege ogre.


    Tenebroum had crafted several large monstrosities from ogres in the past. One had been lost at Siddrimar, one had been buried beneath the rubble at Banath, and two more had been detonated.


    This one was built from the remains of those and metal casts of some of the bones, where spares had not been available: the result was a lumbering monstrosity almost three times the height of a man and nearly twice as tall as a normal ogre. While it wasn¡¯t quite tall enough to reach up and tear the walls down, it was more than strong enough to rip the oaken gate that guarded the main entrance.


    The siege ogre moved slowly, shaking the ground with every step. None of the chirurgeons who had built it would be surprised by that fact, as it weighed several tons. A great deal of reinforcement was needed to unleash the strengths in all six of its man-sized arms, and three legs were needed to hold it up as it moved forward.


    It was implacable, though, and loomed out of the night like a hill more than a man. Eventually, the defenders noticed no matter how many arrows ricochet off the chainmail and armored plating that had been riveted to its tanned hide, the defenders could do no damage to it.


    Even lightning and hellfire called down by one of the mages before the man¡¯s soul was ripped to shred by a swarm of wraiths he hadn¡¯t been paying attention to was barely enough to stagger the thing instead. All the man succeeded in doing was making the monstrosity more visible as he wreathed the siege ogre in flames.


    The flickering green fire was just the preservative chemicals being ignited, though, and it hurt nothing more than the morale of the men who watched in horror as the flames lit up the monstrosity with that ghoulish lighting, making it even more terrible to look upon. Fire would never hurt such a well-built thing. It was more powerful than any force of nature that could be brought to bear against it because it was beyond nature.


    The Lich could feel the terror radiating off of the starving men on the walls, but after a few minutes, it was finally forced to smother the flames. That wasn¡¯t because they were doing any real harm, though; it was because it was making it easier for the catapults to strike their target. They were doing some damage, at least, but only because their heavy stones were actually large enough to break bones.


    Even a broken arm and damaged rib cage still couldn¡¯t stop it from reaching the gate, and once it was there, there wasn¡¯t a force in this world that could stop it. The ogre began ripping the timbers off the gate, one at a time, and tossing the foot-thick boards aside like they were no more than firewood.


    Soon, that was all they would be, though, the Lich thought with an eagerness that bordered on glee.


    At one point, a man trying to be a hero leaped down from the guardhouse and tried to inflict some mortal wound with a claymore that was being used more like a spear. The zombie ogre snatched him out of the air with its upper right arm and crushed him to paste without effort. It barely even broke the ceaseless, noisy rhythm of destruction it was engaged in as it ripped down the main gate.


    Minutes later, the timbers lay in ruin all around the siege ogre, and it advanced to the portcullis. There, the men of the guardhouse sought to light it on fire with boiling oil and flaming arrows. This did more damage than the magic had, but only because the pitch burned hotter for longer.


    Neither the burning oil nor the pike-wielding defenders that jammed their weapons over and over in a vain attempt to hit something vital were enough to stop it as it gripped the giant metal grating with three hands and began to pull. The metal popped and whined in its hands as the gate began to stretch and warp in its hands. Then, with a pained shriek, they finally gave way and were rent in two.


    The battle that followed was a desperate one, but even so, the humans never had a chance, and for every step forward, the siege ogre killed a dozen men. Whether they wielded a great sword or a halberd and had dark eyes or light, few could even scratch Tenebroum¡¯s armored creation, and none could slay it.


    In the end, the defenders couldn¡¯t even slow it down, and some mage weakened the stone in the guardhouse enough to drop a whole tower on the monster. Even that wasn¡¯t enough to kill it, though. It was buried up to its waist in the rubble. This was enough to stop it in its tracks, but even so, it continued to fight, and it killed anyone foolish enough to approach it.


    The Lich was not surprised. Its general had already predicted such an outcome, but it was only a delaying move. It reeked of desperation. They had bought themselves another night, perhaps, but tomorrow, on the night of the new moon, there would be nothing to stop the fresh hell that it would unleash.


    The Lich would have continued its assault all night, but when it felt the Kraken finally cease moving and collapse into a rapidly purifying puddle on the docks, it ordered the Paragon to begin to withdraw.


    ¡°As you will, my master,¡± it acknowledged as the flow of battle began to morph.


    Tenebroum knew full well that it would want to fight until nearly dawn, but at this point, the Lich felt that they had done all they could. If it wanted to end this, it was probably going to need to join the battle itself for only the third time in its entire existence. Despite its distaste, part of it relished the idea.

 Ch. 138 - One More Sunrise

    Princess Trianna gazed out over her city that morning and despaired. They had survived another night, but it was hard to believe they would survive another as she looked outbuildings and surveyed the damage.


    Like everyone else, she¡¯d heard the terrible battle last most of the night, but she hadn¡¯t been able to bring herself to watch. She just lay in bed praying for Siddrim to return to them and save them from this evil. But other than a brief flash of light after midnight, he had not returned to them.


    This is still better than the alternative, she told herself, but she had trouble believing it anymore.


    For a time, after the Templar had come to them, she had seen it as a sign. How could she not? Brother Faerbar was literally filled with light. For the first few weeks, the people of Rahkin had been quite sure that he would save them, and she¡¯d agreed, but that was harder now that there were so many dead that she could see them from her window, along with the huge pyres that had been heaped up just outside the city walls.


    Things only got worse after her two remaining servants helped her dress, and she listened to the battle reports with her mother over a meager breakfast of tea and toast. The bread was stale, but even so, the princess tried to be grateful; they might well be the last people in the whole city who still ate toast.


    He started with the number of dead and wounded. By his count, almost five hundred men had been killed in the defense last night, and a similar amount had been wounded or maimed. He believed that the number of dead among the residents closest to the harbor was almost as high, but it was too soon to say because they were still digging bodies out of the rubble.


    He didn¡¯t say exactly what had wreaked such havoc. He just kept going on about the Templar¡¯s holy light and alchemical constructs and the casualties they caused while avoiding the larger issue.


    Truthfully, she didn¡¯t follow all of what the man said. She was not well versed in alchemy beyond its purported abilities to turn lead into gold. She understood what disastrous meant well enough, and when he started to discuss the thing that had attacked the harbor, that was the word that he used.


    She could see why the Field Marshall had tried so hard to skirt the topic. A rotting sea beast sounded positively hideous. She lost her appetite after that.


    ¡°Is he alive then?¡± her mother asked about the Templar.


    The Field Marshall had very clearly said that he was, but the way he¡¯d talked about the man afterward, she admitted that she wasn¡¯t completely sure either.


    ¡°The Templar is still breathing, Your Highness,¡± he nodded, ¡°He is recuperating in the high temple and may yet make a full recovery, but¡­ well, he was swallowed alive by that thing. You have to understand that the man is not himself.¡±


    Princess Trianna wondered what that meant but put it out of her mind for now as she continued to listen quietly while body counts and the extent of the damage were discussed. Apparently, both the main gate and the majority of the piers lay in ruins now, though the man assured his queen that ¡°we have more than enough resources left to evacuate you and your daughter along with other vital members of court should you wish it. You have but to give the order.¡±


    He mentioned that several times. Really, whenever the opportunity arose. It was clear to everyone that he wanted nothing more than a valorous excuse to leave the city. Her mother refused him that, though.


    ¡°I will die where my husband did if it comes to it,¡± the queen finally snapped. ¡°So why not do what you can and see if we can¡¯t push that off at least a few more weeks, won¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yes, your Majesty!¡± the man said, taking the hint and snapping a salute before retreating.


    They would all live or die together. That was the message. That was always the message, even if someone didn¡¯t want to hear it. Her mother had explained that thought process to Princess Trianna on more than one occasion, though she was the last person in the world who needed to hear that.


    ¡°Evil, like all things, is finite,¡± she¡¯d say, ¡°And we must exhaust that evil against our strong walls rather than let it continue to rampage across the defenseless countryside. With the help of the Collegium, we might even succeed.¡±


    The princess was becoming less sure of that every day. She didn¡¯t say that, though. Instead, she smiled and kissed her mother on the cheek.


    The only one who might be able to reassure her was the Templar, but she would wait until later to see him. First, she wanted to climb to the top of the tallest tower to see the truth of the Field Marshall¡¯s words.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    She was disappointed to find out that it was just as bad as he¡¯d described. From her window that morning, she¡¯d been able to see the terrible battle and the damage that had been done to the main gate. They were plugging the gap with rubble and lumber as best they could, but it was clear to her that it would not hold if they were attacked again soon, which she had every reason to believe they would be.


    Even the watchmen that were up here in the cold dawn light seemed to think that they¡¯d all be dead by the end of the week, and they ignored her while she shivered in her cloak. She tried to steel herself against such pessimism, but once she turned to view the harbor, her heart sank.


    She was far enough away that she couldn¡¯t smell whatever the rotting monstrosity was over the onshore breeze, but she gagged anyway. The whole area around it was completely destroyed. Not just the building either. Half of the ships in the harbor were sunk.


    She shook her head. That would just make the whole thing worse. The bounty of the sea had been the one thing holding body and soul together, and now she wasn¡¯t even sure if the few fishing vessels that remained could move between all the half-sunk wrecks to reach the harbor mouth. It was an unmitigated disaster.


    Those terrible images didn¡¯t leave her head for the rest of the day. They stayed there, along with the secret guilt that she was the one that had caused this. She tried to tell herself that despite all the death and destruction, she¡¯d still done what was right.


    Seeing the heavily scarred face of the Templar that afternoon didn¡¯t help that, though. Princess Trianna braved the streets with only a handful of guards as she walked to the Grand Temple. All the horses had long since been slaughtered, and though she¡¯d thought that more than a single guard would be overkill, even in times like this, the hungry looks of starving people quickly dismayed her.


    When she reached the building, she left them outside, but the soft glow that the place usually had in his presence was absent. Instead, with the door left open, she could see rats skirting the periphery, looking for scraps to eat. They scurried away as she strode through the door, but to her, they looked so thin they were half starved to death.


    It was a bad sign when even the rats couldn¡¯t find enough to eat, she thought to herself.


    ¡°You¡¯ll need it when they come back tonight,¡± the older mage said, pushing something into the Templar¡¯s hands even as he tried to refuse it. ¡°You alone have the power to use this frozen¡ª¡±


    The conversation abruptly stopped when they heard the sound of her footsteps. All three of them pivoted to look at her as she walked out of the shadows and into the light, but they relaxed just as quickly once they saw that it was just the slender princess and not some hideous abomination bent on assassinating them.


    ¡°I need none of your mage tricks,¡± the Templar stated, pushing the strange-looking crystal away. ¡°I¡¯ll not imperil my mortal soul, even on my last day.¡±


    ¡°It will be the last day for all of us soon if we do nothing. Without Karsagan I cannot use this relic as we¡¯d planned, but you wouldn¡¯t even need to craft a binding ring,¡± the old man said. ¡°Just channel the same power you did last night and¡­¡±


    The three of them kept talking, but Princess Trianna couldn¡¯t hear them. Not over the terrible need to look at the mutilated holy warrior. Eventually, she just stood there looking quietly at her feet to avoid staring.


    She¡¯d seen him only a few days ago, and the man had borne a few fresh scars, as he always seemed to, but today, he barely looked human. His graying hair had disappeared overnight, and he¡¯d gone bald. In the grand scheme of things, that wasn¡¯t so bad. What was, was that his hands and face, and really all of his exposed skin, was covered with blotchy scarring.


    It was like he was molting. Even in the time she stood there, sneaking peeks, she could see a few more pink patches of fresh skin peek through the crusty scarring to replace the older, damaged skin. To her, it bordered on the demonic. The princess didn¡¯t know what to say, though, so she said nothing at all.


    The three of them never found common ground, at least that she could hear, but it wasn¡¯t until the mages left, saying they would return after dinner, that the Templar finally turned to her. ¡°What can I do for you, my child,¡± he asked as politely as ever.


    ¡°Oh, me? Nothing,¡± she murmured. ¡°I was worried about you. After the fighting last night, they said you¡¯d been terribly hurt and might not recover, and I just wanted to come and see.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not as bad as it looks, princess,¡± he said with a shrug as he walked over to the stairs that led to the altar and sat down, patting the stairs next to him.


    She appreciated the kindness. In that spot, she wouldn¡¯t have to look at the grotesque he¡¯d become, and she was sure he knew that, too.


    ¡°It¡¯s not?¡± she asked. ¡°Were you burned badly?¡±


    ¡°Only on my hands,¡± he said, showing her one of his burned palms which had already healed, leaving behind a scar burned into the shape of a sword¡¯s hilt.


    ¡°Well, then what happened to the rest of¡­ you know.¡± she inquired, suddenly flustered.


    ¡°Oh, this?" he chuckled to himself as if he''d forgotten how badly burned the rest of his body was. "I had to dive into the belly of a proverbial whale. One pumped full of foul magics and alchemy. I¡¯m not at all surprised that it burned me as badly as it did, but even if I didn¡¯t think it likely I could heal these¡­ disfigurements, I would have done it just the same.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± she asked, surprised to find tears running down her cheeks as she turned and looked at him abruptly. ¡°Why do you do so much? Can¡¯t you see it¡¯s killing you?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve already proven you¡¯d do anything for the light,¡± he smiled softly, making his face that much more hideous. ¡°Just know that I¡¯d do the same.¡±


    ¡°You think we can beat them, then?¡± she asked, willing herself to stare into his eyes and only his eyes. None of the damage could damage the holy light that lingered there.


    ¡°We have to,¡± he said solemnly, ¡°No matter what sacrifices it takes.¡± She knelt there and prayed with him after that to a god that both of them knew no longer existed, but somehow, she took comfort from that.

 Ch. 139 - A Convoluted Convocation

    Jordan rubbed his eyes as the words swam in front of him. Right now, that was merely a figure of speech, given his fatigue, but sometimes, he was certain it was literally true. This was not the first time he studied Sister Annise¡¯s strange book, and each time he did, he had trouble finding a passage or an illustration that he¡¯d studied intently previously.


    It was a ridiculous notion, of course. The first time it had happened, he¡¯d told himself he¡¯d simply gotten the pages confused or that it had gotten lost in the clutter. It was an easy thing to believe, given just how odd the whole thing was, but he no longer believed it.


    The book itself was a four-inch tome that had obviously been pieced together from two or more other books. Sister Annise claimed to have made it by hand and done many of the gildings and illuminations herself before the book had taken her sight, but Jordan could see at least two other hands at work besides the spindly script of the woman.


    The whole thing was a study of contrasts, inside and out. The binding of the Book of Ways was a rich chestnut leather that was practically marred by its scribbled title and its ugly, dull, leaden corner protectors. Those clashing aesthetic choices looked almost well-designed in comparison to the pages of the book, though.


    It was obvious to Jordan that this had started out as a Book of Days, which was one of the many holy books that the Siddrimites venerated. It was sort of their religious history book, and though the Collegium disputed many of the points it made about the last few hundred years since Siddrim had supposedly lifted the world out of the dark ages, they agreed on the main points: darkness had once ruled, and many wicked creatures had terrorized civilization before mankind had brought them to heel one at a time.


    It was a far cry from that now. Though most of the most prominent embellishments and illustrations were still in place, much of the wording had been pasted over by fragments of madness, and what little remained of the original text had been scribbled over in a different hand, and new notes had been added in, in the margins.


    Lines like, ¡®Siddrim commanded the dark waters, and verily they slank into the depths or fled the world entirely to escape his wroth¡¯ were replaced with notes that read, ¡®Siddrim didn¡¯t do that! That was Posiphina. Liar! LIAR!¡¯


    The pasted-in fragments didn¡¯t seem to concern themselves with either version of the original text. Instead, they were long, rambling observations done in a sloppy hand on seemingly mundane things that were usually accompanied by clumsy illustrations of their own. The way that people walked through a market square and were obviously in cahoots even if they never spoke to each other, the way that turbulent currents flowed through a stream, and numerologically significant days that some count chose to spend with his mistresses were all topics that were discussed at some length on this page.


    It didn¡¯t seem to be about any of those patterns in particular, of course, it was more like the nature of the patterns as a whole. Sometimes, if he read for too long, Jordan almost got what the man was after. Those moments of clarity happened just often enough for him to think that the person who wrote this tome might have been a mad genius instead of simply a madman, but on the whole, he was still undecided.


    He honestly had no idea what it was she claimed was offering her guidance in this book. Hell, she could no longer even read it, and if it was truly changing, as he suspected, then there was no way she could memorize it either.


    That didn¡¯t stop her from claiming that he was the shepherd and that he had to escape with his flock while ¡®the fires were still burning.¡¯


    ¡°Escape?¡± he¡¯d laughed. ¡°To where? Death lies in every direction! To the north is a city under siege, to the west lies the ruins of Abenend, the south has been abandoned, and to the east lies the sea!¡±


    ¡°Abenend has not fallen,¡± she answered, shaking her head, ¡°But it will. Our destiny¡­ your flock¡¯s destiny doesn¡¯t lie in that direction, though.¡±


    They¡¯d argued about that for some time. If the Magica Collegium still stood, then it was about the only place he would consider fleeing to, but there was no need to flee anywhere.


    This spring, they¡¯d already started to build a palisade to reinforce the manor, and the herds were finally starting to grow again. Though the men and women under his stewardship did not yet have an easy life, they had enough food every night, which was more than most could say in these trying times. Thanks to Brother Faerbar¡¯s hard work the previous year, the goblins and the bandits had largely been dealt with, but every little bit would help.


    Despite all of those very reasonable positions, though, she insisted, they flee while there is still time. ¡°The fire will not burn forever!¡± she declared. ¡°You and everything you would preserve must be gone from here when the darkness returns!¡±


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    She could never answer his real question, though. Why would he flee from the comfort and safety they¡¯d carved out so diligently over the last year and a half to seek out this hermit if the woman didn¡¯t even know who he was?


    It had given him much to think about, but in the end, he could hardly put much stock into what it was she said. The Sister had insisted that he read this book like it might convince him where her ravings hadn¡¯t, but if anything, it just made her less credible.


    At least, that was until he found the children among the tome¡¯s pages. That was a frightening moment. It was something that he would have sworn she¡¯d scrawled when he wasn''t looking if he hadn¡¯t had the book since before she¡¯d been allowed a room in the manse to recuperate from the ordeals of travel.


    She¡¯d never had the chance to make such an addition, though, nor could she have known about the children before she¡¯d gotten here, especially not the glowing eyes. Markez had found the phenomena deeply unnerving, but he¡¯d been spreading that fact around since his departure; surely more than a lone crazy woman would have come to investigate, wouldn¡¯t they? He wondered as he stared at the illustration.


    Its strikes were clumsy, but the details were still clear. It showed 18 children smiling in the garden next to the sparing yard. Some of them were so clear he could have named them. Jenna was there, complete with her recent growth spurt, towering over some of the other boys like Toman and Reggie. Even little Leo was there at the front with the serious look he so often wore on his face.


    It was undeniable that his charges were in this strange book, but it had no detectable magic that could explain it. Not that he had many tools to go on there. Neither scrying nor identification was something he¡¯d had much of a chance to learn at the Collegium. That was one of the reasons he¡¯d locked the River Dragon¡¯s manacle away for so long. That piece of work was dripping in foul magic, but once he¡¯d finished making a rubbing of it for further study, he¡¯d buried it in the once hallowed ground of the town cemetery so as not to be tainted by it, or worse, to draw more evil to them.


    He¡¯d spent the last year hoping a more knowledgeable mage might have turned up so he could hand such a burden off to them, but that had never materialized. Now, he had no idea what to do with it.


    That¡¯s the problem with all of this, though, Jordan thought with a sigh, closing the book after carefully noting the page number so that he could talk to Sister Annise about it later. For the time being, he wanted nothing to do with any more insanity, though, so he spent the afternoon doing what he did so often: watching the children spar.


    In the mornings, they were forced to do their lessons so that they could learn their letters and their numbers, but in the afternoons, when learning and chores were both complete, they would engage in tiny mock battles that were the main source of entertainment these days at Sedgim Manor now that Brother Faerbar was no longer around to beat the other men.


    Sometimes, Jordan would launch little pyrotechnic fireworks for the holidays, but that was not a common thing. Even after all this time, his magic unnerved some more than all the glowing eyes combined.


    He wasn¡¯t the only one who wasn¡¯t doing much with his natural gifts, though. Given how peaceful things had been, most of the combat drills had fallen by the wayside since their paladin had left in favor of other, more enjoyable activities.


    Only the children still practiced every day, and they treated it like a war because that was what their master had drilled into them from the earliest ages. They went at each other like professional knights and worked together in tiny formations of three and four as they warred for control of the tiny hill that had been worn down to almost nothing by all the scuffles.


    Each day, the teams changed. They were decided randomly, and they drew lots of black or white stones from a little bag. Mostly, it came down to which side Braedon and, more recently, Jenna were on, though Jordan didn¡¯t expect that gap would last too much longer. Once all of the other children started to hit their growth spurts, things would even out, and skill would matter more than size.


    In the evening, after the white team had pronounced their victory and dinner had been eaten, Jordan returned to the Sister¡¯s room with the Book of Ways under one arm. He found her already waiting for him. Before he could even ask her about the children, she said, ¡°So, you¡¯ve seen them then? You believe me now?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ wait¡­ How could you possibly know such a thing?¡± Jordan asked in confusion. ¡°What sort of trick is this?¡±


    ¡°Even as you read the book, it reads you, Shepherd,¡± she smiled cryptically. ¡°That is the way of these things.¡±


    ¡°It¡­ read me?¡± he asked, certain he¡¯d misheard her.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± she smiled. ¡°You are apparently quite the page-turner.¡±


    ¡°That¡­ makes only slightly less sense than the idea that the book is changing each time I read it,¡± he sighed. ¡°I need answers, Sister Annise, not more questions.¡±


    ¡°Of course, it changes,¡± she smiled wider like he¡¯d finally gotten some important point, even though he hadn¡¯t. ¡°No river stays the same from day to day, and the river itself is always changing.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ if that¡¯s so, then how can you know what comes next?¡± Jordan asked.


    ¡°The river changes but rarely leaves the bounds that were decreed by the Gods,¡± she nodded. ¡°So things are as they have always been. The bonfire has been lit, but when the flames fail to burn away the night, then the shepherd must leave his flock to the hermit. It is the only way forward.¡±


    Jordan was glad that she was blind because, for a moment, he could only stare at her in disbelief. The way she spoke to him with such certainty was almost as confusing as the tome that guided her. He took a deep breath and vowed to start the conversation again, but this time, he would keep a tighter grip on its reins.

 Ch. 140 - All Night鈥檚 Falling

    When the sun set on Rahkin that day, Tenebroum vowed it would be the last time that anyone there would live to see it. Even as it reviewed the situation on both sides with its dark Paragon and discussed the intelligence that the rats had offered about the mages and their schemes, it could see that a frontal assault was probably not the optimal move, but it no longer cared.


    Just as it had refused to let the first village it had ever devoured slip away into the light, it would not let this city do so either. Not even if it was the last and the largest stronghold in the area. The Lords of the realm had refused to bend, and now they would be broken.


    Though the walls still stood, they were brittle things, and the men that stood upon them no longer wore armor with the matching heraldry of its enemy. Instead of professional soldiers, half of the defenders now were simply whoever was strong enough to fight, wearing whatever would fit.


    Even with those signs of desperation, though, the light inside was growing, not ebbing. Even as its general assured it that victory was imminent, the Lich did not feel comforted by its endless simulations and counter stratagems.


    ¡°With a few more waves of attacks to redirect the defenders to the north, we could free up the gates and the southern approaches,¡± the dark man assured him. The Lich did not doubt that was so, but even after listening to all of that, it still pronounced its judgment coldly in the thing''s mind. ¡°No. This will end tonight. Rally your forces accordingly.¡±


    For the longest time, the Lich had kept its dark Paragon in the bodies of random, broken-down drudges. This was both because it did not need more than that and also because Tenebroum wanted to be sure that its servant could never hope to challenge it. However, with the unpredictable state of the battlefield, it had finally built an appropriate body for the spirit, adding it to the tiny pantheon that was growing in its shadows, one creation at a time.


    Now, instead of a decaying skeleton, the Paragon animated a set of carefully inscribed mismatched plate mail made up of pieces taken from the generals and heroes it had already outwitted. There was no head or even helmet, though. The Lich would not grant it the ability to hide its expression any more than its thoughts. So, its artificial, patchwork spirit stood there, encased and exposed simultaneously as it flickered in violet and cyan flames in the mockery of a real man.


    Though Tenebroum had certainly built its general to be capable of fighting if necessary by using all that, it had learned from Krlum¡¯venor and its shadow drake, that was not the intent. The intent was just to make it capable of defending itself from the strange attacks the humans sometimes surprised them both with.


    The body that Tenebroum wore today was an entirely different story. For months, it had been transported from battlefield to battlefield, but it had not actually been used since it had slayed Siddrim the year before.


    It had been repaired and upgraded in the interim, of course, but the Lich had felt no need to join the battle directly, especially not since the Moon Goddess¡¯s ambush. That changed now. In fact, the Lich hoped that she would try to intervene, for it had brought several sorcerous servants to the battlefield for just such an eventuality. Tonight, it would happily act as bait to win a battle like this that would all but bring about the end of its war.


    Though the Lich much preferred to let its spirit drift among the ravens or haunt the battlefield as a dark mist, it would face the Templar directly this time. It had even brought a few trinkets to try to capture the divine spark that the man wielded so effectively. If the darkness could not capture one more piece of the Lord of Light, snuffing it out would be almost as important a victory, though.


    When the darkness moved into its construct, it felt its world diminish and shrink as it began to flex and test each joint and limb. Remembering what it was like to be a singular thing rather than a divine entity of awesome power took longer than it had before. It was more stifling, too, but Tenebroum ignored it as it nestled deeper among the hollow bones of the holy men that had made up his combat form.


    Over the last few months Tenebroum had designed many specialized forms, including one body that was nothing more than a tarnished silver skeleton covered in a skin made up of the mouths and faces of the dead. That body was almost solely occupied with a large series of multichambered lungs that could constantly inhale even as it channeled the air to the vocal cords of almost twenty different mouths.


    There were still some bugs to be worked out, but when it was complete, it would allow it to cast impossibly complex spells that even a full choir of decapitated mage heads could not do presently. Such things were not required of mortal enemies, of course, but the Gods it was pitted against would need more power, and given enough time, Tenebroum was more than capable of making a weapon appropriate to any foe or battle.


    The Templar was not a God, though. He was a pretender, and even though he¡¯d defeated a number of Tenebroum¡¯s lesser constructs, he could not hope to stand against the full force of a divine being or the deadly body that it wielded. After all, what could a spark do to it after it had already withstood the bonfire?


    The Lich listened to its Paragon drone on a little longer while it manifested its four shadowy blades and then, without a word it began to stride toward the front lines. All around it, troops stirred to life as they realized its intent, and they began to stir. Blocks of war zombies began to march, cavalry charged forward, and other stranger things moved according to their general¡¯s plan.


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    Tenebroum reserved one of the war zombie bands for itself, pulling the formation to it and using them both as shield and disguise as they marched toward the rubble that had been the shattered gatehouse. This part, at least, the Lich enjoyed. There was a different flavor to the screams and the swirling violence when one was a part of the churning maelstrom of war as opposed to soaring far above it.


    To the enemy, it was just another wave of undead warriors. Their archers and mages never once noticed that every bolt and blast seemed to miss Tenebroum. Instead, its minions were stuck, one at a time, removing almost half of them from the field before the formation reached its goal.


    It didn¡¯t even have to get close to the shattered gate to know that he was waiting for them. The Lich had known that he would be. It had seen him as a beacon across the battlefield, and given the shadows that billowed around it, even in the heavy armor of this body, it was sure that the man with blazing eyes could see it just as easily.


    There were no words exchanged when the Lich trudged up the slope with its remaining vanguard. Normally, it would have used the bloodthirsty mob that was Krulm¡¯venor to clear the path, but given the talismans that the mages had, it was inadvisable. Instead, its war zombies charged into the grinder and were cut down, one after the other, buying time and distance with their heavily reinforced bodies as they endured blow after terrible blow.


    The Lich¡¯s army was everywhere, and its numbers seemed limitless. Despite that, they were spread across the entire length of the wall. So, at this spot, there were enough warriors to outnumber it. At least, that was true at first. There were perhaps fifty ragtag humans left standing by the time it was reduced to only a bare handful of leathery, riveted war zombies that had not been beheaded or crushed yet.


    It became a tangled storm of swords as the scrum was reduced to a chaotic melee. There, the Lich had an advantage that no one could match: with so few minions in such close proximity, it could control each of them very specifically. So, despite the chaos, its final few minions became extensions of its limited body, acting as one and taking out many times their own number. The living lasted no longer than its zombies did, though, because each time the Templar flared to life with holy fire in an attempt to smite it, the Lich used those dark shadows to lash out far beyond its normal reach.


    Its blades that were exposed to that light directly dimmed and shortened for a moment with each blast as they were reduced to nothing but their rusting cores. Their shadows sprang to life for that instant, becoming more like whips than blades as they sought out the closest living thing and murdered it.


    After all, there were shadows in every suit or armor and unwatched vulnerabilities under the enemy¡¯s guard. So, every time the Templar flashed to life to heal himself or to attempt to strike down the Lich, two or three of the men closest to it died painful deaths as their shadows became infested by its own for an instant before they were ripped to pieces and diced like soft cheese.


    When the battle had begun there were nearly a hundred warriors, both living and dead, but after twenty minutes of fighting only two remained. Horns were blowing in the distance, calling for more reinforcements, but they would never arrive in time.


    Instead, this was a battle that would be decided only by two warriors, and one of them was already bleeding. The Lich didn¡¯t think much of this pretender, even up close. It had already studied him through the unguarded eyes of the man¡¯s squire, but it saw nothing that the man had admired so much.


    He was a brute and nothing more. Every attack was an exercise in power, but compared to a dark god, power was the one thing he didn¡¯t have. The Templar bore a heavy glowing blade and hammered it home over and over, but the feeble light he used was nothing compared to what Siddrim had burned it with or even what he¡¯d used on the wharf the day before.


    ¡°Whats the matter,¡± the Lich rasped in a voice that was rusty and discordant. ¡°Why won¡¯t you show me how brightly you can burn.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d be ready for something so straightforward, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± the Templar growled through gritted teeth.


    His light burned bright enough to keep the darkness circling him like a hungry swarm at bay, but only just. The Lich proceeded to batter the man with a swarm of attacks. It even taunted him with the knowledge that it had killed his god and his squire, but still, the man did not react.


    ¡°I know what you¡¯ve done!¡± the Templar spat, offering no further insight into what he was thinking.


    ¡°Then you should know that you¡¯re next!¡± The Lich shrieked, redoubling its efforts, becoming a storm of blades.


    It delivered a dozen minor wounds before it succeeded in knocking the Templar from the place they fought atop the rubble and sending him tumbling down the slope to the ground below. Despite that, the shadows found no purchase on the man¡¯s soul. There were no stains to infect or guilt to blossom.


    ¡°What do you think you can do with your tricks that your god could not do with your healing and your light?¡± The Lich gloated, pointing all four of its blades down at the fallen warrior. ¡°You have fallen, and soon your city will too!¡±


    ¡°I guess I¡¯ll need a new trick then,¡± The Templar said with an inscrutable smile as he dropped his weapons and pulled something from behind his breastplate.


    The Lich had a moment to study the swirling prismatic shard that the man was holding. That¡¯s how long it took it to realize that was the same shard the rat had told him the man had refused last night. He¡¯d expected the mages to lay their trap, but now, suddenly, it was in the hands of this brute.


    It surged forward, twining its four shadowy weapons together and launching them at the strange object like a pike of pure darkness. They never reached him.


    ¡°Burn!¡± The Templar yelled. After that, everything was erased in a curtain of fire.

 Ch. 141 - Burned in Effigy

    Some distant part of Tenebroum¡¯s mind recalled what it was the infernal rats had told it when they had whispered about this encounter. Crystallized dragon fire, they had called it. The breath of a wyrm frozen in time. The mages claimed that they lacked the power to release it with their weakened numbers and that only the Templar¡¯s light might succeed where they had failed.


    The Rat¡¯s smelled subterfuge in that statement. They¡¯d even thought to mention that to the Lich, but at no time had they mentioned that the Templar might have had the scent of deceit about his as well. That no longer mattered, though.


    Now, everything was burning. The fire had shattered its prison, and launched toward it like a Tsunami with ferocity that might have melted even Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s specialized form. The wall of fire burned in yellow and white, blasting back the rubble that was the remains of the gatehouse from the force of the shockwave, and bathing the world in incandescent flames for twenty yards on either side of the breach in the walls, and extending backward a hundred yards behind Tenebroum.


    There was nowhere for it to run now, not even if it wanted to. All it could do was trust in the skill of its unwilling dwarven artificers as it moved one step at a time toward the man that was holding the torrent of fire in his bare hands. The Lich was a creature that was made up of pure will, but that didn¡¯t make enduring what it was experiencing any less agonizing.


    The shadows on its blades had winked out immediately, but it only dropped their rusted cores as the phalanges of its hands began to reduce to slag and ash. In those first few terrible seconds it lost two hands and an arm. Finally, the head of this construct itself was blasted to ash in the high-pressure torrent of inhuman flame.


    Tenebroum had not designed this body to endure fire like this. Nothing was. Its mind raced as it tried to imagine what it would need to do that, but even if it could craft the brittle ceramic bones, the dragon scales were something it simply didn''t have.


    This form had been created to fight the light, which wasn¡¯t quite the same as what it was facing now. Light it could have handled for hours. Wearing this form, the Lich could have walked for several minutes under the noon day suns if it had been required. But against the heat of a dragon¡¯s breath? The gilded coating of the Lich¡¯s bones very nearly evaporated under that terrible assault.


    Bronze and brass didn¡¯t last much longer, and after a few seconds, even the Lich¡¯s steel bones began to redden and soften. In the end, it was only its mithril armor that saved it.


    As its arms fell and its legs gave way only a few steps away from its goal, the darkness was forced to hide in an ever smaller portion of its carefully crafted vessel. Even among the grave goods the Lich had looted, mithril was a rare substance, and this was the only construct it had built with half so much of the stuff. Fire, as it turned out, could not penetrate the silvery metal, and even as the flames began to subside and it was forced to cower there like some sort of metallic beached tortoise, it endured.


    Less than half a minute after the torrent of fire started, it was over. The nearby stone walls had been melted by the flames, and anything not made of stone or metal had been erased from existence.


    For a moment, the Lich stood ready to flee and lick its wounds, but then it saw the mangled corpse of its opponent and changed its mind. The front of the Templar had been burned away down to the bones. Even as it watched, it could see the man trying to heal himself from the impossible damage, but the Lich didn¡¯t see how that would be possible. It could see the man¡¯s tortured lungs rising and falling in his charred rib cage, and though he still had his arms and hands, they were practically skeletonized from the elbow down.


    The Lich rose up from its own charred corpse as a vaporous mist and moved with haste to the closest war zombie it could find. It felt terribly vulnerable in this form but not so vulnerable that it would not see this man dead. Just because it should have been impossible to recover from such a grievous injury did not mean it would not happen.


    So, with the uneven gait that came from no longer being used to walking with only two legs, the Lich trudged back over to the man, raised the rusting great sword clutched in its skeletal hands, and then brought the weapon down hard, shoving a foot and a half of steel through his heart and into the scorched earth beyond. Pinning the Templar to the ground and finally forcing his cursed heart to stop its endless beating.


    The light left his body then and drifted toward the night sky. The Lich wanted to stop it. It had meant to capture and study it, but all the devices and spirits that it thought might have accomplished that had been annihilated. Instead, it let the thing go. It was too depleted to do more than that.


    It could still claim the second most important soul present on the battlefield, though. The darkness poured out of the construct. It was animating like smoke and traveled down the blade into the still-warm body of its foe.


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    This was one soul it would treasure. Tenebroum wasn¡¯t yet sure what it would do with it, but these bones would be taken back to it lair for something truly diabolical. It found the soul just where it expected, and swarmed it, encompassing it completely, so escape would be impossible.


    To its surprise, the man didn¡¯t even struggle when it forced its way inside every last pore, seeking to suffuse him completely. He just said, ¡°So you survived that, did you monster? The mages told me there was no way anything could stand up to the dragon¡¯s fury. Not even me. I suppose they were right about the last part at least.¡±


    ¡°Silence!¡± Tenebroum countered. ¡°You will have all the time in the world to apologize to me and beg forgiveness, but now¡ª¡±


    ¡°Apologize?¡± the Templar laughed. ¡°I¡¯m just sorry that I didn¡¯t eradicate you with the same weapon that killed me. I knew I couldn¡¯t trust those damn mages. Jordan was an okay sort, but the rest of them? Liars and thieves, the lot of them.¡±


    Tenebroum was so apoplectic as it tried to understand what was going on that it merely floated there as a slowly solidifying haze while the annoying warrior spoke. Even now, without the light, he still had a small aura about him. The darkness reached forward to try to grip him and force him to comply, but its dark tendrils slid right off the ghost.


    ¡°All of this, and you still think you have a hold over me?¡± the Templar asked, looking at him in amusement.


    ¡°I control the forces of death itself! All spirits are within my power!¡± Tenebroum roared, but that only made the frustrating warrior¡¯s smile broader.


    ¡°You don¡¯t get it, do you?¡± he asked with a shake of his head,


    You only snared Siddrim with Todd¡¯s stained soul, you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Of course I know that!¡± Tenebroum hissed, swirling around the man like a storm as he looked for an opening.


    It couldn¡¯t find one, though, and more frustratingly, even as it watched, the spirit was already fading away. That was intolerable. There should be nowhere for it to flee to, and yet it was happening!


    ¡°Then you already know that you have no hold on a soul without any darkness in it,¡± The Templar said with a shrug. ¡°You cannot stop me from going to the Elysian Fields that were promised to me and my brothers and sisters.¡± He looked like he was going to sleep now.


    ¡°No soul is clean!¡± Tenebroum raged. ¡°No life is without taint!¡±


    ¡°True, mostly,¡± the Templar agreed. ¡°There was a little darkness in even my soul once upon a time. I used to hate myself for all the mistakes I¡¯d made, but a few years with the light burning away inside you is enough to bleach even those transgressions to nothing. I die with only a single regret, but will accept that I maimed you at the very least¡­¡±


    Tenebroum¡¯s scream of incoherent rage as the mans spirit slowly faded from view and crumbled to nothingness was enough to stop its constructs in mid stride for a hundred yards in any direction. A dozen of its blackbirds fell from the sky.


    It had experienced anger and frustration before, but it had never felt volcanic rage like this, and for a while, its ghostly form flickered and jittered like an agitated swarm of wasps. It had achieved its goal, and yet somehow it had gotten nothing it wanted from the event.


    It had faced down terrible magics, beaten what might have been its only real adversary left on the continent besides the mages and the gods themselves, and somehow it had walked away with nothing. Not the divine spark, nor even the soul of its enemy to torture for the rest of eternity.


    Despite that, much of its power had been bled away in the assault. I maimed you, at the very least. Those words echoed in its mind even as it took in its ragged form that was closer to a shredded burial shroud than a cloak of pure midnight.


    The fool did nothing that cannot be repaired with a day or two of rest! Tenebroum griped, but the words were cold comfort.


    Finally, when it was so angry that it would have gnashed its teeth with rage if it still had a body, the Lich retreated, floating above and away from the burning city. The defenses were failing on several fronts now, and it no longer saw mages casting their bolts from the walls.


    ¡°Crush the defenders and sink the ships, but leave the rest to cower in their homes,¡± Tenebroum commanded as it drifted higher and further to take in all the violence.


    It was wounded, frustrated, and in absolutely no mood to enjoy the mindless slaughter that would unfold next. So, that would wait for tomorrow. There was no hurry any longer. The shepherd was dead, and the sheep would mill around, panicky and bleating, until they were ready for the slaughter.


    The Lich was determined to enjoy that moment, and if it could not do so tonight, then they would just be allowed to keep breathing for another day or two until it had collected itself.


    Yes, it thought as it drifted up into the night to look for the nearest dungeon that would be dark enough to allow it to rest. Rahkin¡¯s defenders are no more. The table is set now, and the feast can begin at my leisure.


    There were still thousands of living souls in those broken city walls, and soon, every last one of them would die screaming for its pleasure.

 Ch. 142 - The Feast Nearby

    Tenebroum retreated to the nearest dungeon, four miles away from the city walls, but restless, it moved twice more before daylight made further travel on the surface impossible. It left the dark Paragon to handle the withdrawal of its forces, though its general did not wish to leave.


    ¡°Sire, if we push only a little further, we can kill thousands and then bury our remaining legions in the city catacombs proper,¡± it insisted.


    The Lich ignored that advice, though. It was almost peaceful once the darkness¡¯s forces withdrew and the screaming stopped, but that didn¡¯t fool the Lich. More surprises awaited them all in Rahkin, and even if they did not, it wanted to feast on those remaining defenseless lives itself.


    Though its forces left behind the battered husk of a city and a shell-shocked population, it was certain that there was one more trick awaiting it. There always seemed to be. The moon had seen how much those infernal flames had weakened it, and she would rally some new hero to strike the final blow. So it laid low and flitted between locations while it recovered.


    Nothing came, though. Later in the day, some of the humans began to stream away from the still-burning city in long refugee caravans to the north and the south. There were no heroics, though. No new champions of the light raced across the plains eager to strike it down, and no Gods descended from on high to do so either.


    Instead, Tenebroum was allowed to slowly coalesce from the ragged fog it had become back into the true pool of night that was its nature. Surely they will take advantage of this moment, the voice gibbered in its head in half a dozen tongues. Surely, they will strike me down when I am out of my strongest constructs.


    No one did, though. Instead, it huddled there in the dank, dark pit with the dozens of abominations that were being stored here to protect it. The day above them was calm and hideously bright, even twenty feet under the surface as the wandering stars made their way across the sky.


    No doom was leveled at it, which gave Tenebroum the time it needed to lick its wounds and recover. It cursed itself for underestimating the Templar, but even that castigation was not enough to entirely quell its joy that it had finally won.


    Well, won this region at least. There was still the bastion of magic to the south, and there were still likely humans to be purged or claimed along Dalton¡¯s eastern shore. Even when it dealt with both of those groups, there would still be other enemies far to the north across the trackless sands to contend with, but the Lich was not concerned about any of them immediately. There was not a single army left in a hundred miles besides its own, and once it crushed the mages and the vestiges of the Sidramites that sheltered with them, it would have all the time it needed for even the most complex of plans.


    In a perfect world, it would already be preparing a new combat form for tomorrow¡¯s slaughter. The charred remains of its mithril armor would not be easily fixed in a minor dungeon outpost without any proper tools. What it needed was a handful of flesh crafters, a forge, and some exotic raw materials. It had none of that, though. Instead, it had 47 drudges, 13 many legged horsemen, a handful of wraiths, and a neuroid.


    None of those would help it to create what it needed, so, instead, it turned inward into the shadows. The flesh was strong enough to tear people limb from limb, but for what came next, there were no armies or priests to contend with. Instead, there were just families barricaded inside their homes and people hiding wherever they could while they prayed for a miracle that wasn¡¯t coming. For most of its campaign, it had tasted the blood that had been spilled in its name through a chain of intermediaries, and now, on the eve of its ultimate triumph, it would not be denied a more direct experience.


    Shadows lacked the strength of flesh, but what they did have was versatility. It could become anything in the shadows. A dragon, a mass of writhing tentacles, or even a bizarre combination of the two was entirely possible. It was not limited by the real world when it made its form solely from the souls of its victims and the darkness that was at the core of its being. That would make it intensely vulnerable to mages and all the rest, of course, but according to the whispering of the rats and the assurances of its general, there were none of those left.


    For hour after hour, Tenebroum healed, and it also sculpted a new form it would wear for the slaughter to come. It started with something resembling its own discarded form of mithril and steel. However, as it realized that it did not need something slow and heavily armored, that began to change.


    The first thing to go was its constrained size. It had grown so used to the human parts that it was most frequently forced to work with that it had practically forgotten what it was like to unfurl its true self, except for when it was watching the battlefield from high above as a cloud or a flock of dark birds.


    Tenebroum did not need to be diffuse any more than it needed to be small. It was a vortex of death and power that could tower over almost any spirit it had ever encountered. It was with that in mind that it slowly uncoiled from the shade of a man into that of an ogre. It grew so large that the cramped dungeon could barely contain its majesty.


    Ironically, in this form, the Templar could have defeated it easily with his terrible light. Now that he was gone, though, the darkness could practically devour the city whole.


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    It only needed something with claws that could cut through the souls of its prey and speed to evade any traps that might yet wait for it in the battered city by the sea. So, modification by modification, that primal, amorphous form became more animalistic. Its back grew more hunched, its armor disappeared, and that bulk was, in turn, replaced with a sinuous body and additional limbs.


    Even as a centipedal abomination covered in hands so that it might move through even the smallest of crawlspaces with ease, the darkness decided it wasn¡¯t yet fast enough. So, it added wings, and then tweaked them, replacing claws with bladed feathers and removing each element one at a time until it was nothing but an incarnation of hunger than even its pet rat godling might approve of.


    Tenebroum paid attention to even the most minor of details, adding unnecessary symmetries to things like the nine rows of teeth present in its maw to ensure that it would fly that much faster and making sure that every last shadowy pinion on its nine pairs of outstretched wings was a perfect reproduction of the real thing, only sharper.


    Each feature mutated and improved, and each of those improvements were polished and rehoned as Tenebroum became lost in the activity of making itself the perfect spiritual predator. Normally, it used the corpses of others because it was safer to play puppet master, but so much of it had burned away the night before, and so few enemies now remained that its normally cautious nature took the back seat to hunger.


    It became so engrossed in the activity that the final sunset of the day passed without its notice. It was halfway to midnight by the time it crawled from its burrow as a dark phoenix and flew like a bolt toward the now quiet city. As it left, it only issued a single order to its general.


    ¡°Capture or kill the stragglers, and let none escape,¡± it commanded. ¡°The city itself is mine!¡±


    None saw it as Tenebroum approached the city like a monster of legend. Now that it had cast off the human form that it had grown too comfortable with, it had become a force of nature. Its wings stretched nearly a quarter mile against the nighttime gloom, blotting out stars in its wake. Even if the residents had been able to see the dark shape coming for them, ready to engulf the city, they wouldn¡¯t have been able to pick out the thousand terrible details that would drive most men to madness.


    When Tenebroum flew over the walls it expected another strike against it, but none materialized. Instead it saw only a few ragged guardsmen holding their posts with pike and crossbow against an attack that would never come. They feared zombies, but tonight they would face something much worse than anything it have ever build of steel or bone.


    When it landed in the battered merchant quarter, it landed as a wall of darkness that penetrated every building that it brushed against. There, its attention to detail paid off, and even before it had folded its wings completely to dissolve into the next stage of hideous abomination that it had created for the once-capital city, its blade feathers had already spiritually maimed and flensed dozens of helpless people.


    They didn¡¯t even know they were under attack when suddenly a line of darkness pierced them, and they fell in two as surely as if they¡¯d been struck by the blade of a guillotine. Their flesh was intact, but they were mortally wounded just the same.


    The lucky ones died of shock and heart attacks as the impossibility of what had happened to them simply shattered their soul. The unlucky ones fell to the ground screaming or were unable to remember their name as they were only maimed instead of mortally injured.


    Tenebroum stood there for a long moment, testing the air as it searched through the fainted whirls of essence for any sign that something might be amiss, and when it found nothing, it began to unravel. It had not spent hours of its day simply perfecting an eighteen-winged behemoth to look pretty, it had built a terrible purpose into every appendage. Now, each of those appendages dissolved into a hungry multiheaded hydra in its own right, connected to the rest of the body by only the thinnest strands of malice.


    With every moment that passed, the dread god began to resemble a giant spider web more and more as its body became half a hundred grasping mouths that spread through every nearby building in the search for life to devour.


    Most of its victims barely saw more than a ripple in the air before it attacked them. If a small mouth found someone, then it latched on to the very core of their being, and if a larger one found them, it simply swallowed them whole.


    Those few victims with some measure of the sight, or those who watched a loved one fall to the ground next to them, often tried to run, but they didn¡¯t get far. In every room and in every building, the darkness was feasting. Those few that remained with a flicker of light in their eyes were sometimes enough to hold it back a moment until another limb could attack them from behind, but that was as much opposition as it faced.


    Amidst the spiritual carnage that it inflicted, a rush of energy and joy-filled Tenebroum. What it was doing was monstrous, and it gloried in it.


    Here, it began to achieve an apotheosis it had not reached even when it had devoured a god. Each of the lives it was consuming at that moment was a minor thing, but the way they were all connected became the lattice that it crawled over as much as the cobblestones and tunnels. How could you escape from the darkness when it already had its claws in your neighbors and your siblings?


    Each victim hunted to the ground and died screaming as the Lich¡¯s wildly mutating form burrowed ever deeper into their souls and forced them to relive their deepest traumas over and over before they finally passed. But in their passing, they opened up a small window into those lives they¡¯d touched most.


    Tenebroum didn¡¯t even need to hunt them anymore. It just needed to want them, and that wasn¡¯t hard. It wanted everyone and everything. Though it had gotten a late start, it continued to spread quickly. Though their bodies would remain as it hollowed out their souls and took everything that made them who they were, the slowly cooling corpses of the citizens that had once been the true heart of the city were quickly becoming an endangered species.


    By sunrise, there wouldn¡¯t be a single living pulse remaining anywhere in the city. All that would remain would be a feast for rats and raw materials for future constructs. Right now, the Lich didn¡¯t care about any of that, though. It was lost in its predatory bloodlust as it drank in the lives of the innocent and rendered them screaming into the void.

 Ch. 143 - Vengeance not Victory

    While her dark god feasted and thrashed about the city, the Voice of Reason entered the hole that had once been the main gate astride a skeletal horse that walked slowly into town. Her master would devour every last soul in the place. All save one or two in the castle. Those, it had left them to her, so that she could properly carry out her vengeance.


    Despite the obvious joy her lord was taking as he sucked the life out of Rahkin¡¯s inhabitants, part of her was saddened to see it. Her terrifying master had built each of its constructs for a single purpose. The Dreamer existed to spread the darkness into the minds of those who might be susceptible, the Dark Paragon existed to crush the forces of light and life on the field of battle, and she existed to make the reluctant see reason and bring them into the fold.


    After all, even a lord of the dead would rule better if it had a few living allies to carry out tasks during the daylight hours, and the darkness¡¯s priesthood was a bloody place always eager for fresh recruits. Each of them had their purpose, and only she had failed in hers.


    Had the King seen things her way, then even now, this might be a bustling city of thirty thousand souls working hard to bring in the harvest. Instead, walls were blackened, buildings were collapsed, and dead lay scattered in the streets.


    As she rode slowly toward the heart of Rahkin, she watched men and women continuing to die as the hungry mouths and limbs of the darkness ripped soul from body, making their corpses fall to the ground like a marionette with severed strings as the dark jungle made of etheric limbs multiplied in number again and again.


    It could do the same thing to her just as easily. She knew that. It might at any time, too, if she failed it again.


    For now, though, the person-sized tentacles that were its grasping mouths steered around her. One day, she might not be worth repairing, but for now, she was hardly considered food.


    Her soul, like the rest of the darkness¡¯s constructs, was a fragile, artificial thing and hardly the font of life force that it was currently seeking. So, she continued on, unmolested, as she rode toward the castle.


    Several times along the way, she found guards. In most cases, they simply ran from the sight of a broken woman on a skeletal steed, but in one instance, they had enough steel left in their spine to stand their ground.


    Then she took a deep breath into her hollow chest and shrieked a single inhuman note that lingered in the air for almost half a minute. The terrible note cracked nearby glass and was enough to rupture the eardrums of the men who opposed her. Most of them fled at that, but the one that didn¡¯t, collapsed with blood pouring from his ears and nose.


    He wasn¡¯t dead, but he would be when her lord found his insensible form and consumed him. The Voice of Reason rode past the body without so much as a sideways glance at it as she approached her target at the main gate.


    Before her carriage exploded, she would have hesitated to use the sole weapon she¡¯d been given for fear that she would have cracked her perfect porcelain face. Those days were over now. Though the cracks had been fixed with molten gold, and where larger caps were visible, pieces of moonstone and finely crafted howlite had been cut to fit.


    The end result was still beautiful, in its way, though it lacked the perfect symmetry she¡¯d had at her creation. As a result, she could not bear to look at herself in the mirror and routinely shattered them.


    The rest of her broken body had been repaired in a similarly piecemeal way. The golden wires of her hair had been melted down and replaced, though they were not as lovely as before, and her limbs were repaired in the same flawed style as her face, though they could not be seen under her black dress.


    The construct rode into the castle without opposition. The gate was still sealed, but one of the side doors had been left open by someone who¡¯d decided that fleeing would be safer than cowering behind the walls. They were wrong. Nowhere was safe now. The Lich owned the world for leagues in every direction.


    The halls were even more vacant than the rest of the city, but the Voice of Reason ignored all of that as she made her way to the grand hall and the throne itself. She was here for one reason and one alone: to murder the traitors and redeem herself.


    The only guards she found were outside the door to the throne room itself, but these weren''t palace regulars. One old man with a boar spear stood shoulder to shoulder with a boy too young to grow a beard wielding a kitchen knife. It was a laughable scene, and when the two of them found themselves face to face with a construct as hideous as her, they bolted in opposite directions, leaving her free to enter the seat of Rahkin¡¯s power.


    Inside, she found the last stand she¡¯d expected. Half a dozen gray-beared knights stood or knelt in prayer in the center of the room, halfway between her and the throne.


    None of them was able to endure The Voice of Reason¡¯s keening scream long enough to make it even halfway to her before they fell on the polished stone floors. The only difference between this encounter and the last one was the way that the stained glass fell from the intact windows near the ceiling and rained down on all of them.


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    She walked over that glass, letting it crunch beneath her high-heeled boots as she strode toward the throne where the Queen waited for her.


    ¡°Queen of the dead,¡± the Voice of Reason said cordially. ¡°Pity you had not taken my lord¡¯s generous offer. Then your people and your sons might yet live.¡±


    ¡°So you admit it!¡± The Queen yelled a touch too loudly, for she was still partially deafened by the earlier screech. ¡°I knew it was your vengeance for their refusal.¡±


    ¡°Vengeance?¡± the construct asked in confusion. ¡°My vengeance only arrives today. I have come to wring your sorry throat as well as that of every member of your family who dares to live!¡±


    ¡°You have already slain them with your foul poison!¡± the Queen yelled with tears in her eyes.


    This confused the Voice of Reason considerably. She¡¯d killed no one. Certainly not the people she¡¯d been trying to negotiate with. ¡°I believe you are mistaken,¡± she said simply. ¡°My only weapon has ever been words, and now I have come to take yours away forever for interfering in my Lord¡¯s critical diplomacy.¡±


    As the Voice of Reason strode toward the throne itself to carry out her task, a voice yelled from the shadows. ¡°She did nothing! If you want someone to blame for standing against you, then face me, you monster!¡±


    The woman who spoke so bravely stepped out of the darkness, clutching a dagger in her hand, and the Voice of Reason turned to the new speaker and then dropped the frail old woman back onto the throne to face this challenger. She might not have been created for fighting, but even a doll like her could take on the starving woman before her. She¡¯d probably been beautiful once, but like everything else in this city, war and starvation had taken their toll, and the princess was a shadow of the woman she¡¯d once been.


    ¡°No. That¡¯s impossible. You?¡± the Queen mouthed, unbelieving. ¡°You couldn¡¯t have¡­ your father¡­ your brothers. You couldn¡¯t have¡ª¡±


    ¡°I did.¡± the princess said curtly. ¡°I had to. They sought to ally with evil, and that made them evil as well.¡±


    The Voice of Reason merely stood there, letting all this play out while she listened. Not only was this level of betrayal and emotional turmoil certain to draw the hungry gaze of her master, but it meant one thing above all others.


    I didn¡¯t fail, she thought to herself. I convinced the man and his generals to see the error of their ways.


    She felt the relief wash over her, and as she stood there stiffly, only the slightest of smiles at the corner of her ceramic lips betrayed that sudden lightness. For months now she¡¯d carried around the weight that was the certainty she¡¯d failed to accomplish her mission. Now she knew that was incorrect. She¡¯d succeeded in winning over the heart of the kingdom, only to have that tentative truce betrayed by the man¡¯s own daughter.


    That was simply too delicious for words. It was almost enough to make all these wasted lives worthwhile.


    ¡°Your father, the King, he would never¡ª¡± the Queen answered.


    ¡°He did, Mother!¡± the princess screeched, almost matching the volume of the Voice¡¯s earlier destructive note. ¡°He was going to trade human lives and souls to this¡­ this¡­ thing and I could never have allowed it. It would have damned all of us to the pits!¡±


    The Queen opened her mouth to protest again, but no sound came out. Instead, she broke into sobs and lay heavily across one arm of the jeweled throne, letting the crown on her head tumble to the ground. It was a pitiful sight, but the Voice basked in it for a moment before she began walking toward the princess.


    ¡°What is it you think you prevented?¡± The porcelain doll asked. ¡°All you did was seal the fate of everyone in your city. Why would you do that when peace would have saved so many lives.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m more concerned with their souls than their lives,¡± the princess spat back.


    ¡°Their souls will never escape the grip of my master either,¡± the Voice of Reason said, gesturing toward the window. There, they had a clear view of the black veins burrowing into half the buildings of the city. The shadows no longer looked like a monstrous creature. They grew too thickly and too numerously for that now.


    The scene looked like the roots of an impossibly large tree or the tangled veins of a cancer now. Either way, the metaphor was apt, and it feasted on the city while tiny things like them could only watch in disbelief as it devoured the world.


    ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± the princess whispered. ¡°My father and brothers are safe in Elysium, where you can never touch them, and I¡¯ll join them there soon enough.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± the Voice of Reason asked, taking two steps toward the woman before she raised her weapon again. This time, she dropped it and staggered back a few steps.


    ¡°I will not run from my city, but I will not let you have me either.¡± the princess said. Those were her final words before she dropped to the floor. The Voice had thought that the woman was merely starving, but it would seem that she turned the same poison she had on her brothers on herself in a bid to die before the darkness could take her.


    That was never an option, though. The Lich would devour every last soul in the city before the night was through.


    It wouldn¡¯t devour the bodies, though, and this one was too lovely and too fitting not to replace her current one. She moved to the wall to lower a tapestry so she could hang it by its heels and drain it of blood before it began to rot. Perhaps in light of her good work, the Lich would grant her a boon and give her the flawless face of the woman that had upset all of their plans.


    Only then would the Voice of Reason be able to look at herself in the mirror again.

 Ch. 144 - A Wider View

    ¡°Is it really over then?¡± Oroza asked, looking at the images the moon played upon her waters. ¡°Is the age of man over? How long will the darkness rule this time?¡±


    Lunaris shook her head. ¡°The Kingdom of Hallen might encompass your whole world, Oroza, but it is but a small part of everything. The Underkingdoms are still largely intact, so I¡¯m told, and even if the mages did not still stand, or the children of the forest, there would still be other champions. The Northern Kingdoms, the Westerlands across the sea, and even the Isles yet remain untouched, and they are just as full of heroes as anywhere else. This evil may fester and grow here, but like any fire, it will run out of fuel and exhaust itself soon enough.¡±


    The two goddesses sat there on the small delta island looking at the moon Goddess¡¯s scrying magic as the city burned, and crazed shadows multiplied to devour the whole place like a growing tumor. Both of them looked worse for wear after the last several years of ever-increasing violence.


    Oroza¡¯s skin had begun to wrinkle, and her hair was more than half gray now. She¡¯d never been particularly vain, and wouldn¡¯t have cared about that if she wasn¡¯t so weak. The Lich¡¯s poisoning of her watershed with saltwater via the canal was taking it toll. She¡¯d collapsed the thing again and again, but each time, it was rebuilt, and more plants and animals that made up her little world died as a result.


    The moon Goddess, by contrast, was looking as young as ever, but she was paler than usual, and she seemed thin and worn out. That was the way of things since that last terrible ambush on the moon. A full conclave of the divine had not happened since that awful night, but that didn¡¯t bother Oroza. Someone would tell her if important things were happening, and the rest of the time, she would focus on thwarting the darkness wherever she could.


    As Lunaris spoke, she waved her hand, and the nightmare that was Rahkin was replaced by a wider view of the world from high above. Oroza could only barely make out the peninsula that her river traversed as it lay there in the shadow of the Wodenspines. At this scale, it was impossible to see cities, but she knew where places like Abenend and Siddrimar must be.


    She¡¯d spent some time exiled to the oceans, where she¡¯d prowled restlessly and devoured what ships she could find when her river had been so forcefully dried out. So, she¡¯d known that the world was much larger than she could see from the snow-capped mountains where her headwaters originated. Still, it was one thing to know and another thing to see.


    Even as vast a domain as the Lich now controlled, it wasn¡¯t even close to the majority, and from this height, she could scarcely even see the slender tower of darkness that marked its domain.


    ¡°Does it really stretch so far up into the sky?¡± Oroza asked, noting the black thread that rose far above even the tallest mountains before disappearing in the night sky above the two gently glowing women.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Lunaris nodded. ¡°It goes past the domain of the wandering stars and even the fixed stars beyond them. According to the All-Father, it descends deep into the core of the earth as well. We know not what that monster plans to do with such a thing, but there are many possibilities.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t seem to move or even do anything at all," the river Goddess said as she dragged her fingers across the waters and dispelled the ugly illusion lest it somehow draw the dread eye of the Lich itself.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to move,¡± Lunaris breathed, suddenly speaking quieter. ¡°There is very little darkness in the sunlit world, but past the domain of the dwarves, and forever churning in the night sky the number of shadows is truly endless. If the fiend ever figures out how to make contact with these reservoirs, who knows which deity he might attempt to slaughter next.¡±


    ¡°It has been trying and failing to kill me for years now, and it has yet to succeed,¡± Oroza said with a thin smile, trying to put a brave face on their predicament. ¡°Surely, when it comes to Niama or to you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Niama is still grieving the loss of her daughters,¡± Lunaris said with a shake of her head. ¡°And most of my battles will never reach your shores. Pray that they don¡¯t, or we would all be lost.¡±


    Oroza¡¯s eyes drifted up to the sky, where the flickering constellations held the endless void at bay. From the moon, one could see the arcane arrangements that the stars held, like giant wards, but from here, all she could make out were the general shapes, like the Hunter and the Leviathan. The river goddess had no idea what it was such things must fight, and honestly, she didn¡¯t want to. She had her own nightmare to face and was better off not knowing what the constellations and the moon warred against each night.


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    The two Goddesses talked a while longer after that, but since Lunaris had already given Oroza her message and begged her to abandon her one-woman war against any undead that should find themselves within arms reach of her river, she finally left in a ray of light to attend to other matters.


    That left the river goddess alone to ruminate on what it was she should be doing. The kingdoms of men had largely fallen everwhere that she could see, and other than a few small settlements like the Siddrimites that held the gap between the mountains and her banks, and the farm where the children of light lived in their tiny bubble of peace so far from the fighting, the rest of the world seemed to be dead or dying.


    That was true of places well beyond her salt-poisoned borders. The All-Father had sworn that he would repair Siddrim¡¯s chariot so that his fiery steed could be gathered once more, but until the dwarf did that, the world withered, snows gathered, and mold blossomed. Oroza couldn¡¯t remember the last time it had been warm; even the hottest days were merely pleasant now, and there were far too few of them. She could hear it in the whispers of grasshoppers and the creaking of the growing glaciers.


    According to the stories, that was the way of things in the last age before Siddrim¡¯s rise, too, but Oroza did not know the old stories well. Until these dark days, she¡¯d been too wrapped up in the rhythm of the seasons to pay such ancient history much attention. She dearly wished she could go back to when she was only concerned about today, without care for the things that might or might not have happened hundreds of years before.


    Oroza glided back into the water at that thought, looking for some sort of comfort, but she found little. Though this river would always be her body and her home, it was dying. The resurgent darkness that the Lich called Cholorium sickened her, and the ever-growing amounts of salt stung her eyes.


    Still, neither one could stop her as she swam up river with ever increasing speed. The Oroza river spanned hundreds of miles from one end to the other, and she could navigate the entire length in less than an hour. This was not something she¡¯d done much in the past, though.


    Why should she ever be in a hurry when she could linger in the mangrove roots or explore shipwrecks that had been unearthed once more after the latest storm? That had been her way for the longest time, and she missed it terribly, but it wasn¡¯t enough to stop her from soaring now as her long, sinuous river dragon form swam with mighty strokes of its tail.


    There were only a few spots she did not navigate the world like that at this point. The upriver shallows prevented it, of course, but not half so much as the wall of darkness that bisected her river almost directly in half. It was there, where the perpetual crust of ice marked a line in her domain, that she always paused.


    She could swim through. She told herself that. Even if the Lich had created some awful new trap, she could probably fight her way free.


    She didn¡¯t try to, though. Some fears could not be escaped from so easily, and though she no longer had a real body, she could still feel those terrible shackles around her wrists and ankles.


    Instead of risking it, she rose from the water as a mist and dispersed along the band of grasses that ringed the edge of the shadows that were still part of her domain. When she¡¯d first escaped and had a chance to study this thing, she feared it would continue to expand until her domain was cut in half.


    That never happened. Instead, it had merely sat there unmoving, issuing foul monsters nearly every night. So, while she could traverse her whole domain in less than an hour, this one spot took nearly half that time, and she was always on guard that some new terrible thing might exist to ambush her if she traveled during the night.


    Tonight at least she was lucky, and nothing stirred, letting her travel ever more north. Eventually, she left her river and her dragon form behind as she swam up the streams, fanning out into her headwaters. Here at least she could feel clean again.


    Oroza looked for the hand of man throughout the whole of her trip as she always did, but they were rarer now than they had ever been before. They were practically an endangered species.


    It was only when she reached the glaciers frozen solidly into mountain passes that she finally paused to think clearly. Here, she could do little to save the world or help anyone, but she doubted very much that anyone could hurt her either. She could probably crawl up into this giant block of ice and slumber away an age, hoping that when she woke, someone else would have solved this problem.


    She didn¡¯t do that, though. She couldn¡¯t.


    Her life, precious to her as it was, mattered little in all of this. What did, was that she found something to do to turn the tide in all of this. Oroza no longer knew whether she would live a year or a decade. Until now, she¡¯d been functionally immortal, but death didn¡¯t scare her. Only the idea that she might waste that time without striking a blow against the darkness was enough to give her real fear.

 Ch. 145 - Ever On - End Book 3

    In the end, it was the children that convinced Jordan. Sister Annise¡¯s book had certainly proved that there was something amiss, of course. It wasn¡¯t hard to do that, the way the pages changed from day to today. It was clearly some kind of powerful artifact, but despite all his efforts to study and understand it, the only thing he¡¯d even found within its pages were riddles.


    The idea that she¡¯d made it herself was preposterous, of course. A blind woman, holy woman, could not do anything that a mage, or even an apprentice like him, couldn¡¯t, and yet he wouldn¡¯t know where to start with something like this. He¡¯d drawn up simple scrolls before and copied longer spells from ancient spellbooks, and in both cases, he could feel the magic intrinsic in the act.


    In this case, though, there was nothing. Flipping through the book, he could not point to a single sign or seal that radiated arcane might. Instead, the deeper he went into the tome, the less things made sense as the handwriting became more crazed and the messages it contained more nonsensical.


    Of course, the fact that the messages drifted away to be replaced by other contradicting ones didn¡¯t make them seem any saner. Why should he care about who the wolf would hunt when freed from its bonds or what the rat would become when the missing piece was finally revealed.


    All he cared about was keeping the people in his care safe and finding a weakness to fight the evil that plagued the land. Though the former had gone very well the last couple of years, the latter, well, to say he¡¯d made no progress would have been charitable. All this time, he¡¯d had a dread relic forged by their enemy in the form of that terrible golden manacle, but he lacked the knowledge to understand its workings, let alone figure out how to turn its secrets against its owner.


    Still, until the night when he was woken up by a dozen children with tears in their eyes, he was content to pursue both mysteries in tandem. Why should they need to flee a warm, safe house that finally had enough food when there were no threats.


    The threat was coming though, the children promised him that much once the crying stopped and precocious little Leo explained, ¡°Brother Faerbar has fallen, and the city with him.¡±


    ¡°How can you possibly know that?¡± Jordan asked. It wasn¡¯t that he didn¡¯t believe the child, but the fact that they could know something so preposterous only frustrated him more.


    As if to answer, most of the children suddenly pointed to the same spot in the sky. Jordan looked around but didn¡¯t see anything beyond a scattering of stars. One was brighter than the rest, but it was nothing special, at least not until the children explained it.


    ¡°His light has left his body, and returned to the sky where it was borrowed from,¡±Cynara explained.


    ¡°His light?¡± Jordan asked. ¡°You mean his soul?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Toman answered. ¡°High light - the light of Siddrim which was gifted to him. It has returned to protect the heavens, and he has gone with it.¡±


    Most everyone else was unnerved by the glowing eyes of the children, but for Jordan he¡¯d always been more concerned about the way they acted years older than they were. Sister Annise was bothered by neither and stood quietly in the doorway, watching this whole exchange with the patience of a grandmother.


    ¡°We must go now,¡± Reggie said next. ¡°All of us. The keep is broken, and the way is clear; nothing will stop the darkness now. All we can do is outrun it.¡±


    ¡°Outrun it?¡± Jordan asked. ¡°Better to defend what we have then¡ª¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t!¡± Cynara pleaded as she gripped him by his robes. ¡°Don¡¯t you understand? What is coming is¡­ it''s like the tide. It cannot be stopped. They will come¡­ not for us, but for everything that smells of light or life¡­¡±


    Cynara was only eleven, or thereabouts, but the way that she gripped him by his robes while she tried desperately to talk some sense into him was remarkably grown up. It would have been adorable if the moment wasn¡¯t so strange. However, when he met her desperate gaze, flickers of the terrible scenes she referred to drifted through his imagination.


    Moment by moment, the other children mobbed him, too, each pleading and grabbing, but as they did so, the most peculiar thing happened: the threads of their delusion encompassed him. Each one of them seemed to be trying to force their own little spark of awareness to make him understand.


    Separately, that was only enough to make scenes of distant battle or a darkened city flit across his mind, but when they all spoke to him with such urgency and stared at him with those glowing eyes, he was unexpectedly overwhelmed, and their vision became his vision.


    Suddenly, he was standing there at the shattered gates of Rahkin, gazing upon the complete ruination of the city. In front of him was Brother Faerbar¡¯s charred body; Jordan knew it was him even though the corpse had been burned beyond recognition.


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    The street was filled with corpses. Most of them lay where they had fallen, but some of them walked the streets looking for the living or piling the corpses of the recently dead into wagons for some foul purpose. None of that was able to tear his attention away from what was happening in the sky above the city.


    While columns of smoke still rose here and there, they were all but blotted out by the shadows of something darker and all together more terrible. Jordan¡¯s mind could¡¯t quite resolve it, but to his eyes it seemed like a mass of tentacles reaching from the heavens to devour the whole city.


    He¡¯d seen engravings like that in some of the old books that described the time before time, but to see it in person, or whatever this was, his mind simply rejected the idea. It was too terrible to contemplate, and he stood there staring up in horror at the throbbing, undulating shapes until the vision finally faded.


    When he looked around the finally quiet room at the fearful gazes of the children, his resolve stiffened, but only for the sake of appearances. ¡°Do you see now?¡± Sister Annise said. ¡°The pyre burned, but its brightness was unable to burn away the smoke, even with so much kindling. Now, we must be away before the darkness stretches so far to the south.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Jordan agreed with a shaky voice. ¡°We must be away from that¡­ thing at once.¡±


    The only problem was there was nowhere to go. The Tolden River barred travel to the south, and the nearest ford was a day to the east, but there wasn¡¯t much between here and the sea. South of the Tolden were the Trollmoors. Past that, there was only a narrow band of pine forest along the highlands before it reached the sea.


    There were a few villages that way, or at least there had been before the world ended. Jordan had no idea if they were still there now, but that was because it was no fit place for man or beast. Without their crusader with them to purge things like goblins, he didn¡¯t really think that their herds would do very well.


    When he shared his concerns with the blind woman, she merely shrugged. ¡°What need have you for herds or retainers when we reach the headlands? The Hermit would never welcome them.¡±


    ¡°Hermit? Headlands?¡± Jordan asked. He had no idea who the Hermit was, but he knew exactly where the headlands were, he just had no idea why they would ever want to visit them. They were an ugly storm beset series of mountains that took the worst of the weather that came in from the sea to the east. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what it is you''re playing at, but I expect we will all get more than a little acquainted with starvation if we don¡¯t provision ourselves properly for a trip to such a bleak place.¡±


    ¡°A few sheep for the road might suffice,¡± she shrugged, ignoring almost all of his questions, ¡°But we must move quickly lest the dark rider or his flying rats catch us unawares.¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± Jordan said, content with the knowledge that things he didn¡¯t understand were in motion now. ¡°By tomorrow, or at most, the day after, we should be gone from¡ª¡±


    ¡°Tonight,¡± she hissed, grabbing him by his robe¡¯s sleeve with her free hand. ¡°Have you learned nothing from the book of ways? We must leave tonight at the latest, or all will be lost.¡±


    ¡°Tonight?¡± Jordan asked, looking at her like she was crazy. ¡°But there is so much to do. Possessions to pack, people to organize, and, of course, we must¡ª¡±


    ¡°Tell them to come if you like,¡± she said with a shake of her head, ¡°But not where we are going. Say you travel Siddrimar, or past that to Abenend, but not to our true destination.¡±


    ¡°Why would you ask me to lie to everyone,¡± he asked, noting the children were already packing. ¡°Surely they¡ª¡±


    ¡°When they stay, and their souls are pulled from their cooling bodies, the dark one will know all that they do,¡± Sister Annise said as her blind eyes teared up. ¡°It will know about the children and about us, but not where we will go. And that makes all the difference in the world.¡±


    Jordan listened to her in this, but only because he knew enough about necromancy to be able to say that what she believed was entirely possible. So, reluctantly, he began to rouse everyone, and when most of the people who dwelled within his walls had assembled in the courtyard, he told them about his vision.


    That was a lie, too, of course, but it was the easiest way. He told them that he¡¯d scryed past the horizon and see that evil was stirring this way because even that made a lot more sense than ¡®the children see unimaginable horrors and a crazy lady and her even crazier book insist we run while we can.¡¯


    That spurred a massive debate, but almost to a man, everyone agreed that it was better to fortify and defend this place than it was to flee across unknown territory in search of safety. He could understand that. Jordan had felt exactly the same way less than an hour ago.


    That wasn¡¯t enough to stop him from imploring them to listen to him, though. By the end, the mage¡¯s words bordered on the apocalyptic, but only a few were willing to take him seriously, and almost all of those had a trace of light in their eyes.


    He thought about ordering them to come with him, but there seemed to be little point to it. So, eventually he wished them the best, and those who were going to flee alongside him. They took a small share of the wheat, some goat cheese, two of the cured hams, and wagon for bedding and other supplies along with a single draft horse and half a dozen sheep.


    It wasn¡¯t enough to damage the prospects of those they left behind, and it would be more than enough to keep the bellies of the 17 souls that joined him as they made their way east after first looping around to the west.


    By the time they were heading toward their destination, Jordan could see a thin line of blue on the horizon. The idea that it would soon be light should have comforted him. That would be enough to protect them from any lingering evils after all.


    Still, it only made him feel more exposed. They were wandering toward a destination he could not yet see and did not understand with only the slenderest threads of hope, and that seemed to be enough for the children. For him, at least, it left a lot to be desired.

 Ch. 146 - A Lifeless Husk

    Tenebroum feasted for three nights running before it finally decided that the city was now a lifeless husk. That first night, it gorged itself on the great masses of the living, leaving only the souls of the palace for the Voice of Reason to harvest and the remaining generals for its Dark Paragon to feast on.


    For the darkness, this wasn¡¯t about harvesting great minds for future plans; this was about victory and a truly bottomless hunger. There were times in the swamp when a single bloated corpse had been an unimaginable luxury. Now, an entire city wasn¡¯t enough to feed its bottomless hunger, and it had ripped the souls from the bodies of entire families at once.


    It had spent the following day slowly digesting its banquet of tens of thousands of souls in the catacombs beneath the city while the many rat vessels of Ghroshian cowered in the corners, avoiding direct contact. They were an interesting abomination, and Tenebroum looked forward to exploring their tiny connected minds once it was done with Rahkin.


    That wouldn¡¯t be for several more days, though. On the second night, it boiled to the surface like a hungry shark, searching for those few crumbs that had fallen from its table the night before. The strong, the clever, and the small made up its meal that night, and though there were only a few hundred of those resourceful men and women at sunset, it savored every last one even more for their rarity.


    By sunrise, none of them were left, and it retreated from the surface once again. This time, the rats were nearly as stuffed as Tenebroum, thanks to all the corpses their dark master had left in their wake. As a result, they were less skittish, and the two of them talked about many things while they sheltered away from the light.


    In this strange multi-tiered conversation, the two of them covered many topics, though they largely focused on the things that the rats could remember from ages past as well as the things that they had forgotten. They were able to answer, at least in part, one of Tenebroum¡¯s long-simmering questions: where were all the other evil spirits? Why were their Gods in the heavens but no evil Golds?


    This was something that Tenebroum had wondered about for over a decade, but not even the most learned mages it had devoured had a satisfactory answer for it. Ghroshian did, though.


    ¡°Long ago, before the age of the age of dawn that we lived in until recently, there were other spirits. There was a Goddess of death and any number of lesser cults,¡± the rats whispered, ¡°But as Siddrim rose in power, displacing the other lights in the heavens, he finally gained the strength to devour and obliterate them. Well, some of them. He was forced to bury my ashes after we rose from our own grave for the third time.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Tenebroum asked. ¡°What makes you special?¡±


    ¡°We do not know,¡± the rats confessed, ¡°But it has something to do with the primal nature of some spirits. A river goddess may not be killed while her river flows; she will only be born anew in a new form. The god of a city will not perish as long as people still live and trade in his domain. ¡±


    ¡°So you could not be destroyed because hunger still exists?¡± Tenebroum asked. ¡°An interesting theory.¡±


    In all their conversation, the darkness senses only meek obsequiousness and confusion from the rats. These tiny, fragile creatures might know its hunger, but they would never be a threat to the darkness.


    On the third night, there were no living creatures left alive in the city. There were no humans hiding in houses, cats scurrying on rooftops, or fish swimming in the harbor. Everything that had once moved and breathed was now a room-temperature corpse.


    That was when it began to devour the graveyards themselves. Groshin or other spirits had long ago devoured scraps of ethereal energy and memory that clung to the bones stacked in the mausoleums and crypts beneath the city, but in the graves of the churchyards, and the private sepulchers beneath the manses of noble houses, there was well-preserved dead that went back for centuries, and Tenebroum devoured each of their souls in turn, draining the city dry of every last spiritual remnant as it sought to purge it for its disobedience.


    The ancient dead had long since given up their souls to whatever afterlife awaited them, but there were traces of the person they¡¯d once been, and Tenebroum devoured those echos in a bid to fill the bottomless pit at the center of its own swirling maelstrom. This was unsuccessful, of course. It could devour the entire world and still feel the craving to know and possess more than it already did.


    It did learn scraps about the history of the city as well as those that had lived in it, though few of those memories held any real value. It did find many graves where the long dead were buried in finary of silver and gold, though, and it added each of those locations to its drudges¡¯ to do list.


    Even now, they were ransacking the city in an orderly fashion, gathering and sorting everything of value, including bodies, parts of bodies, weapons, and wealth, and setting it aside to be turned into new bits of artifice and new soldiers for its growing army. It was only when all that was done that it called for a meeting for the other spirits that served it in the Grand Temple of Rahkin.


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    The grand stone building was a place that had once been so holy that neither it nor any of its servants could have dreamed of standing there beneath the moonlit oculus of the vast place. Now, though, there was no one to stop them, and the assembled wraiths and skeletons stood there like something out of a mortal¡¯s deepest nightmare.


    Tenebroum came wearing only the skin of the nearest drudge, as its only body in the city that was worth wearing was still melted to slag. Repairing that might take half a year, given how far away its dwarven spirit-powered forges were.


    Its lieutenants, on the other hand, made up for its drabness with their distinctiveness. To its right stood the Dark Paragon, flickering with dark fire from the neck of its imposing armor. To its left stood the Voice of Reason. She held the spender crown of the Kingdom of Hallen and looked much different than when he¡¯d last seen her. Over the last three days, she had put the flesh surgeons to work and now wore the skin of the princess over her battered form, reclaiming most of the beauty she had lost in the explosion.


    Across from Tenebroum stood its silent titan next to a smoldering Krulm¡¯venor. The fire godling had become less talkative of late. That made it more obedient, but less fun to torture. The Dreamer floated between the two of them as little more than an iridescent outline. Past all of them, the Puppeteer flitted about the rest of them as a mass of tentacles wearing three heads attached to different limbs, and Ghroshian¡¯s countless red eyes glimmered like stars in the background of the conclave.


    Innumerable lesser spirits like its shadow dragon and the various flesh crafters that toiled endlessly for the Lich were missing, of course. Despite that, this was perhaps the greatest focusing of its strength in a single location that had ever experienced before, and the Lich took a moment to appreciate that.


    Here, the shadows swirled so thickly that the world lost its color, and the very fabric of reality distorted slightly. It, along with its spirits, was a truly irresistible force, and it had not even finished its corruption of the captured nature spirits or finished some of its other specialized projects.


    ¡°My victory is complete,¡± it said finally, ¡°This Kingdom is no more, and the only residents that yet live are those who venerate me!¡±


    There was only silence there for a moment before the Voice of truth stepped forward and said, ¡°Sire, this is yours,¡± before lifting the crown toward his head. Tenebroum leaned forward slightly so she could place it upon the brow of the skeleton it was wearing. It was odd, given that the thing otherwise wore only rags, but it accepted the token regardless.


    ¡°What are the next steps?¡± Tenebroum asked, turning to the Dark Paragon. ¡°Where do my armies march now?¡±


    ¡°North, sire, across the sun-scorched deserts to Bastom and all the lands that lay beyond it. There are several northern empires, and each is ripe for¡ª¡±


    ¡°A long march through the sunlit lands sounds less than optimal,¡± Tenebroum said cagily. ¡°What about a nautical approach?¡±


    ¡°Ships could be built and made fast against the sun with wreckage from the harbor,¡± the Dark Paragon agreed, ¡°But legions of soldiers should be safe enough in our approach as long as we stick to the dunes. We could¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do it then. Both plans. We will take a few months to gather our strength and incorporate all of these new soldiers into the army, and then we will head north for fresh blood at the turning of the year,¡± Tenebroum ordered. ¡°Be ready for it. I may have to divide you into pieces to create a new crop of generals, so I am not needed so far from my places of power.¡±


    ¡°As you command, my liege,¡± the general said with a slight bow, offering zero resistance to the idea of being lobotomized and used as spare parts to create a new series of spirits.


    In a sense, the Dark Paragon would die to create sons that would replace him. Even if the creature had protested, it would have changed nothing, but the fact that it had no sense of self-preservation heartened Tenebroum. The perfect servant was as talented as it was disposable, and by that measure the Dark Paragon was the best that it had ever created.


    It went around the room after that, asking for status updates and opinions on what it should do next. The Dark Paragon and the Voice of Reason both agreed that the Magica Collegium in Abenend should be their next priority, though both of them differed greatly on the right way to defeat such an enemy.


    The Voice of Reason argued that diplomacy could pay dividends in such a circumstance, while the Dark Paragon argued that only a massive attack would work on such a cagey opponent. Tenebroum agreed with their instincts but already had a plan in place for how they would deal with the damn mages, so it said nothing and moved along around the circle.


    The Dreamer delivered its answer in the form of a surrealist series of images where infants were planted in the dark earth and grew into crops of bloodthirsty men, the Puppeteer argued passionately in two different voices that it should winnow its growing priesthood and remove the most conniving, but only Ghroshian had something unexpected to tell them.


    ¡°Abenend¡­¡± a chorus of rats whispered. ¡°We know that name. Yes, we have heard it.¡±


    ¡°What of it,¡± Tenebroum snapped loud enough to make a third of the undead rodents scurry for cover.


    ¡°The wolf,¡± the chorus said as one. ¡°It¡¯s where they keep the wolf!¡±


    ¡°The wolf, eh?¡± Tenebroum said to itself. The Rats had spoken to it before of a wolf and a worm before. It remembered that much. If the wolf proved to be as deathless as the rats had been, then that was all the more reason for the darkness to end those wretched mages for good and all. It could always use another interesting spirit to experiment upon.

 Ch. 147 - Laying the Groundwork

    Even as it debated the decisions with its tiny pantheon of underlings and slowly began to make preparations for larger tasks, its minions spread in all directions. Some of those were fast moving cavalry units that galloped throughout the night on discordant hooves before they sheltered by day in bogs and ponds. The infantry units moved slower, both because of their short, human legs and the fact that they had to dig their own graves wherever they went.


    There were only three areas of concern now, though. The first priority was to surround Abenend.


    After that, some small measure of its forces was sent to the north to keep an eye out for any northern armies that might wish to disrupt things. A few scouting parties were also spared for the lands it had not yet ravaged to the south-east of Rahkin. Unfortunately, the northern part of Dutton County was already nearly abandoned.


    At least, that was what the Lich believed, it was only after almost a week of scouring out every trace of life at each isolated farmstead that its scouts reported a small village on the banks of the Tolden river that was still prospering.


    Normally that would have been enough for the Lich to descend on it and feast on the still living morsels itself, even if it was currently busy with arrangements for Abenend were it not for one small complication. After many days of discussions with its Dark Paragon, it had decided that further frontal assaults would be fruitless. This left them with two options: tunneling under the mages¡¯ school-fortress or laying siege to it.


    Of course, in a broad sense they had laid siege to the area for years now. It had done little good, though. The Wiley wizards somehow used their magic to sustain themselves even as the world collapsed around them.


    Tenebroum was just beginning to discuss a different sort of siege involving standing stones more than soldiers, but that was halted when the men and women with light in their eyes were found. That was enough to stop everything.


    Its troops retreated undetected, and instead a swarm of black birds was launched to go find out what new torment had been unleashed. It took days for more than a few of them to gather, but they revealed no dire news.


    Indeed, other than the fact that two dozen of the two hundred people in the tiny armed camp had glowing eyes, everything was as it should be. They were just humans preparing for the coming harvest. Other that a palisade and a sturdy gate they were as defenseless as anyone else.


    Still, the Lich doubted. There had to be more than meets the eye for such a strange occurrence to unfold. He suspected the work of the dead Templar, or if not him then evidence of another fallen star. The latter prospect was terrifying.


    If the gods were continuing to intervene in small ways at the edges of its domain, then who knew where they might strike at it next? The moon goddess might attack him again from anywhere in the sky, and the All-Father theoretically had everything beneath the ground within his domain. Then there were the gods of the sea and of nature to consider.


    Tenebroum didn¡¯t feel fear, but suddenly it¡¯s paranoia raged out of control and it sent spies in every direction and dark messengers to check on its distant strongholds while it focused on this one. Something wasn¡¯t right.


    As each of its minions reported back, though, all they had to say was that everything was as it should be. No reports contained anomalies, and no devastating attacks had been launched in unexpected places. Even the kidnapped nature goddesses were still trapped in their cells so that Tenebroum could experiment on them as time allowed.


    With trepidation, after several days it sent the dreamer forward to explore the minds of the villagers next, to try to get more information from their sleeping minds. The results were unexpected.


    The evidence of the light¡¯s touch had made the lich fear the worst, but all it had found were the embers of hope. ¡°This is where the Templar laid his head while he recovered from your last battle, sire,¡± the ephemeral Dreamer whispered. ¡°There was a mage too, and some children, but they are gone now.¡±


    ¡°Where did they go?¡± Tenebroum demanded.


    ¡°West,¡± the Dreamer said, playing a piece of a vision that showed the small band leaving. ¡°To take shelter with the mages at Abenend.¡±


    Even before the spirit had finished speaking, Tenebroum ordered a segment of his cavalry along with a small portion of the gathered raven flock to set out in search of the group. If they¡¯d been forewarned about its coming, then they must be pawns of some importance.


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    The trail was weeks old at this point, so magic would be of little aid. Still, it controlled all of the land between here and there, so there was nowhere they could hope to hide from its deathless eyes.


    ¡°Shall I dig deeper and discover who might yet serve you with their whole heart?¡± the Dreamer asked.


    ¡°Not this time,¡± Tenebroum answered, shutting down the topic immediately. ¡°They have been touched by the light, and I want only to consume them.¡±


    Once the Lich had determined that the danger was minimal, it sent a single neuroid to the tiny village, protected by half a legion of war zombies. They didn¡¯t attack though, they just got close enough to an unwatched portion of the palisade to fall under the spell of its minion''s psychic screams.


    By the end of the first night, half of the village had torn the other half into bloody shreds over paranoid delusions and imagined grievances. Even after its units retreated before the light of day, the killing continued. Later that night, its constructs returned to find only a bare handful left that hadn¡¯t been driven out of their mind by the maddening magics.


    That all of them had light in their eyes seemed to indicate that the Templar¡¯s blessing granted some kind of resistance, but it wasn¡¯t enough. Tenebroum took things slowly after that, sending back its minions each night just closely enough to ratchet the pressure up on the survivors as other minions studied which ones would crack first.


    It was only when there was a single survivor left that they finally moved in and hauled her away for further study. Her mind was completely broken at that point, and she was covered in the blood of her family, but she generated such a rich flavor of suffering that the Lich could not bear to put her down until it had delved more deeply into her mind.


    That would have to wait though. It had wasted more than a week of its precious time focused on this anomaly, and even as it devoured the light tainted souls, it turned its attention back to the true threat: the mages of the Magica Collegium.


    There, at least, the plan was simpler. Indeed, it was already ongoing. While it had focused on understanding the light¡¯s resistance to malign magics, its library had done the calculations, and all that remained was for its somber earth titan to do its job and create obelisks and standing stones at the required points, so that skeletal dwarven artisans could come along and carve the necessary runes to complete the spell.


    The theory was a simple one, it was only the scale that was grand. The mages had built their school in a very defensible and highly auspicious place. Perhaps at one point an army of Templars and Siddrimites might have been able to march into that valley and pit the love of their God against the combined might of centuries of learning and study, but no mortal army had dared attempt it, almost since the founding of the institution.


    The forces of darkness had already annihilated the surrounding town, but in the three waves since the initial attack they had done very little damage to the walls themselves. The mages simply possessed too much firepower and too many tricks. So it would take those away, and then it would slaughter them to the last and feast on their secrets so that it would be its future enemies that might know that pain rather than its own forces.


    Such a large plan required many parts, though. Its last few attacks had come from forces that had gotten as close as possible via the caves that ran throughout the mountains. Those entrances had long since been collapsed, but without much in the way of dwarven interference, it would not be hard to rebuild tunnels that went right into the basement of their fortress.


    All it would take, was time. That too was fine, since the fourteen monuments that would have to be raised, and the Strangulite that would have to be fabricated to power them would also be extremely time-consuming.


    What Tenebroum would have preferred to do was create a magical deadzone that blanketed the whole area, but the equations and forecasts had dubbed that infeasible. Were it to stop all mana from flowing in along the usual routes, more would just come in from elsewhere. Even if the Lich managed to succeed, then it would not be able to follow up with the coup de gras, because its own constructs would have difficulty operating in such an environment.


    Instead, it would have to settle for twisting the current of magic that flowed along the Wodenspine range, and make them unpredictable and alien to the mages. Anti elements in the peaks would poison the currents that flowed through them as surely as it had crippled Oroza when it poisoned her waters.


    That wouldn¡¯t stop them from casting their spells, though, but poisoning the nature and flow of mana would make the results very unpredictable. Albrecht had experienced only the smallest taste of that once the darkness wormed its way inside the man¡¯s soul all those years ago. Soon, his peers would get a taste of the very same thing, and in the chaos, the Lich would storm their fortress and murder all of them.


    Oroza. For a moment that word sent a thrill of rage through it, and Tenebroum only pushed it down by force of will. She is not a priority, it repeated to itself for the hundredth time as it forced itself to calm down. Her river has been poisoned in every way, and she will die along with it while I focus on more important matters.


    The Lich had many more important tasks to do, of course. It had to split the soul of its paragon into perfect copies to prepare for all the wars to come, it had to finalize the spirits in its dark garden, or at least end them and give them up as failures, and of course, it had to use the very air itself to create a dread sort of alchemy. Compared to those tasks, Oroza¡¯s ultimate fate was less than meaningless. Whether she died tomorrow or a decade from now, she could barely even challenge it in the waters of her own river anymore.

 Ch. 148 - The Dark Garden

    Even as it planned the assault and set its forge ghasts and its hammer weights to crafting magic resistant weapons and armor from the bones and armor of long dead dwarves, it turned its mind back toward more important tasks. When night next fell, it soared halfway across its domain from Rahkin to the hub of activity that was Constantium.


    The city was still devoid of life. Even the plants had withered and died because of the overwhelming amounts of unlife as well as the caustic embalming fluids and tanning liquids that spilled so frequently on the ground. Despite that, it was still a hub of activity.


    During the day, those activities were limited to the growing catacombs that hummed beneath the place as well as the Grand Temple. However, by night, the streets would come alive in a parody of the life that would normally be present in such a large city.


    There was no food, or merriment, though. There was no buying and selling, there were only drudges carrying bones from the beetle pits and fresh armor from the forges so that all the component parts could be assembled smoothly by the silent supervisor of its city factory.


    Even that dread giant had grown in both size and complexity to account for new techniques and workflows, and each of the pillars that held up the giant dome were lined with appendages, handing off constructs in different stages of completion. Truly, it was a work of beauty well beyond the mortal mind. If anyone with a pulse had ever seen the thing in action, they might have died on the spot from the dread gaze of its 300 eyes that lined the dome and monitored all the work as it was being performed.


    That was not why Tenebroum had returned here, though. There were no problems here, and if there were, they would not be the fault of its industrial strength fleshcrafters. They had no will. They existed only to bring to life the horrors of its mind, not to improvise or even object.


    With everything else going on, Tenebroum would have liked to delegate the tasks that would be necessary to experiment with its captured goddesses, but in the end such important work ultimately could only be done by it alone. They were simply too valuable as specimens. Even if it was unable to turn them into something grander, then it might yet learn a great deal simply by dissecting them.


    Whatever it decided, though, it would need to be done soon. Cut off from light and life in its lead and stone dungeons, they were wilting a little more every day. Gods of nature were not meant for stygian captivity, and though it might have simply consumed their souls and gained more power. As a result, another servant with a new domain would be much more valuable to it.


    Oroza had taught it a tough lesson, though, and it would not let them escape. The first in doing that, of course, was to learn their true names.


    For some Gods and Goddesses that might have been impossible, Even the names that they were worshiped by sometimes had little in common with their true names. Siddrim had several secret names it had learned, but it wasn¡¯t until Tenebroum had consumed the other god that it had learned there were several more names that it hadn¡¯t known.


    For nature goddesses, at least, though, that was easy enough. It simply spread its blackbirds far and wide and looked for forests and natural areas that seemed to be dying for no discernible reason. Once it had identified those three places, it was simply a matter of torturing the three bark-skinned women until it found out which name belonged to which forest goddess.


    It was a straightforward process. Soon, Tenebroum figured out that the three small gods it had stolen were Tarieneian Vale, Verdant Glade, and Thornwood. Each of the women was slightly different, in both demeanor and appearance, in ways that suited the territories they called home.


    Only one of them, Tarieneian Vale appeared almost human. She had skin of bark of course, but otherwise she looked very much like a woman. The other two, though, were much less so. Verdant glade was more like the outline of a person made from foliage, and rarely spoke. Thornwood was the most alien. She was a constantly shifting set of brambles that appeared as an animal much more often than a person.


    Unfortunately, its every attempt to chain any of the three, failed repeatedly. No matter how it attempted to chain them with manacles of servitude, they would grow in such a way that the bonds would slip free within only a few days. Only the wards of the cell itself held them reliably, which was far from ideal.


    It was maddening. In the end, the Lich was forced to improvise, and made the dark garden itself it¡¯s means of control. This undertaking was grander, but less complicated. It simply chose an unused plaza in Constantinal and after the runes were carved by night in the stone of the place, its servants began to fill the whole thing with grave earth.


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    The hardest part of the project, as it turned out, was choosing which plaza would least impact everything else that was happening since Constantinal had become so busy. It knew that if it gave them a single opening, they would escape the way that Oroza did. So, even before it installed them in that lifeless courtyard, it installed leaden rings inscribed with each of their names to keep them from spreading their roots too widely.


    Once that was done, it salted the earth in the rest of the place so that not even a blade of grass would grow. It was only then, when all was in readiness that it replanted them and observed what came next.


    To start with, all of the women became trees that grew quite quickly at first. They¡¯d thought that with enough strength, they might pierce the stone beneath them or bridge some kind of connection to the rest of the vegetation outside the city and vanish, but that was not possible. All they had done in the process was take in a tremendous amount of taint from the grave earth instead.


    Tenebroum let them acclimatize to this and grow new leaves and buds before it started to add Cholorium to their water, feeding the three slender trees a steady diet of poison and unquiet dreams.


    After that, its drudges began to carve profane symbols into the bark of all of them on a regular basis. The former was to continue to increase its grip on their foreign element of wood, while the later was merely to provoke a response from those that might be watching.


    Those markings would vanish in a few days, and the spirits within the wood barely even cried out in pain, but then, they weren¡¯t the intended audience. Now that the Lich had shown its hand, it knew that somewhere out there, the Moon and the rest of her friends were watching and waiting for their chance to rescue.


    Tenebroum had prepared for that, too, and had several creative countermeasures prepared for just such an eventuality. There were watchers and guardians every night. During the day, the whole operation was far more vulnerable, but its artisans were working on the completion of a mechanical trap that would slide a rusted awning across the whole area and lock anyone foolish enough to attempt to free its prisoners inside with them.


    There were a few false alarms, but the conflict it had hoped to bait never happened. So, when it became apparent that its enemies would be patient, it decided to test that patience with a bit of brutal theater.


    First, its drudges installed a second, larger binding ring to accommodate all three of them, and then, seeds from each were planted and allowed to grow before the three trees were chopped down and burned to ash.


    It was done on the night of a full moon to ensure that the show reached its intended audience. Despite how terrible of a scene it was, Lunaris never attempted to intervene, though. Instead, Tenebroum feasted on the agony of its prisoners alone and then proceeded to twine the trunks of the new bodies together while they were still flexible saplings.


    The trees resisted this, and it was forced to use steel chains that had been profaned with terrible engravings to force them into an unnatural shape long enough that it started to become permanent. It was only when their forms began to blend that it started to work on their spirits.


    Tenebroum was a cruel God, but in many ways, this was the cruelest thing it had done since it had given Kelvun his richly deserved reward. It had to be, though, both because of the assumed audience of this project, and because of the level of brutality that would be needed to destroy three individual spirits and turn them into one new monstrosity.


    At first, they endured this monstrosity silently. Even when its servants began to feed its prisoners more poison and prune their branches to force terribly unnatural symmetries on it, they did nothing. It was only when it began to prune their very souls that they began to beg once more.


    The Lich hoped that their silent screams would carry for many miles for those with the ears to hear them. It was only when those wounds were fresh that it began to stitch them together that it could see a glimmer of what they would become when all this was done.


    The Lich was very familiar with the idea of sharing its soul with others. It had done so since almost its earliest days. Initially, the shade and the murderer had warred and feuded in its heart, but by the time the mage and pieces of its first dozen victims swirled there, too, it had become normal.


    It would never be normal for these three godlings, though, and with a midnight thread spun from pieces of its own tattered soul, it began to turn three women into one. For now, it started with minor enough operations. After all, they hardly needed three heads and thirty fingers between them. These rounds of psychic surgery were incredibly taxing for them, of course. They had to be. All of his subjects wanted to die.


    So, Tenebroum would have to give them frequent breaks and occasionally stop poisoning them for weeks at a time. Despite that, progress was made. Slowly, wounds healed closed, thoughts began to mix, and day by day, what had been three fae and beautiful women became a terrible chimera.


    Even tied together so tightly they would never escape, they still weren¡¯t one by any stretch of the imagination, of course. They warred within their strange braided tree as they fought to preserve themselves at the expense of the other two Goddesses that now shared their soul.


    It was a losing battle, though, and in the end whatever this produced was unlikely to look like any of them.

 Ch. 149 - Something New

    When it shattered its Dark Paragon, Tenebroum expected each of the four identical fragments to grow into a separate clone of the original. Not only would that allow it to better manage its sprawling armies that were scattered almost haphazardly across the land by this point, but it would allow them to focus on multiple tasks at once while it, devoted itself to more important projects.


    This would only become more necessary as the scope of its wars increased. Soon, there would be more armies, more enemies, more fronts, and more factory cities for all of the above. Even as powerful as it was, it could not do all of those things while plotting to bring down the remaining gods. So, delegation to effective minions was no longer optional, if it had ever really been before.


    The Lich had planned to devote one to advancing to the north, one to building its drowned fleet, another devoted solely to monitoring the mages, and the fourth to cleaning up any loose ends in its current domain.


    Unfortunately, one of the four souls began to mutate almost immediately. It was easy to see the change, even after only a few days.


    The other three were slender shards of ephemeral green glass that slowly rebuilt themselves, the way a mosaic might if you planted a single tile in fertile soil and gave it room to grow. The fourth one, though, was a spidery thing that continued to grow like a cancerous weed.


    The Lich tried to trim it back to its crystalline core twice. Both times, it cut off so much that the thing almost dissolved completely into ether. That didn¡¯t change anything, though.


    If anything, the thing grew back more gnarled than before, with sharp edges and little barbs as it sought to defend itself against the unknown attacker. It lashed out at the Lich, which was almost enough for it to shatter the thing on principle. Still, it was harmless, and the barbs attempting to infect the maelstrom that was Tenebroum¡¯s soul with were quickly snuffed out.


    The deformed soul was a strange, aggressive thing, but it wasn¡¯t strong enough to do any real harm. Still, as an experiment, it was interesting enough to preserve, but it was dangerous enough that the Lich couldn¡¯t just let in grow unmonitored. So, it moved it back into the soul forge and locked it up tight until the appropriate binding circle could be built to contain it.


    There was a wonderful aggressiveness about it, Tenebroum decided, and even if it would never become a general on the field of battle, it might yet become some new type of weapon. Even in failure, it could find purposes for most of its creations.


    After briefly checking in on its twisted plant Goddesses and pruning them again while they learned to speak in a single voice, the Lich moved on to Rahkin to observe its naval preparations. There it found the Voice of Reason lording over a dead kingdom, and she quickly provided all the updates he requested, showing him not just the ships that were already refloated and repaired but the ones that still lay at the bottom of the harbor where the dead could work on them night and day without regard to the sunlight.


    It was a clever arrangement, and the Lich approved. ¡°Your efforts do you credit,¡± Tenebroum praised her. ¡°See that they continue.¡±


    Of course, they would for the foreseeable future. Its zombie leviathan had destroyed almost every ship in the harbor during its attack, and so there were still innumerable wrecks to choose from. Even when those started to run low, though, there were plenty of wooden structures in the city that could be torn apart for additional timber.


    The fleet was undoubtedly ugly in the eyes of men, but that hardly mattered. Neither the eyes of men, nor their preferences were of any concern to the Lich. What mattered were the enchantments that were even now being laid on those blood-soaked keels. They would enable the black fleet to use unnatural storms and fog to both block out the hateful sun and to catch unwary ships at sea as they probed further north for weakness.


    Tenebroum was under no illusions that it would catch them by surprise, of course. Even now, the meddling gods were already doing what they could to thwart it. It was certain that the people to the north would be better prepared than the Kingdom of Hallen. However, that mattered little since it was equally sure that it would crush them. These ships would make effective scouts, but they would make even more effective plague ships, and they would sow panic and blight wherever they landed when the time was right.


    Of course, some of them would exist just to be bait for the Goddess of Sea and Storms, should she decide to intervene. Istiniss had, so far, largely stayed away from its plans. That was almost certainly because the Goddess of the seas had seen how easy it had chained her sister, the river Goddess, and opted to steer clear.


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    The darkness knew that couldn¡¯t last forever, though. Eventually, she would come for him, and he would have ships filled to burst with poison ready for her, just waiting to be ruptured. For a few days, it mulled over the idea of crafting the defective soul shard it had created into a harpoon of sorts and using it to snare the Goddess before deciding against it. If it was going to create projectiles sharp enough to pierce the soul of a God, then there were better targets to choose from.


    . . .


    Once those were all on track, Tenebroum returned to the most important task: watching the isolated citadel of mages as its invisible noose slowly tightened. Over the last few weeks, while its paragon shards grew to fruition, it had begun to fabricate Strangulite. The machinery to craft it had been finished years before, shortly after it had succeeded in making its shadow drake fly, but since Tenebroum had no pressing need for the stuff in all this time, it had never begun production.


    Now that the time had arrived, it ordered its servants to kick things into motion. The giant cylinder that served as the door to its inner sanctum began to rise and fall rhythmically, hour after hour. It was both a door and an elevator, but it was something else, too: it was a pressure chamber. Though most of the shaft beneath it was devoted to the plumbing for the pressurized water that allowed it to rise and fall, the central core held a single hand-sized conduit of air.


    When the runes activated, the air in the tall, narrow chamber was compressed, along with a very fine dust made of corpse ash and souls of those who had died of suffocation. The air crystallized, forming a lens no larger than a dinner plate, which could be carved into any number of shapes depending on the requirements of the spell.


    In the same way that Cholerium would turn normal water to a poisonous acid and Stygium would not burn from normal fire, even as it burned the undead to ashes, Strangulite, in its raw form, did nothing but make the air that passed through it quite unbreathable.


    That was of no concern to its servants, of course, but if properly cut and polished to form a lens with the right convexity, it poisoned the essence that passed through it in a similar way. These effects had been predicted by the heads in its library, but even so, when it came time for experimentation, those were done far from the seat of its power, by lesser mage souls that it would not be bothered to lose.


    For this work, they were disposable, because it had no wish to track whatever the secondary effects of those foul magics were into any of its seats of power. The experiments started off simple enough. It took a mage with an ample supply of tainted essence and had it cast some very basic spells. It summoned fire and lightning. It attempted to raise the dead or use basic wards to protect it from the magic of its opponents.


    None of those effects worked as expected. The flames appeared, but they sputtered and died before long; they were only ever more smoke than fire. Lightning likewise came into existence, but it arced and split more than it should, scarring the ground around its target without actually hitting it.


    It was the wards that were the most interesting, though. Wards and binding rings were complex things, and each symbol and connection needed to work properly for them to function. Changing only a single symbol at random could make the whole thing behave differently than it should.


    This was exactly what happened when the strangulite-tainted essence charged the symbols that had been drawn into the wet earth. The whole thing went haywire. First, power began to arc between symbols that had no connection, and then a few of them exploded under strain they should never have been subjected to before the whole thing imploded.


    Unfortunately, the skull that the spirit that was performing these experiments was bound to was swallowed up in that vague spacial distortion and vanished without a trace. Even after extensive study, Tenebroum was unable to determine what happened to it and was forced to delay further testing for two days while another bound mage was delivered to the testing location.


    All in all, the results were impressive, and the Lich¡¯s only concerns were that releasing this weapon so near its lair might have unforeseen consequences for it in a way that the first two elements never did. Fortunately, the perverse wild magic effects seemed to fade almost immediately, falling by 90% within three days and 99% within two weeks.


    While that still wasn¡¯t enough that it would ever conduct experiments of this type near the giant rune encrusted catacombs that anchored it to the earth, it was enough that it no longer had qualms with the idea of embedding these gray cobweb filled lenses in the standing stones that were even now being constructed.


    However, these interactions, would require some changes to the design. The Lich had not been aware of the effects that these perverse currents would have on the runes when construction had started. Now, with this new data, the stones seemed as likely to detonate themselves as they did to poison the Collegium¡¯s magic.


    So, it started again, where it had to, on better designs that would summon the storm winds and aim them in a particular direction for an extended period of time. As it did so, Tenebroum wondered idly how long it would take the mages to notice exactly what it was doing.


    Would they try to attack its monoliths? Would they even be able to find them? Teneborum wondered. It wasn¡¯t sure. Truthfully, it wasn¡¯t even sure how it would go about looking for such a source and set a quartet of minds to the task immediately. How could you locate something when it warped the very divination that you sought it with?


    It was only when it was fine-tuning those structures and raising the height of the lens so that the runic ring that anchored and powered each monolith was well clear of the poison it generated that it finally occurred to the Lich that it never found the mage it had sought in the immediate aftermath of Rahkin¡¯s fall.

 Ch. 150 - Sanctuary

    The first day that Jordan had helped his charges travel east after first traveling to the west, he felt like a moron. Even knowing that something greater was at work, he felt like he¡¯d immediately regret his decision to leave his childhood home. That didn¡¯t change as the house that had always protected him or in any of the chilly days that followed.


    They traveled east for a day, then forded the river before continuing east-south-east toward the coast. Each day was bleaker than the last, and with so many mouths to feed, it wasn¡¯t so long before their food supplies were running low. On the fifth day he brought a deer down with a lightening bolt, just to keep anyone from going hungry.


    He worried that whatever was looking for them might be able to find him from that little spell, but Sister Annise assured him that the darkness couldn¡¯t find them now, no matter what they did. ¡°Besides,¡± she volunteered. ¡°The evil that haunts this land is too busy tearing apart your manor, even as we sit around this fire.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Jordan gasped. ¡°How can you possibly know that?¡±


    ¡°See for yourself,¡± she said with a shrug, handing him the Book of Ways as she opened it to a page, seemingly at random. ¡°These things are decided well in advance, and neither you nor I can stop them. We are all of us slaves to fate.¡±


    Jordan ignored her often repeated line and instead studied the page, noting with annoyance that it was dominated by a large illustration of the manor house they¡¯d just abandoned.


    It was drawn in red and black, and though it wasn¡¯t impossible that Sister Annise could have done it herself, if she¡¯d been able to see, in this picture, though, it was on fire. That wasn¡¯t the detail that caught his eye, though.


    As he peered closer, he saw a tiny smuggled illustration of a thing near the house. It would have been impossible for the average person to say what it was that the thing was supposed to be. More than anything it looked like an overgrown scarecrow.


    Jordan recognized it immediately, though. How could he not? That hideous tentacled brain had haunted his dreams for years. Of all the sights he¡¯d seen in that pit. That one was the most terrible, and if he hadn¡¯t burnt it to a crisp with coruscating electrical fire, it would have driven all of them insane and made them rip each other to pieces.


    Just thinking about it again after all this time made him remember that terrible paranoia and he turned to the spidery text, trying to gain some insight into what was going on here. What he found was only further horror.


    ¡®By the second night, less than a half of the inhabitants of Sedgim Manor still breathed. A few had run to the Greywood, but due to the inaucpicious nature of the stars, they turned on each other too in a series of terrible misunderstanding.


    Since they were not directly under attack, none of the survivors understood the danger of baracading themslves into unused rooms to escape the madness. That was folly, for when the metal abomination returned after the fourth sun was set, most of those that were already weakened by its previous assaults succumbed to a number of creative suicides.


    Though most of those with light in their eyes managed to hold on to much of their wits, Britha chose to¡ª¡¯


    Jordan tore his eyes and slammed the book closed. What in all the hells did I just read, he wondered. He turned to Sister Annise to ask her, but when he realized her answer would be a repeat of so many others, he thought better of it and opened the book again, searching for the page to examine it further.


    Just like before, though it had vanished. He searched by firelight, and eventually, he found the page he thought it had been, but now the manor had been burned to ruins, and the words no longer described the same thing. Instead, it talked about how quiet the town was now that the survivors had been rounded up and dragged off by the minions of death.


    He shuddered and would have shouted obscenities if he didn¡¯t have the children to consider. ¡°Is this what will happen, or what has happened?¡± he asked finally.


    Sister Annise shrugged. ¡°What you read is the history of now. Whether they happened yesterday or tomorrow is a meaningless question. No matter what say they happen on, they cannot be changed.¡±


    ¡°So I couldn¡¯t save them?¡± Jordan asked, feeling like he had their blood on his hands. ¡°Not even if I summoned the storm winds? I could be there tonight. I could¡ª¡±


    ¡°If you found a way to raise Siddrim from the dead and channel his full fury on the monsters in the region, you would only delay this,¡± she sighed. ¡°Our destinies cannot be changed. They have already happened.¡±¡¯


    Jordan flipped to the next page and saw a picture of them sitting around the fire. He read about the conversation he¡¯d just had.


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    ¡°The blind prophetess assured the skeptical mage that what has already happened cannot be changed, then, before he could ask her about the god of secrets or the trials to come, she took the book and¡ª¡±


    He didn¡¯t get to finish reading, because no sooner had he read it, then she snatched the book back from him and shut it tight before putting it in her bag. ¡°Hey!¡± Jordan protested. ¡°I was reading that!¡±


    ¡°You were,¡± she agreed. ¡°But you should read no further than you have to. Reading too far into the future is bad for the eyes.¡±


    ¡°Trust me, I know,¡± she chuckled darkly. ¡°Sufficed to say, I have seen enough to know the way, and you shall know it soon as well.¡±


    ¡°What is the tower?¡± Jordan asked. ¡°And the God of Secrets? You¡ª¡±


    ¡°The tower is where we will find the hermit,¡± she said blandly. ¡°And all the other questions can wait until we get there.¡±


    Jordan was less than thrilled by the answer. However, what had started as a quiet conversation had become heated enough to attract the interest of the children, and that was enough reason for him to drop it. If he continued, there would be questions, and as brave as these light-eyed kids could be, he had no wish to force the responsibility of how dire their situation had gotten on those who were so young.


    . . .


    They traveled for two more days and nights before they found the barrier. Well, barrier wasn¡¯t exactly the right word. It was a line in the sand that he sensed as soon as they crossed it, though.


    One second, they had crossed through the thin pine forest and were making their way down a dreary peninsula toward the sea, and the next, they were on the other side of the line, and they could see a small village and, at the far end of the spit of land that jutted off into the sea. Just beyond it, there was a lighthouse, too.


    No, not a lighthouse, he corrected himself: a tower. It was white and elegantly tapered to a conical blue roof that blended with the sky, but it had too few windows for a lighthouse, and the shimmering that emanated from it was not any source of mundane lighting.


    Before he could give much thought to it though, he focused on the fact that it had just appeared out of nowhere. That was far stranger.


    ¡°Did you feel that?¡± Jordan asked, turning to sister Annise.


    ¡°Why would I?¡± she asked. ¡°I am no mage. The veil barely exists to me.¡±


    ¡°Why would it matter that I¡¯m a mage?¡± Jordan asked.


    ¡°Because the veil doesn¡¯t exist if a mage isn¡¯t here to power it,¡± she said with a patient smile as if she was telling someone something they had known but forgotten. ¡°This is why you are the Shepard. Because your flock could never find sanctuary without you.¡±


    Jordan studied her expression, but said nothing as he marveled at her non answer. Until she¡¯d spoken he¡¯d thought that what they¡¯d just passed through was something like an illusion, but her answer implied it was more like a pocket world. Such things possible, theoretically, but Jordan doubted that any ten masters at the Collegium Arcanum could construct a thing like this without divine inspiration from Lunaris or another of the gods.


    For now, all he could do was study the landscape. No one but him seemed to be perturbed by the sudden change. Indeed, the children were more than happy to accept the change and quickly shed their cloaks to enjoy the suddenly sunny weather.


    It would have been picturesque, of course, if the whole scene hadn¡¯t just suddenly changed. If there had always been a village and a lighthouse clinging to the edge of the land while a sea roared in the background, then he would have been sure they¡¯d finally found a refuge. As it was, though, his doubts were thick enough to blot out even the menacing red sun that was only now climbing toward its zenith to chase the grey one that had already moved past it.


    The village, they quickly discovered, was called Landsend, which was evocative, if not particularly creative. They were greeted by the locals more warmly that expected. It only occurred to Jordan after a few minutes of conversation that these people had no idea what was happening in the world outside their little bubble, or whatever this was.


    ¡°You don¡¯t get out much, do you?¡± he joked at one point.


    ¡°Out?¡± one of the farmers who¡¯d been handling much of the talking said, ¡°Why would we want out? To leave the veil would be to share its doom.¡±


    ¡°Doom?¡± Jordan asked, trying to draw out more details.


    He was disappointed, though. Instead, the man shook his head and said, ¡°These are not topics for a farmer. I confess to knowing little and understanding even less. You must speak to Tazuranth; he¡¯ll want to speak to you in the evening after supper, I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    Tazuranth? Jordan wondered, sure he¡¯d heard that name before. He seemed to recall that someone from the dawn age had such a name, but he had not been particularly interested in the histories and legends of long dead mages, so he could not say precisely what the man was known for, or why someone would want to name themselves after such a figure, but he was sure he there was a reason.


    That question didn¡¯t last long. Soon enough, logistics became more important. There were no spare cottages, but there was a barn that wasn¡¯t used much anymore, and they quickly set to work cleaning and organizing that to create a refuge. They¡¯d eaten almost all their animals, but that did not seem like it was going to be a problem. After all, the village of Landsend was prosperous enough. They had fish, sheep, goats, and cattle, along with several steep step-terraced fields that were full of crops of all types.


    A few years ago, any village in the county might have looked like this. Some would be better, and some might be worse. Now, it was a paradise that they dared not dream of, and for better or worse, it was home for the foreseeable future.

 Ch. 151 - Pieces of the Puzzle

    Tenebroum regarded the golden cage full of squirming rats impatiently as it scryed into their flimsy souls. It did not find deceit there, nor even signs that it would normally think of as intelligence. It never did. Instead, it found only fear and hunger-fighting their eternal war against one another.


    ¡°Tell me about Malzekeen,¡± it commanded again. ¡°In detail this time. Everything that comes to mind.¡±


    ¡°W-we don¡¯t recall details; it¡¯s been much too long for them. They have tried up and blown away.¡± the rats cried out as one in a keening, squirming chorus. None of them could make whole words, but each of them could make parts of words in a way that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. ¡°All we remember are the wrath and ruin¡­ That endless terrible light¡­ Then all of it, everything, and everyone was gone.¡±


    The Lich was uncertain if they were referring to the fate that had befallen the city, or if they were instead referring to the wolf and the worm that it sometimes spoke about instead. The two concepts were almost as entwined in the rat¡¯s mind as it was in various texts that the Lich¡¯s servants had pored through.


    ¡°Nothing?¡± the Lich grumbled in annoyance. ¡°Remind me, which one is wrath and which is ruin?¡±


    ¡°Wrath has the sharpest teeth,¡± the rats called out, ¡°Ruin¡¯s bite is much slower but even deeper.¡±


    The Lich sighed mentally. I hated dealing with this broken thing.


    It had already found some answers in the mind of its library and more in ancient books in places like Sidddrimar, Constantinal, and Rahkin. It had specialty constructs in those and other places that did nothing but read and remember. Those undead were uncharacteristically thoughtful, and so it had made them uncharacteristically weak to prevent any problems as they sifted through centuries of knowledge, looking for an uncertain number of needles in a variety of different haystacks.


    Its readers were little more than drudges, save that they¡¯d been given the minds of learned men, and their skulls had been sliced open cleanly and hinged on top. This was so that when those minds were full, they could be replaced, and fresh minds could be installed so they might continue their research.


    It had found a number of surprising details so far, but many of them were contradictory. Malzekeen seemed to be both a place and a group of dread gods that may or may not have been from that place. The details were unclear.


    All that everyone agreed on, was that the place was either lost in the northern deserts which were apparently created when Siddrim smote them for their foul ways, or it was off the east coast of the continent, sunk beneath the waves because the Lord of Light had decided that it was so foul to his sight and so irredeemable that it had moved the very world from its place in the heavens to drown them.


    Though the Lich thought that either story was possible, and its presence in both locations was unlikely, it had dispatched servants throughout the area to search for the ancient ruins. Despite those efforts, and the fact that it apparently had one of the survivors in its hands, it still could not find any clues to narrow the search area down further.


    As a last resort, the Lich had brought a caged sample of the larger swarm back to its lair so that it could investigate them more thoroughly in its soul forge, but even that had limited utility. Individually, the rats were simply too insubstantial.


    They required some critical mass to take on the spark of true intelligence. While that was an interesting detail, it was happy to study, no matter how many of the rat souls it had to shred for answers, it did not help Tenebroum find the answer that it was looking for.


    ¡°What of the wolf and the worm then?¡± the Lich asked again, with growing impatience.


    ¡°What of them?¡± the rats answered. ¡°They are our brothers, lost to us for all this time.¡±


    ¡°Do you think they yet live?¡± the Lich asked.


    ¡°Always dying, but never dead,¡± the rats agreed. ¡°Unless new deities of wrath and ruin have risen to take their place.¡±


    The Lich paused to consider whether or not it qualified as wrath or ruin, but decided again it. It wasn¡¯t sure if it know of course, but it liked to think it would. If things were so broad as that, then surely its eternal avariceness and greed would have long ago stolen Groshin¡¯s power too, wouldn¡¯t it?


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    If it had to characterize itself, it would give itself the labels of darkness and death more than anything symbolic. Is wrath the same as death in the end, though? It wondered.


    It couldn¡¯t say. Instead, it passed along the philosophical question to its library and returned to the topic at hand. ¡°Were you always separate creatures, or were you more than that?¡±


    ¡°My brothers were never far from us,¡± the rats squeaked. ¡°Not until the Lord of Light burned us to ash and dust.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but as a single entity, or a pantheon, or something else?¡± The Lich demanded. It was trying to stay calm. When its power raged too out of control, the rat swarm was disrupted and lost almost all ability to speak for a time. It was annoying but only slightly more frustrating than the current quality of answers.


    ¡°We have never been a single entity¡­¡± the rats answer with hesitation. ¡°Hunger never applies to only one.¡±


    Somehow it knew that was the wrong answer, but still they said it anyway. That was enough to make Tenebroum worry that the things were trying to be deceitful toward it, but thy seemed to lack the intelligence for such complex lies, especially in small numbers.


    It had figured out one thing though. It was fairly sure that Siddrim had intentionally not destroyed them completely in order to try to imprison those natural evils. This fact tended to argue against Malzekeen being a drowned island somewhere. After all, if the island sank how would they find all the little rat corpses and seal them away in a sarcophagus.


    No, whoever had done this had made sure to have pieces of the dark gods left to imprison so something new wouldn¡¯t rise in their place. That much it could determine without having to ask anyone at all. Tenebroum wished it could get more answers from Sidrrim¡¯s soul on all these things, but it was so long ago that the only answers it had were a smug satisfaction that it had triumphed, which was less than useless.


    It left them there and had a drudge seal the room as it soared off into the night sky beyond its absolute barrier so that it could look at the stars and consider what it already knew.


    It knew that the Malzekeen probably came from the city of Malzekeen, or at least they met their end there at the hands of an angry sun god. Where that was exactly didn¡¯t truly matter in the grand scheme of things.


    What mattered was which of the many versions of history were right. To date, the most interesting books it had found were actually in the black libraries buried beneath Siddrimar. Those hidden histories contrasted more than a little with the public ones that its heads had read elsewhere, but because it had eaten their God, Tenebroum knew better than anyone how corrupt and untrustworthy Siddrim¡¯s church had become in the last century.


    There had been several attempts to fix that and at least two reformations, but as the Lord of Light took less and less interest in the world he ruled over, corruption set in. Still, broadly speaking, Sdirrim¡¯s adherents seemed to believe in a cyclical view of history. There were ages of light and ages of dark, and the world kept spinning.


    Different saints throughout the church''s history took that to be literal, while others thought that it was a metaphor for corruption and vigilance. It was impossible to say which was true with any certainty.


    Given how much damage Tenebroum¡¯s forces had done to the world so quickly, it understood how fragile that balance was, too. But it saw no way that light could win now that darkness was all but paramount. It was only the thought that the light had once believed the very same thing only a few years ago that gave it pause.


    I will take nothing for granted, Tenebroum told itself as it gazed across the night sky and glared at the waxing crescent moon with suspicion. I will find every advantage, take every precaution, and kill or corrupt every enemy until the whole world belongs to me and me alone!


    This was practically its mantra, and it had only strengthened as it learned how big the world was. For a short period of time it had assumed that it had already conquered almost all their was to see, but as it consulted maps and learned from the souls of merchants and mariners, it began to understood just how many other lands there were to be conquered.


    Though the darkness doubted they would stand any more of a chance against it than these pathetic kingdoms had, it would not grow overconfident. It promised itself that. Especially not as long as the moon still hung in the sky. That woman was not to be trusted, and even now, it was certain that she was marshaling her forces for some new trick.


    It had tricks of its own. It already possessed spirits of almost every element, and its work on its new nature goddess was going well. She still thought that she was free, but in time, his six-armed Queen of Thorns would do terrible things to the guerilla forces that had beset it on more than one occasion. The Lich had spent months carving those three spirits into one, and it wouldn¡¯t be long before they had its brand on their soul, and it could finally be unleashed on an unsuspecting world.


    She was just the first of its new weapons, too. Once it struck down Abendend who knew what strange magics it would be able to unlock, and if the wolf was still buried beneath that ancient place as Groshin had promised it, well, Tenebroum was sure that soon it would be the one trapping the moon, not the other way around. It had already dragged the sun from the sky, so why not Lunaris as well?


    Tenebroum watched her as she traced her slow track across the sky, just as she did every night as he considered all these complex ideas. Now, it just had to find the worm, and the table would be set.

 Ch. 152 - A Long Time Coming

    At dusk Jordan received an invitation to dine with the man that the villagers called the Wise One, or more commonly, Tazuranth, the Great and Powerful. This struck Jordan as a little ostentatious, but then there were many Mage Lords at the Magica Collegium that insisted on such pomp as well.


    They rarely named themselves after mages of legend, though, he thought ironically.


    Despite not being invited, Sister Annise insisted on coming, and when Jordan told her, ¡°You should probably stay behind until I learn more about our host, and we come to some sort of arrangement,¡± but she ignored him.


    ¡°The Book of Ways says that I am there at dinner tonight,¡± she insisted as if that meant anything. ¡°So, I am afraid I must attend.¡±


    Jordan sighed inwardly but didn¡¯t pursue the issue further. Surely even the most callous host wouldn¡¯t deny a blind woman food, would he?


    Jordan¡¯s concerns were needless, as it turned out, and the servants invited her in, almost as if they¡¯d expected her, further deepening the mystery. It was only when they sat down at a table heavy with food that their host finally joined them.


    He wasn¡¯t at all what Jordan had expected. He¡¯d expected a gray master in elaborate robes and extensive titles. He¡¯d expected the typical obsession with protocol and pecking order that he¡¯d come to associate with mages powerful enough to have their own demesne, let alone mages with enough power to raise some kind of illusion around it to protect it from the outside world.


    What he found instead was a man that was little older than him, in stained shirt sleeves, who began eating almost as soon as he sat down.


    ¡°What?¡± he asked with a mouth full of roll as Jordan looked at him in confusion. ¡°Dig in. The food will get cold. We can talk about your journey after we¡¯re done. I have an important astronomical alignment to observe in 44 minutes. We must be quick about these things!¡±


    Though Sister Annise continued to look at the man as if he were a snake, the absurdity of the situation was enough to put Jordan almost immediately at ease. This wasn¡¯t an archmage; instead, he was just like any number of other senior students from the Collegium, and that memory was enough to make him smile wide for the first time since Brother Faerbar had left the manor, never to return.


    The three of them devoured the best meal that Jordan had eaten since last year''s harvest in record time. Honestly, they ate like kings; everything was good, from the mashed potatoes and the boiled carrots to the buttered rolls and the piping hot prime rib.


    There was some conversation throughout dinner, but it was limited largely to pleasantries, and whenever Jordan or Sister Annise tried to ask about something more substantive or explain something he would deflect right back to the food, or ignore the statement entirely as he focused on his feast, or checked the hourglass that he¡¯d brought with him from somewhere upstairs.


    Through all that, Jordan managed to learn a couple of things. Foremost was that their host seemed to insist on calling him Taz, and he seemed almost allergic to formality. He did listen, though, when his manservant said, ¡°Please, sir, do try to keep your elbows off the table when we have company over.¡±


    Those were all normal enough, but in places, like when Taz said, ¡°Well, sometimes stars do surprising things, even after you¡¯ve been staring at them for a century or two. It¡¯s always best to keep an eye on them lest they start to wander too far.¡±


    The idea that anyone could watch anything for a century or two was impossible, of course, unless they¡¯d stumbled into the lair of a small god, of course. The man almost certainly meant that he was continuing someone else¡¯s vigil that was documented in an old book, or perhaps he was part of an order that devoted themselves to such things.


    Jordan didn¡¯t know. What he did know was that he needed to get to the bottom of this. The man was obviously a mage, though. Even though he seemed too young and too relaxed to have any real power, the way he would casually use minor spells to summon food from across the table after he¡¯d cleared his plate or animate a napkin to dab at his mouth instead of simply wipe at his mouth showed that he had real power.


    He enjoyed every mouthful, and it was only when the servants were asking about desert that he suddenly stood and said, ¡°Sorry, out of time. Perhaps next time, Bernard.¡±


    He jumped up with his hourglass and ran to the stairs. It was only when he reached them and said, ¡°Well, are you coming? You¡¯ll want to see this, trust me. Its not often that a constellation reorganizes!¡±


    Those words, strung together in that way, meant nothing to Jordan, but he still wanted to see what his host was talking about. So, he stood and followed the other man up the stairs. By the fourth floor of the steep spiraling staircase, he was beginning to regret that decision, but even so, Sister Annise kept up with him while he huffed and puffed without any complaint.


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    In fact, if anything, she looked grim, and he made a note to ask her about that when they returned to the barn that had become their temporary home. Right now, there was no time for that, though. Instead, there was just enough time to appreciate the quality of the mage¡¯s observatory and the view it afforded him of the dark sea before the real show started.


    Taz had one of the nicest telescopes that Jordan had ever seen. It was the size of a large wine barrel with a mirror near the back, which was certainly an unconventional arrangement. He was just trying to figure out how much light that monstrosity might be able to gather and what the level of magnification could be when their host muttered a few words, and the large circular window in front of it suddenly became¡­ something else.


    A moment ago, it had been a large, circular window frame that would have been more than big enough for Jordan to crawl out to the ledge beyond if he¡¯d wanted to. After the runes on the frame began to glow with a soft blue light, though, the air inside of it began to condense and thicken, adjusting its optical characteristics. One second, it had been an open window, and the next, it was a giant magnifying lens almost four feet across.


    Taz leaned down to the telescope¡¯s eyepiece, and as he did so, he said, ¡°It¡¯s just a little trick I learned to observe the stars with better resolution. That¡¯s all.¡±


    He spoke as if he¡¯d read Jordan¡¯s mind, but he¡¯d probably just observed his look of shock. Over the next few minutes, he lectured about the phenomena he was looking for. ¡°Stars don¡¯t last forever, you see,¡± the strange wizard explained. ¡°Just like Siddrim, they all burn out eventually, and its always interesting to see what the given constellation replaces them with.¡±


    The mage laughed at his joke about Siddrim, but no one else did. When Jordan looked at Sister Annise, he was unsurprised to see that her expression had soured.


    Before he could say anything about that, though, Taz wave him over, and said, ¡°go on, take a look. Be quick about it. Its hard tonight, because Lunaris is spending more of her power on the affairs of mortals than she should, but that happens sometimes.¡±


    The stars didn¡¯t look any dimmer to Jordan than any other night, but that didn¡¯t stop him from looking through the telescope. It was then that he saw something he never expected to see.


    Jordan had seen the heavens through smaller telescopes before at the Collegium, but never one with this level of magnification before. In the past they¡¯d always appeared as glimmering dots, but here, now, as he stared out into the void what he saw was a glowing figure, locked in mortal combat with an inhuman monstrosity that he might have best compared to a hydra, or perhaps a jellyfish.


    ¡°What in the name of Lunaris¡­¡± Jordan swore softly as he looked on in wonder. ¡°What is it I¡¯m seeing here?¡±


    Taz took the scope back, chuckling softly. ¡°Surely they still teach you the nature of the heavens in school, do they not? That each star is a god onto itself in the service of Mother Lunaris?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Jordan answered, wondering how the man knew what he¡¯d learned in school. ¡°But it¡¯s a metaphor, not a literal¡­¡±


    Jordan¡¯s words trailed off as the other mage started to laugh. ¡°A metaphor, he says. If they were only metaphorically defending the world, I assure you that the darkness would have consumed us long ago. No, they are very real, and though not all of them have flaming swords, they all work together to hold back the night.¡±


    Jordan tried to digest what it was he was hearing, and as he did so, he watched the stars through the lens. From that device, he lacked the magnification to make out the details of any of the stars, but he could see the constellation of the Orchid and another wandering star moving toward the one he¡¯d just observed.


    ¡°What¡¯s going to happen next?¡± Jordan asked, watching with rapt attention, even as the stars got closer and closer.


    ¡°All stars get old, and they need to be replaced,¡± Taz told him, ¡°That is the natural order of things.¡± As he spoke, he made frenzied notes into a journal while he watched through the eyepiece, Jordan saw two stars meet, and then, after a bright flash, there was only one, fixed in the heavens. The constellation adjusted, but only a little.


    ¡°Does that still look like an orchid to you?¡± Taz asked. ¡°No, I think it does. We can leave it unchanged. I was worried it might become the rose or the tulip, and I¡¯d have to change all of my charts.¡±


    ¡°What happened to the other star?¡± Jordan asked. \


    ¡°It was devoured,¡± the mage smiled. ¡°Nothing goes to waste, not on that scale. All the gods are cannibals. Did they not teach you that either?¡±


    ¡°Well, not in so many words, but I understand your meaning,¡± Jordan agreed.


    ¡°Do you, though?¡± Taz said, finally looking up from his cosmic light show now that whatever he¡¯d been waiting for had happened. ¡°It¡¯s not a metaphor either. Gods die, and new gods rise up to replace them. I know. I¡¯ve seen it plenty of times myself.¡±


    ¡°You have?¡± Jordan asked, making no effort to hide his confusion.


    ¡°He has,¡± Sister Annise agreed. ¡°Tazuranth the Remarkable is well over four centuries old. He has seen almost as much as Lord Siddrim.¡±


    ¡°He¡­ he what?¡± Jordan asked.


    ¡°More, actually,¡± the young man said with a slight bow. ¡°After all, I¡¯ve seen all the terrible things that have happened since he slipped up and died, haven¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s also killed every mage that his stumbled upon his own private world in all the time between then and now,¡± she said, making Taz¡¯s smile go even wider.


    ¡°How does someone¡­ what?!¡± Jordan blurted out. He¡¯d planned to ask about how even magical immortality could last so long, but Sister Annise¡¯s latest revelation disrupted that entirely. ¡°If he kills mages, then why did you bring me here?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Taz said, dispelling the lens and sitting down in a chair. ¡°There¡¯s no need to end you at this point. Not only are you an apprentice instead of a fully vested mage, but you¡¯re trapped here. With that monstrosity out there, there¡¯s literally nowhere else for you to go, is there?¡±

 Ch. 153 - A Long Time Coming (part 2)

    ¡°Besides,¡± the mage continued. ¡°In this case I am afraid it is the priestess that must die.¡±


    Jordan¡¯s mind was reeling as each new revelation assaulted his mind more than the last one had as he looked back and forth between the two other people in the room. Taz was leaning forward on his chair, looking far too amused for what he¡¯d just said, while she gazed sightlessly back like a person resigned to her fate.


    ¡°Can one of you just calm down and explain what in the hell is going on to me?¡± Jordan asked, worried that this could turn violent at any moment. He stepped in between Annise and Taz, but if this mage was as powerful as he claimed, there was very little protection he could offer her.


    ¡°Well, you seem to know so much,¡± Taz said, gesturing very widely. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell him.¡±


    ¡°I only know the what but not the why,¡± she said simply. ¡°Siddrim has not shared that with me.¡±


    ¡°Siddrim is it?¡± the mage laughed. ¡°You really do believe that, don¡¯t you? Very well, we shall leave it at Siddrim for now.¡±


    ¡°We are here, all of us, because I won a game of chess a very long time ago. It was a game I should never have played, of course, but since I won, well¡­ it all worked out.¡±


    ¡°And who was it you were playing?¡± Jordan asked, even though he was almost afraid to.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll give you a hint,¡± Taz smiled. ¡°Unlike Siddrim, she¡¯s still hanging around.¡±


    ¡°You played a game of chess with the moon goddess herself?¡± Jordan asked, fairly sure he was right. He seemed to remember a legend along those lines, but he didn¡¯t associate the vague memory with Tazuranth, but he couldn¡¯t be sure. ¡°And what were the stakes?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I wanted to be her successor when she finally became tired of her nightly march across the sky,¡± and if I won, she agreed that I might have what it took to hold her nightly vigil. If I lost, well - I would have had my soul ripped out for my insolence, but it was a small price to pay for the opportunity. It took over a year, but in the end, I managed to beat her at her own game.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s some chess game,¡± Jordan nodded, trying to decided if he was serious. He didn¡¯t doubt the Goddess¡¯s existence. He¡¯d felt her touch, after all.


    ¡°It was,¡± Taz agreed, looking into space as he reminisced. ¡°It was a giant thing with thousands of squares and hundreds of pieces. I¡¯ve been tempted to build a copy of it off and on for all these centuries, but trying to find an opponent worth playing would be a pointless endeavor.¡±


    ¡°But how is it you managed to stay alive since then?¡± Jordan asked.


    ¡°Time doesn¡¯t function here,¡± Sister Annise volunteered. ¡°Not the way you think of it, at least.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Taz agreed, staring at her a little closer. ¡°I don¡¯t know who it is that¡¯s been talking to your friend out of turn, but our patron Goddess long ago struck a deal for me with the god of time so that I would have a place to wait until our margin was concluded, and that is this place.¡±


    ¡°So, in all these centuries, you¡¯ve never left?¡± Jordan asked, boggling at the idea.


    ¡°Why would I?¡± Taz said flippantly. ¡°If I leave the light of my tower and travel beyond the vale, four centuries of aging would catch up with me in an instant. It¡¯s rather hard to become the God of magic and the true defender of the world if you suddenly turn to dust.¡±


    ¡°Siddrim is the true defender of the world,¡± Sister Annise insisted.


    ¡°Siddrim¡¯s job was to keep the darkness that mankind generates at bay, and he failed at it,¡± Taz said, laughing again. ¡°Lunaris has a much larger and much more thankless task, she must hold off all the darkness beyond the world, and that, I assure you, is nearly infinite. Siddrim might have ruled the day, but he would have buckled under the weight of a single night.¡±


    Sister Annise looked unconvinced but said nothing. Instead, she sat there impassively, clutching her book to her chest like it was some sort of shield.


    ¡°Besides, you don¡¯t even serve Siddrim anymore,¡± Taz continued, pointing an accusing finger at her. ¡°There¡¯s only one God of death, and he¡¯s missing in action too. No, someone else is pulling your puppet strings.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re going to kill her because she¡¯s serving another god?¡± Jordan asked, more than a little horrified. ¡°Does that mean you¡¯ll come for the children next? This place was supposed to be a refugee.¡±


    ¡°A refuge according to who?¡± the mage asked. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have even been able to find me here.¡±


    Jordan didn¡¯t answer. Instead, all he did was look at Sister Annise¡¯s book, but that was enough. With a gesture, Taz pulled it from her grasp and glided slowly across the room to his. Once he had it in hand, he opened it, leafed through a few pages, and then set it on top of a messy stack of books to his right.


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    Jordan could see the pages he looked through, but didn¡¯t recognize them. Rather than the scrawled, crazed messages he was used to seeing in there, it had somehow returned to a perfectly normal devotional tome. If it was placed on the shelf next to any other Book of Days, he wouldn¡¯t have been able to tell the difference.


    ¡°I led the Shepard here for the sake of his flock,¡± Sister Annise repeated. ¡°Siddrim showed me the way. My sight has left me, but his remains.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an interesting delusion, I¡¯ll grant you that,¡± Taz said, ¡°but think about it. If it''s Siddrim¡¯s ghost that talks to you, then how do you know that¡ª¡±


    ¡°The light cannot die!¡± she insisted. ¡°This is my destiny. I have come as bidden and¡ª¡±


    She probably never even felt the bolt that struck her. With a complicated gesture, a single shard of obsidian buried itself in her chest, and her body began to crumble like it was made of sand. The frightening shockwave traveled through her body, and her final act was to look Jordan in his eyes before she crumbled into a pile of dust on her chair.


    He was certain that she¡¯d been trying to communicate with him, but he was unsure of what it was she was trying to communicate. Was it that she¡¯d expected this? Was this all going according to her deranged plan?


    Jordan spread his arms and was about to cry out, but the other mage said, ¡°You should stay calm and have a seat. I don¡¯t want to hurt you. Those children will need someone, and Lunaris knows it won¡¯t be me. I¡¯m much too busy.¡±


    He ignored the fact that Taz had pointed to the chair where the dust of his companion remained and instead slumped down into the one beside it. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you murdered her¡ª¡±


    ¡°Murder is a strong word,¡± he said with a shrug. ¡°Technically, I annihilated her, but really, what I did was prevent her patron from manipulating my domain.¡±


    ¡°How does that justify anything,¡± Jordan said, trying and failing to stay calm. ¡°you don¡¯t even know who it was that was behind her gift of prophecy.¡±


    ¡°I know it wasn¡¯t Lunaris, and that¡¯s all that matters to me,¡± Taz said, growing suddenly serious as he studied Jordan. ¡°You are in my house and will respect my rules. That is the price for safety against the malignant spirit currently devouring the world, and I cheap one at that, I should think.¡±


    Jordan wasn¡¯t about to argue whether Sister Annise¡¯s life was worth a temporary refuge, so instead, he pivoted, asking, ¡°What of the children? Will you annihilate them as well because they have been touched by Siddrim?¡±


    ¡°Why would I?¡± Taz asked, genuinely confused. ¡°That God is no more. He cannot meddle in my affairs at all. As such, the children are worthy of study, not butchery.¡±


    ¡°And me?¡± Jordan said finally,


    ¡°What about you?¡± Taz asked. ¡°You can be my apprentice if you like once you get tired of babysitting. Perhaps we might even teach you something about¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Jordan said. ¡°Not that. Why are you letting me live? Why not simply murder me, like Sister Annise said you did to all the other mages.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t murder them either,¡± he said, with a shake of his head. ¡°All the ones before you came here on purpose. They each challenged me to a dual, and I accepted. Each of them lost and died for it. That is the nature of magical duels, is it not?¡±


    Jordan nodded slowly. That point he was at least forced to concede to. Magical duels were as deadly as they were rare, and it was far more likely that both mages died than that both of them survived when they unleashed such powerful forces to kill their opponent.


    Jordan spent the next few minutes being lectured on the nature of Taz¡¯s position, and when it was over, he stood and said, ¡°Thank you for clarifying things.¡± That wasn¡¯t what he wanted to say at all. He wanted to call the man an unhinged monster, but he didn¡¯t dare do that. There was nothing that Jordan could do to stop a four-century-old mage from doing whatever he wanted, so for the sake of the children in his care, he did his best to play the grateful supplicant.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Taz agreed. ¡°I just have one more question. How do you think that woman knew so much, both about this place and about me.¡±


    The question was asked casually, but the gaze behind it was an intense one, and Jordan wouldn¡¯t have been the least bit surprised if the man was using some sort of truth-sensing magic at this very moment, so he didn¡¯t dare try to lie.


    Instead, he told the truth. ¡°I honestly have no idea. She said different things at various times, but I believe she got visions. Part of me had doubts that they came from Siddrim, as you¡¯ve made very clear, but¡­ Well, I don¡¯t think you understand how dark it is out there now, Tazuranth. The world is ending. I was happy for any sort of divine intervention, I think, no matter the source.¡±


    The other mage nodded and said. ¡°I understand, and someday, if you are here long enough, you will understand that this has happened before and will happen again. It is the way of things.¡±


    ¡°May I have her book back at least?¡± Jordan asked, trying to sound nonchalant. ¡°For the children, you understand. They will miss her, but Siddrim¡¯s words will be a balm for that.¡±


    Taz looked at Jordan for a long moment, then studied the book briefly. He cast the basic version of detect magic then, and Jordan saw half the things in the room begin to glow with their own colorful aura that hinted at what they did. The book stayed strangely dull.


    Jordan didn¡¯t understand that result, but he wasn¡¯t surprised by it either. He¡¯d found the same thing when he studied it all those months ago.


    ¡°Very well,¡± Taz said, handing him the book. ¡°You may leave. I am busy most evenings, but if you would like to come by for a friendly game of chess or just to discuss topics your masters might have neglected up until now, you are welcome to come by for lunch.¡±


    Jordan nodded and thanked the man. Then he departed.


    He left with the book in hand, unsure what he should do next. Was it really safe to stay here with such an unhinged lunatic? Was it really safe to leave? He didn¡¯t know what the right decision was. Right now, it wasn¡¯t like he had a choice.


    He sighed as he walked back to the barn. What was he going to tell the kids about where Sister Annise had gone? He thought about that for several minutes, but ultimately he looked down at the book. It would probably have the answer to that, too. Should he look, or should he go with his gut and see if he got it right after everyone else went to sleep?


    It didn¡¯t matter. They¡¯d come here to escape the madness, but now it had only intensified.

 Ch. 154- Unrecognizable

    Niama. That was the only word that they clung to as they were trapped in the Lich¡¯s dark garden. Niama will save us, each of them whispered to each other, like the frightened sisters they were.


    No one was coming to save them, though. Only Lunaris tried to visit them the once in that desperate place, but before she could even whisper whatever message it was she¡¯d dared come to deliver, a whirlwind of inky black barbwire sprung up out of the hateful thing that was the circle that bound them together, and she was forced to take flight lest she be caught alongside the rest of them.


    It had been the only moment of hope that the three of them had experienced since they¡¯d been stolen from the moon, and now it had turned only into a bitter stone in all their hearts.


    After that, the only visits they ever received were from that terrible shade. Sometimes, it came in the body of one of its servants, but more often, it came as a dark thunderhead billowing with wicked powers.


    Sometimes their captor tormented them words, but it always tormented them with pain as it cut away at who they were and pruned them into its desired shape. They had no idea of what that was, of course. All they could see were the bleak walls that surrounded the dead courtyard, and the leaden sky above them as the goddesses slowly forgot everything they¡¯d ever known.


    They had all had names once. Tarieneian Vale. Verdant Glade. Thornwood. Now they often had trouble remembering who was who, and when they spoke they were no longer sure if they were talking to themselves or each other.


    It gained other things, though, while it lost so much. Sometimes, that would be a strange new power manifesting, but mostly it was hate. The monstrosity that had been three Goddesses slowly became consumed by hate more with every passing day as everything they¡¯d loved about themselves faded away. It hated what the darkness had done to it, but it could not stop or protect itself. It could not even fight back.


    One day one of her voices just stopped, and a few weeks later a second one followed. The corrupted nature spirit didn¡¯t know if those two parts of itself had died or finally merged. Since it couldn¡¯t remember which of the three it had been and which two were the ones that had vanished, it seemed to be the later. That realization wasn¡¯t enough to keep it from feeling alone.


    That was when the Lich finally branded them with their new identity. By the time that dread creature showed up that fateful night wielding a darkly glowing wand with a smoldering tip, they had long since forgotten who they were or even what they were. The monstrosity that had once been more was bound to its tree like an anchor, but that did not stop it from pacing around the ring that was the boundary of its existence as it slowly mutated from something more plant than animal to something more animal than plant in a desperate and almost unconscious attempt to be free.


    ¡°There¡¯s no escape for you,¡± the skeleton rasped when it finally stopped before it, just outside the line.


    ¡°No?¡± she asked, lashing out at the monster that had taken so much from her even as she knew that the thorny vines could¡¯t cross the boundary any more than the rest of her. ¡°Then come in here with me and I will settle for revenge.¡±


    As the natural monstrosity spoke, she grew terrible claws from her six arms, but the Lich showed no reaction. Instead, with a few muttered words, she felt something gripping her heart even as it tried to beat in her chest.


    ¡°The only revenge you shall ever have is mine,¡± it intoned as she fell to her knees. ¡°You will tear apart the Gods and Goddesses you once called friends¡ª¡±


    ¡°Never!¡± she spat, but the Lich ignored her.


    ¡°You shall be their undoing,¡± it continued. ¡°And when their souls are mine, I shall give you a gift.¡±


    ¡°We¡­ I want nothing from you!¡± the thing that had once been a woman, no, several women, spat.


    ¡°And yet you shall have it just the same,¡± the skeleton whispered. ¡°I shall give you dominion over all of the natural world that you consume so that no one else can rise up to take the place of those you slay.¡±


    That was when she finally understood that she was being offered the chance to serve this terrible thing. She laughed at that, disturbingly, in all three voices.


    That laughter came to an abrupt halt as the fist in her chest squeezed tighter. She collapsed to the ground, and then, as she lay there, a dozen skeletal hands came up from the cursed earth and held her tight.


    She reached for the tree to try to return to the safety of its wood, but it was inches too far away, so when the Lich began to carve terrible words into her very soul with its evil-looking wand, all she could do was scream.


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    She had no idea how long the process took or even if it was finished, but by the time dawn began to color the edge of the sky, it was gone. She was alone again, with nothing but the pain of the darkness¡¯s latest atrocity to keep her company. She could only lay there as the vines and branches that made up her body writhed in complaint.


    When she finally made it back to the tree, she didn¡¯t come out again, not for more than a season. There was no point. There was only pain out there, and though the Lich could still hurt her in here, it was slightly more protected.


    That torpor might have gone on forever, except for one spring day, she realized that her strength was returning. For many months, she¡¯d confused the weakness that winter imposed on all their kind with the weakness caused by all of these surgeries and experiments.


    As the sap began to flow, though, and she felt herself grow revitalized, she realized that she might be able to finally dig through the stone far beneath her. It was a slow, methodical plan, but day after day and week after week, she made progress. Once she finally felt the stone that had barred her way for so long crack, and she penetrated to the deep earth and pure water beyond it, she tried to drink deep of it but was almost immediately sickened.


    Too much of a good thing after starving for so long can be almost as bad as the starvation itself, she reminded herself as she began to tunnel blindly toward the edge of the city.


    It took weeks more to find some hearty climbing vines to link to, and once that was done, things moved quite quickly. So far, no one had discovered that she¡¯d slipped from her cage, and despite how deep her roots had dug, she was determined not to give that away. If she could just reach the foliage beyond the city walls, she could flee to the nearest forest, and Niama would take her into her loving arms and fix her.


    She was sure of it. There was nothing the goddess of nature could not do.


    Two days later, while the red and the white suns were high in the sky and the Lich¡¯s forces were all hiding from their gaze, she finally made contact with the weedy, overgrown irrigation ditches nearest the walls, and fled. In her ethereal form she raced along from one set of roots to the next. The fields had long since gone fallow and were being reclaimed by nature. That only helped her move faster.


    Less than an hour after she escaped the city, she made it to the nearby woods only a dozen miles away. She would move farther tomorrow, and in time, she would reach even Niama¡¯s court itself, but for now, she desperately needed to rest.


    She tried to feast on nature''s bounty here, but found the essence almost tainted. Could the darkness¡¯s reach really extend so far? She wondered as she began to search for allies so she could explain what happened.


    Shortly after noon she looked into a pond at her reflection and she immediately regretted it. What she saw was a horror. The left and right side of her face clearly belonged to two different people, and even if she had recognized whose body it had been originally, the fact that she had six arms made her look anything but natural. She was a monster, a nameless monster.


    She concentrated, and after a few seconds she was able to become something close to what she thought that she might have one looked like. Even the indistinct features and curled vines that were only vaguely man shaped were better than the alternative, though.


    It was almost twilight when she found a small encampment of the children of the forest. She concentrated, and with some effort, she forced her strange, new body to return to a form that they might find more pleasing.


    ¡°Greetings wanders, I come in¡ª¡± As she spoke, the elves drew their weapons, obviously sensing something was wrong about her.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± one of the ageless young men demanded in the musical language of his race, pointing his black glass dagger at her. ¡°You stink of evil. How did you find your war through our glamours.¡±


    She wanted to tell him that the glamours, and the way they glowed in the deeping gloom were the reason she¡¯d found them at all in the first place, but even as she opened her mouth to explain how she¡¯d been captured and tortured by the evil gripping the land she felt the Lich smoothly slide into her mind.


    ¡°Such a good huntress,¡± it whispered in mock praise. ¡°You¡¯ve only just been released into the wild, and already you¡¯ve found some of my most elusive quarry. Make sure not to let them get away.¡±


    ¡°I would never!¡± she hissed, trying to resist the command, but even as she did so, she felt her disguise coming undone and her other arms slipping free as their claws extended.


    ¡°By the goddess,¡± the closest forest child whispered, backing away as the ones farther from her started to scatter and run for their lives.


    ¡°You cannot escape me,¡± the Lich continued, ignoring the growing chaos. ¡°Even if you could, you would soon starve to death because the light is forever lost to you. So, my Queen of Thorns, it is time to claim your destiny. Feast on the flesh of your allies by the time the sun rises, or I shall call you a failed experiment and feast on your soul instead.¡±


    After that, the Lich was gone, but it didn¡¯t matter. As he said that terrible name, Queen of Thorns, the profane symbols he¡¯d carved into her very soul sprang to life and began to burn inside her like a forest fire. She now knew who she was again, for the first time in months, but she did not like it.


    It became harder to think after that, and as her body began to shift with every move, and the bloody thorns erupted through her bark colored skin, she didn¡¯t even try. She felt the hunger now, and she scented her prey, and that was enough.


    A few minutes ago, she¡¯d been a mutilated goddess looking for allies to save her, and now she was a thorned, eight-legged hunting cat bounding down the fading trail to rip those same allies to pieces. Part of her screamed in horror at this turn of events. She never even suspected that the Lich would let her escape, but now it was too late. She was gaining on her quarry rapidly, and any second, she¡¯d be able to rip out his ageless little throat and drink the sweet taste of elder blood before she started looking for another corpse.

 Ch. 155 - A Long Shot

    When the first of the ships were ready to head north, the Voice of Reason was on the largest of them. It had taken almost as long to make her tiny fleet seaworthy as it had to make her new skin fit right. It did now, though, and it was worth the effort.


    As she stood in her deep red dress on the aft castle of her refloated Caravel, she admired the way her skin fit like a literal glove on her hands as she flexed and moved. It was only after that, she looked back at the tiny, black sailed fleet, and wondered if she would return or if she would die on her fools errand far away from her master and his power.


    Some of those ships contained soldiers and powerful constructs, it was true. She was hardly defenseless. There were even a few aquatic monstrosities that lurked somewhere beneath her should the gods of sea and storms give them trouble.


    She was well protected and had all the resources that she would need for her mission, but most of the ships that followed her contained only the skeletal remains of a few sailors, along with a hold full of poisoned and diseased rats powered by a god that was not her own.


    The Lich had planned to send a scouting mission along the coast to weaken the enemy. It was she who proposed that any such mission should have a diplomatic component to it. It had, after a few considerations and some questions, agreed. She¡¯d argued that such dialogs could sow discord and panic among nominal allies, but the Lich had been far more interested in the prayers of the living.


    That was why her master¡¯s high priest, Verdenin, had sent along a few of his black-robed monks. They were the only living souls in the entire armada, but if her efforts were successful, then they would be the most important. Apparently, its war machine was a hungry thing, and in lieu of blood and souls, prayers to the dark could ameliorate a great many of its concerns. She would have done it for any reason if only to be useful. In this thing, she was the carrot, and the ships behind her were the stick.


    The thought sent a shiver down her spine as she flicked her eyes back to them. The Lich could do no wrong as far as she was concerned, and any new abomination from its flesh forges was beautiful in her eyes. Even the dread leviathan that had been so critical to its attack on Rahkin had been a work of art, but a hundred thousand squirming squealing rats packed into the holds of her fleet just waiting for her negotiations to go wrong so that they could be unleashed and despoil everything they could find?


    She found something about all of that deeply unsettling. Not only were they ugly, unsettling things, but they were somehow independent of the one true master of the world in a way that she would never be. She shook her head and walked slowly back to the prow of the ship.


    She hoped that she would never need to unleash them. She shouldn¡¯t have to. Not when she had such powerful allies of her own. The Dreamer and the Puppeteer had both joined her on this voyage, and though neither of them would be much better in a fight than her own fragile form, they would both be very helpful in determining who might want what, and where the political fault lines of a given kingdom might be.


    At this point, they were little more than dots on a map to her. She¡¯d read a few dusty tomes on the subject of the Kingdoms of Zum Jubar, but it still made little sense to her, and beyond the most important trade cities, little was known about them in the south. She¡¯d summoned and consulted the spirits of a few sailors and merchants that had been there, but apparently those that were more knowledgeable had fled long before the Lich¡¯s forces had completed their conquest.


    ¡°Those will be our most fearsome opponents,¡± she said to herself in a voice no louder than the breeze. ¡°The ones that fear what they do not understand and have just enough knowledge for others to believe them. Something will have to be done.¡±


    Two monks stood not so far from her, but they neither looked at her nor spoke to her. They couldn¡¯t. Their eyes had been sewn shut long ago so that they could only see darkness, and their vows of silence prevented them from making any noise except for singing the discordant psalms of the Lich.


    Part of her resented that the living had any place on this mission, but it was not her place to question her master, so she ignored the urge to strangle them or push them off her ship and drown them. Instead, she focused once more on the view. And the destinations that lay far ahead.


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    Somewhere in the distance, past endless dunes and alabaster cliffs, lay Tanda. It was an ancient, walled city ruled by a sultan that tended to focus on trade rather than on warfare. It was often thought of by southern merchants as the gateway to the north, and though she was journeying there for something other than the dates and ivory that were the mainstays of their trade, she was confident she¡¯d find what she was looking for.


    They needed allies, and leaders that cared more for the fate of their subjects than the vanity of the gods that lorded over them all. If she didn¡¯t find those things in Tanda, then she¡¯d keep going, and in Bastom, or somewhere even further north, she was sure she would find what both she and her master were looking for.


    The voyage from Rahkin to Tanda would take a good crew and a fast ship about three weeks. They, unfortunately, had neither, thanks to the limitations that daylight imposed on their vessels. Each morning, they lowered the sails and drifted more or less and random. After a month at sea, though, they still had not arrived.


    It was only the magic imbued into the ships that kept them even somewhat together, especially after the storms that she was sure that the Gods were tormenting them with. Still, they met no opposition from mortals, until they were past all the dunes, and reached the White Gates.


    There, they found a small armada of well-trimmed warships waiting for them. Fortunately, thanks to the wraiths that were released each night to scour the ever-shifting seascape for hazards, they saw the enemy long before their sails crossed the horizon.


    As far as the Voice of Reason was concerned, the best course of action would have been to raise the flags that communicated the need for a parlay, and work things out with the opposing captain. She was sure that she could reach an amicable solution. Unfortunately, with dawn a few hours away, that was impossible, and in the light of day those sleek white sailed ships would easily sink her helpless black sailed vassal.


    Such an outcome was intolerable. So, instead, she continued to sail forward directly at them, and when she was close enough, she unleashed a swarm of death¡¯s heads. They had hundreds of those cursed skulls in the hold of her ship, and while they were not strong enough to sink a large ship on their own; the fires they caused would do that in an hour or two.


    As much as she might have liked to keep survivors and merely send a warning shot, that outcome was equally intolerable. Knowledge of how easily the Lich¡¯s forces might sink the local navies could be valuable in establishing a reputation in a new area. Unfortunately, that was not the reputation she wanted, which meant that there had to be no survivors.


    Thanks to the Lich¡¯s magic, that¡¯s exactly what happened. Fire rained from the sky, and every vessel, no matter how small, received its share. They went up like so many candles, and though the Voice¡¯s heart felt heavy that she had not found a way to bring about a peaceful solution to this impasse, she looked at her lovely hands and decided that she would much rather have them stained with blood than be ruined by weapons and wooden shrapnel.


    That dawn, as everyone fled below decks to escape the distant blue rays of the first sun, the black fleet floated there at rest, surrounded by the flaming wrecks of their burning enemies. In the morning, they would harvest what corpses they could for spare parts, and the Puppeteer would do what it did and sniff out secrets that might aid them in their quest.


    That sinuous monstrosity learned a great deal in the night that followed. They sadly could not find the corpse of the fleet¡¯s admiral, but they found a captain and several quartermasters, and it was able to confirm her worst fears.


    ¡°We came to stop yer foul kind before you could stain the holy lands with your evil!¡± the Puppeteer growled in an unfamiliar voice through the mouth of a dead man, ¡°And even if you make your way past us, you¡¯ll find neither quarter nor succor inside the walls of our beloved home!¡±


    Those sentiments were echoed by the other drowned souls, which they harvested for their dark god. Those sentiments worried her but not so much as to deter her from her plan. All they had come away with from this encounter was maps and warnings, but they had lost nothing of value in return, and that would have to be enough.


    Less than a week later, they reached the verdant coast where Tanda stood like a glittering gem. It was gifted by nature and clung to both sides of a fertile river that provided so much of its wealth. The Voice became instantly suspicious of what small gods of city and nature might lurk in such an old place, but ultimately, she still unleashed her wraiths and the Dreamer to learn what they could from the sleeping populace while her black fleet rested at anchor far offshore.


    It would be hours before any of those shadowy servants returned with useful information, of course, but even so, the Voice could not tear her eyes away from the glittering white spires that dotted the city and the starlight blue domes that sparkled in the moonlight.


    It was the most beautiful place she¡¯d ever been, and she dearly hoped that she could find a peaceful solution that would bring these people into the fold. She would hate to ruin such a lovely place just to make a point that the other local lords would better understand, though she would if she had to.

 Ch. 156 - Widening Gyre

    Once the Tenebroum¡¯s forces had been pushed out of the valley that sheltered the dead city of Abenend on its third assault, it had never managed to get an agent close enough to investigate again. This wasn¡¯t due to any ineptitude on the part of its servants, though. It was because of the talent of the mages.


    In many ways, the Lich feared them more than the gods arrayed against it. Humans were fragile things, but they were clever too, and the mages came up with all sorts of arcane countermeasures to keep its minions at bay. In fact, some of them were so convoluted and unexpected that it took some time to unravel their secrets.


    First, there was the net of air they¡¯d managed to weave over the entire Collegium. Many black birds had crashed to the earth ruined before the Lich had figured out that the fragile things had been failing at higher rates than usual and had them perch on trees further from the grounds instead to watch for signs of weakness among the mages.


    That worked well until the mages started to pick them off, one at a time. At first Tenebroum thought that was being done with spells that detected evil in some way, but when it it had the fly further afield, circling well out of arrow range, it still found that they were being sniped from the mage¡¯s last hold out.


    The answer turned out to be rune carved arrows that were drawn to undeath. It was a clever bit of magic, and Tenebroum filled away those tricks vowing to find some way to use them against the gods themselves in due time.


    After that, it started to use shades and wraiths exclusively, even though they couldn¡¯t penetrate the compound directly because of ancient wards inscribed into the bedrock itself. It was deeply frustrating to know that its enemy was behind fragile stone walls working on new sinister plans like their crystallized dragon fire that had wounded it so recently, but it couldn¡¯t stop them or even spy on them.


    After that, the lights started to go up. Visually, they didn¡¯t seem to be anything special at first. They were just paper lanterns hung outside the walls of the castle with a tiny shard of sunlight instead of a candle or an oil lamp. They were a nuisance at first, though Tenebroum would extinguish the ones furthest out when it could.


    Soon, there were hundreds, and then thousands, though. Every day, they seemed to amplify in the light of one of the suns, and every night, they would dim back to their lantern strength. At first, the Lich thought the whole thing was a novelty, but soon after, the entire valley was lost to their collective glow, and it was forced to build creative spies from the eyes of keen-sighted men and women and the bodies of sure-footed goats to spy on their continued activity from the closest mountain peaks.


    In time, these clever constructs were dashed as well by the mages and their protective spells, but not before they saw what was happening. The mages weren¡¯t just baring the darkness from their long river valley. They were barring winter from it as well. Even as the icy fist closed around the world with more force than usual, ice and snow never settled for long on the glowing valley.


    That let them import thousands of refugees and put them to work. Before Tenebroum¡¯s rise to power, Abenend had been a sleepy backwater, and after it¡¯s victory over Siddrim it had been reduced to ash. Now, even with Constantinal fallen, it was stronger than it had been before. In fact, in all the world that Tenebroum could see it was the only place that was growing and flourishing.


    Some of the towns and duchies that the darkness had claimed for its own on its long march east were still doing fine. People still got married, had children, and harvested their crops between prayers for the darkness to keep them safe. There was no growth there, though. There was no vitality. All there was were people in fear going through the motions.


    Not so in Abenend. There, even as the Lich laid siege to Rahkin and prepared to fight the mages when that was done, it saw that they were getting stronger. When the last vestiges of the Siddrimites received news that their fortification alongside the Oroza had been flanked, they abandoned it and quickly retreated up into the mountains to make common cause with the mages, turning the whole place into an armed camp.


    The priests might no longer have any magic of their own, but they had strong backs and experience with war. Soon, all passes except the main one were barred by controlled avalanches or manned palisades, and the main pass beside the river quickly became a new fortress in its own right.


    Aside from the northern kingdoms, and the far away islands across the sea, that tiny valley swaddled in light was now the biggest threat to the Lich¡¯s plans, and it was still gallingly near its own seat of power as it was less than two hundred miles from the spire of darkness rising from the ice shrouded ruins that had once been Blackwater.


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    Even lightning strikes to try to sabotage these defenses, or at least sew fear and chaos, met with little success. Calvary was picked off by the mages'' arc lightning and flame strike spells before they ever did real damage, and even something subtle as a neuroid couldn¡¯t get close enough to do real damage before it was detected and eliminated.


    When the sky and land failed it, the Lich sent its legion of rust to dig beneath and find some way through, but an earthquake of almost certainly unnatural origin collapsed the tunnel as soon as it got near enough to the surface to be detected.


    At one point, the Lich sent a few of its rodents in to try to bridge the gap that way, but based on the way that Groshian¡¯s other nearby parts screamed for a day and a night, it was safe to say that the mages found them immediately and did something horrible to them.


    It was only when the lights of Rahkin were snuffed out, and every mage that had been sent there to bolster their defenses died, that Tenebroum was finally able to turn its attention to the troublesome valley. That was when it had started to poison the very mana itself with its Strangulite powered monoliths. The results were subtle enough not to be noticed at first, but that could not last forever.


    In time, the Lich¡¯s vigilant goats noticed small groups attempting to reach the summit of the mountains it was using to poison them. While these efforts were sometimes successful, it was very easy for the Lich to tear them apart by night before they reached the peak, so these expeditions were invariably costly and only rarely successful.


    It was from the souls of those that it murdered there on those high glaciers that it learned the most.


    ¡°Dozens of my brothers died trying to use teleportation to reach these cursed high places,¡± the soul of Artem moaned as the Lich tormented it in the search for answers. ¡°Magic no longer works as it should there, and even the Archmages do not know why.¡±


    ¡°Of course they don¡¯t,¡± Tenebroum gloated. ¡°And they will only figure it out when I claim their souls for all of eternity!¡±


    It was heartening to discover with every new expedition, it claimed that they still had no idea what it was doing or why it would damn them, though.


    Week by week and month by month, the web of tainted artifacts slowly became a noose, and eventually, that noose began to choke the nascent revival of the mages and their allies. At first, this was only visible in the number of lights that failed after a storm went through, leaving gaps in the otherwise perfect field of lights that were hung all throughout the valley now.


    These were replaced, but it was done slowly enough to show the limits of its enemy¡¯s resources. In time, the Lich dispatched more blackbirds to spy on the place since, unlike the wraiths, they could endure at least a little light. To the Lich¡¯s surprise, almost none of them were detected immediately, as so long as they were circumspect and stayed moving, the mages could no longer shoot them out of the sky as they¡¯d done with such impunity for so long.


    That was when the Lich knew that their destruction would come sooner rather than later. In less than a year, it was certain that it would purge every scrap of light from that place and devour everything that lived there.


    Still, despite its eagerness, the Lich did not rush things. It knew that these mages were the favorites of Lunaris, and that when the time came to crush them, she would do everything that was within her power to aid them.


    That was so predictable that it was planning a trap for her too, should such an opportunity arise, of course, but for now, it focused on other, smaller details, like forcing Groshian to attempt to infiltrate the place a second time.


    ¡°No, please!¡± the rats wailed piteously as the Lich commanded hundreds of them into dozens of cages that were to be dropped at random along the length of the valley by large six-winged buzzards that the darkness did not expect to survive the trip. ¡°It¡­ the mages did things to us! We can¡¯t! Never again! The pain!¡±


    The Lich silenced them with a single command before it continued. ¡°You will go, and you will die, in time, like all my other constructs. This is the way of things, but until then you will feast on their fields that are heavy with wheat. If you can, you shall devour their books and learn their secrets.¡±


    ¡°Wheat? Secrets?¡± the rats echoed, their hunger growing.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the Lich said. ¡°There are many things worth feasting on, and the winds of magic are changing; you will find ways to do more damage and undermine their foundations further. In return, I will continue to spread you far and wide so that you can grow strong and become a stronger servant to me.¡±


    To say that the small, hungry god agreed to those terms would be inaccurate, but it did obey, and that was enough. The Lich had dissected many versions of the rats, but it had found nothing remarkable, and it doubted the mages had either. It didn¡¯t matter to it if the rat god had ten thousand bodies or ten thousand and one. All that mattered was that it labored to advance Tenebroum¡¯s plans, and it could think of no better way to exacerbate the decaying situation of the mages than by unleashing famine and disease to accompany their growing troubles with magic itself.

 Ch. 157 - Sands of Time

    While Tenebroum engaged in its slow war of attrition with the Mages, it did not sit idle and count the days until victory. That was only one plan among many.


    Unless they broke the cordon that slowly tightened around them by doing something completely unexpected, there was no need to watch them day by day. Instead, the darkness monitored the progress that its servants were making to the north, the speed with which new armies were assembled in the east and the rate at which its new generals grew deep in the heart of darkness.


    Everything was going according to plan. Then its scouts finally found what might have been the ruins they¡¯d searched for, for so long. The centipede cavalry unit that found the wasteland of stone and glass deep in the Mulkara desert had long been modified for both traveling in such an inhospitable place by day and burrowing deep into the desert sands by night to escape the caress of the sun.


    That was why, even when a dark rider reached it with the news of what had been found, it was still several weeks before the Lich could look with its own eyes. It was simply too far for any of its blackbirds to fly and survive the long day, and the darkness was unable to fly there alone as a mist in case the moon should notice it and turn her gaze once more upon it where it had no way to hide.


    So it waited until a fine, four-armed, eight-legged centaur-spider was crafted for it, complete with armor polished to a mirror sheen to drive away as much of the light as possible should the worst happen. It was only when that strange new body was in place that it made the long journey across the desert to where its forces waited to show it what they had found.


    The journey took three nights running as fast as its spindly limbs would allow, and three long days buried beneath he dunes waiting for the suns to pass by overhead. The experience was strange to Tenebroum, who was not used to being trapped in a singular body for such a long period of time.


    It had expected this, though, and the giant nightmare crab that it occupied had been built spaciously enough that it was no trouble to bring along a small chorus of dead mages and scholars with it. That way, it had something to pass the time while it dwelled nearly alone in that claustrophobic darkness.


    By night, it strode along sinuous dune ridges as it got ever closer to its goal. Sometimes, it saw animals and, even more rarely, elementals. Near dawn and dusk, fire elementals dancing like heat mirages could be seen dancing across the cold sands, and sometimes it saw the swells of earth elementals swimming somewhere beneath it in ways that made the sand ripple. None of these creatures strayed close enough to the Lich to devour them, but it did make a note about new elemental traps that it hoped to catch them in for further study another time.


    By day, it curled up into an armored ball deep under the sand, and it discussed Malzekeen with the minds that knew the stories best. There were a dozen different versions of the story. The Siddrimites wrote that it was a terrible, fallen place that was old when the sun was still young. To them, it was replete with human sacrifice, and it was the city''s destruction that marked the first true year of the light. Others said that the destruction came much later and that the place was only a holdout where evil had gathered after the forces of righteousness burned them out of their more traditional strongholds elsewhere in the wide world.


    The accounts didn¡¯t even agree on whether or not the desert had been in here in those days. It was either ¡®a verdant area that had been reduced to nothing but dust in the face of Siddrim¡¯s might,¡¯ or ¡®a trackless place on the edge of the wastes, that was not enough to hide them from the light.¡¯


    When Tenebroum finally arrived, there was not enough to say with real certainty. The sand around the edges of the city had indeed been burned so badly that it had melted into a fractured layer of thin, dun colored glass for hundreds of feet. It crunched underfoot with each step that the Lich took in its strange body.


    Whatever had done that had reduced most of the city to ash. Now, only foundations and low brick walls sprinkled between the dunes hinted at the vast numbers of people who had once lived here.


    It would not have come all this way for that alone, though. Even the central temple, with its collapsed dome and its markings that had been worn away by the sand and the wind, were interesting, but not particularly telling. It was only as it moved inside that fallen place and saw the entrance to the catacombs below that it glimpsed what had made the journey through such inhospitable territory worthwhile.


    Navigating the stairs into the depths in a wide-footed body meant for galloping across the sweltering sands was challenging but not impossible; the flesh crafters had known about this part of the trip when they had constructed this body, after all. Once Tenebroum descended into the depths, it released a handful of modified death¡¯s heads to begin a proper search.


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    These differed from the typical ones in many ways. Not only were they smaller because they¡¯d been made from children¡¯s skulls, they weren¡¯t even made to explode. They were simply vessels to house the myriad of souls it had brought with it so that they could look around for what critical clues might yet be found.


    It crowded those souls into the tiny vessels two and three at a time, at random. Then, it released each one down a different corridor so they could begin their search, and it stood there waiting for the answers to come in. Despite the ungainly way those skulls floated here and there while the souls crammed inside fought for control of their tiny little world, Tenebroum didn¡¯t have to wait long.


    The first facts that were gathered were basic enough, but after that things grew steadily more interesting. Based on the inscriptions and faded murals, the place was an ossuary devoted to the former god of death, Anhnkhanin.


    The historians of Siddrimar insisted that their god had slain him as well, though other histories merely said that he had fled beyond the edges of the world to escape. The idea that a god of death could be killed was ludicrous to Tenebroum, and it would have doubted that official narrative even if it had not known all that Ghrosian had explained to it about certain fundamental parts of life and the way they powered certain deities.


    Even If the place was filled with bones dedicated to one god, though, that did nothing to change the fact that it was also crammed full of the corpses of others too. The dead that belonged to Anhnkhanin were stacked neatly in the alcoves that had been dug out of the soft sandstone beneath Malzekeen.


    The bodies which were scattered across the floor in every corridor, though none of those had been interred here originally. A few of them near the stairs were grave robbers who had been sickened by the miasma here, but most of the rest were those poor souls who sought to survive the day that the city above them had died.


    They had been unsuccessful, but in their attempt they had accidentally preserved a wealth of knowledge. Some of the bodies that were far enough away from the door that natural predators had never had the chance to pick their bones clean had even been mummified, preserving even their tattoos in addition to the possessions they carried and the jewelry they wore. Each layer of those artifacts represented a wealth of clues.


    Slowly, the story came together for the Lich. This was not some grand battle. This was a slaughter, and though the three dark gods that it was trying to understand had not died here, after enough research, it was fairly certain that they had been born here at least.


    In every scroll and inscription that Tenebroum uncovered, there were only ever three gods who were mentioned. However, none of them were Ghrossian, and none of them were wolves or rats. Instead, all the Lich¡¯s floating servants found were references to Siddrim, Anhnkanin, and Malkezeen.


    That was telling, of course, but it was only when they found a mummified corpse with the tattoo of a truly unique chimera did Tenebroum finally understand: once the rat, the wolf and the worm had been a single deity as it had already suspected.


    They were separate now, of course. Still, it was sure that their survival from this terrible event was what had broken them apart into the separate shards of divinity that they were now.


    Even with that knowledge, the image was arresting. The god, at least according to this one accidental record by one of its worshipers, was a giant two-headed chimera with the head of a wolf and a rat, surrounded by a tentacled mane of leaches and worms that made it look more like a deformed lion in its way. It was a wonderfully revolting sight, but even as the Lich considered how feasible it might be to build one of these from spare parts, its mere existence raised more questions than answers.


    If Ghroshian was simply part of a larger whole, should it even unearth the wolf once it had conquered the Magica Collegium? Should it look for the worm at all?


    The answer was, of course, that it must do those things, but only so it could learn from them and steal their power for itself. It would not abandon such riches merely because it was fearful or because it had doubts. It would just have to keep them apart until that was done to prevent any mishaps. If it brought them together, it would be at a time and a place of its choosing, when they were bound and leashed. Maybe Tenebroum would simply devour Ghroshian before the other two were unearthed to prevent any complications altogether.


    It would brood on it later. For now, it studied this place, and in doing so, it felt a strange sort of kinship with the creatures that were born here. Tenebroum had been born of a single tortured soul in a swamp, and in doing so, there had been enough life to feed and nurture it for a long time. If the city above had been rebuilt, it had no doubt that the same thing would have happened here.


    Instead, the god that had died left behind fragments forced to seek out new sustenance elsewhere, and in doing so, they had become separate. If it were ever to fracture in such a way, where would it find the fault lines in its soul? Darkness? Death? Disease?


    Tenebroum couldn¡¯t say, and honestly, it hoped never to find out. It was a thought-provoking question, though, and it pondered it while it waited for more information in that cursed place. If Siddrim had sundered Malkezeen into his component parts, then might Tenebroum have done the same thing to Siddrim? Was that what those tiny stars represented? It was impossible to say, but now that it had articulated the question, it dearly wanted the answer.

 Ch. 158 - The Undiscovered Land

    When she traveled downstream for the last time, it was a languid affair, but Oroza no longer had the strength to swim. At this point, she barely had the strength to hold herself together as the emaciated shell of the river dragon she was. Even time spent among the ice at the peak of the mountains was enough to rejuvenate her; she did not truly understand why.


    Was it not as clear as it had always been? Were the heights not untouched and perfect in that timeless way that she¡¯d always been until so recently?


    She didn¡¯t know, but then, she didn¡¯t know that it mattered, either. She had lived a long enough life that it was measured in centuries, and for most of that time she had been content to drift along as if it would never end. Now all that mattered now was that the Lich did not get its hands on her soul and continue her torment in perpetuity.


    It would be bad enough that it would shape and eventually seize whatever sprang up from the polluted banks of the Oroza next, but she could do nothing about that now. She¡¯d already fought too long and too hard and lost everything in the process.


    While she drifted through the southern reaches of her realm toward the silty delta, she bitterly reflected on how little her efforts had accomplished. She had prevented the darkness from marching east immediately, but that had only given those people a two-year reprieve. Beyond that, what had she done? Saved some children? Torn apart as many of the Lich¡¯s constructs as she could?


    Oroza smiled at that as she glided along. It wasn¡¯t much, but it would have to be enough. Before that, she¡¯d granted the wishes of countless mothers for healthy babies and even more farmers for bountiful yields, but somehow, all those minor miracles paled in comparison to the dark years that had done such damage to her.


    All she could hope for was that in time, after the Gods finally stood together and defeated this enemy, or the darkness had consumed all the life in the area and burned itself out, that nature would finally begin to heal. One day there would be an Oroza again. She believed that. She just knew that it wouldn¡¯t be her.


    The behavior of the other Gods was the point that galled her the most. Their domains were so disparate, and their concerns were so focused that it was hard to get them to work together on anything, especially since the nature goddesses and the children of the forest had begun to vanish.


    It was the nature of man to be selfish, but the Gods were supposed to rise above such petty challenges and work together to defeat their enemies. Sadly, they could not even accomplish that much.


    The All-Father was almost finished building a new chariot, but Lunaris would not loan him any of her stars to wrangle the horses for it. She said the firmament was too weak to support any more losses.


    Even if she had, though, who would they get to drive such a thing? For a time, she had hoped that the Templar with the glowing eyes might be the one to do so, but according to what she¡¯d heard, he was dead, and the place where she¡¯d left those light-eyed children so long ago was gone too.


    Siddrim had once been a man, it was said, before he was invested with the light. Perhaps another like that would be born somewhere across the seas.


    None of that mattered to her any longer as she traveled out to sea herself. She used to hate the itch of the saltwater in the Relict Sea, but compared to her own waters now, they felt clean and pure, and she quick sank beneath the waves, letting the currents take her ever deeper. That was all she wanted, to find a place somewhere where her tormentor could never find her, and there was no place vaster than the ocean depths.


    That was why she was surprised when Istinis found her there, curled up beneath a rock in thousands of feet of water, a hundred miles from anywhere in a plain of endless mud and stone. Her pale aqua skin and the flickering lightning in her eyes made a mistaken identity impossible. She was Istiniss.


    Normally, such an unexpected visit might have frightened Oroza. After all, it wasn¡¯t so long ago that the Lich compelled her to invade the more powerful Goddess¡¯s domain and ravage her behemoths with the Lich¡¯s crazed sea dragon. Now, death would be a blessing, and if the Ocean Goddess wanted to strike her down, well, so much the better.


    Instead, the two of them regarded each other for a long time before Istiniss finally spoke. ¡°I would make you one of my own if I could,¡± the Goddess said at last. ¡°I would give your domain of the east wind and let you pour out your poison on the creature that did this to you, but that is beyond me.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate that,¡± Oroza said, too tired to offer up any proper formality.


    ¡°Sadly, you cannot die here,¡± the storm goddess said as she crouched down next to Oroza¡¯s coiled form.


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    ¡°I can¡¯t?¡± Oroza asked. ¡°Do you think is too close to¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, I promise you that the monster that ravages your land would never find your spirit,¡± Istiniss said, stroking the silvery scales of Oroza¡¯s flank. ¡°I would bind you to a pearl and hide you away at the very bottom of the sea. In a place, it would never think to look for you.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate that,¡± Oroza answered with a smile wide enough to show how many teeth she¡¯d lost already.


    ¡°I know, but the prophecy, and therefore Lunaris herself, forbids that you should die in this place alone,¡± the sea goddess said at last.


    ¡°Does she have another one?¡± Oroza asked. ¡°I heard her recite the thing once, and I¡¯m nowhere in it, I can promise you that. Rivers do not change the course of history.¡±


    The only answer that Istiniss gave was to smile before she started to recite one of the long rhyming passages that made up the cryptic poem that the Moon Goddess seemed to believe held some sort of key to defeating the evils that they faced.


    ¡°The savior of light shall brave endless night


    Though if she could, she¡¯d only weep.


    Until she returns to the light, she¡¯ll continue to fight,


    Then she can finally sleep.¡±


    ¡°I am no savior of light,¡± Oroza laughed softly. ¡°I couldn¡¯t even save myself.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Istiniss agreed. ¡°I didn¡¯t think so either, but our Moon Goddess is quite sure. She says that you told her about how you saved an entire boat full of light not so long ago, though, and perhaps that is enough.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Oroza sighed, ¡°But wouldn¡¯t it make more sense for one of the children on that boat to be the savior of the light?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± Istiniss said with a shrug. ¡°I read the whole thing but confess it made no sense to me. Regardless, Lunaris told me that I must not allow you to die, and I aim to do that at least.¡±


    ¡°How? Will you purge my river of the poisons?¡± Oroza asked. ¡°Will you drain it of the salt that is killing the plants that dwell there?¡±


    ¡°I would if I could,¡± the Goddess of Sea and Storms nodded. ¡°I would empty every thunderhead in the world on that evil patch of land if I thought that it could cleanse its taint, but that would only poison the sea faster.¡±


    ¡°Then all you can do is put me out of my misery,¡± Oroza smiled sadly, certain that a blast of lightning would be enough to stop the slow wheezing in her chest each time she breathed in and out through her gills.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Istiniss said. ¡°I already told you you aren¡¯t dying in my ocean. Lunaris is already cross enough with me. I¡¯m going to help you get somewhere where you can recover your strength, at least for a while. It''s very far away, but once that¡¯s done, well, as long as you fulfill your destiny, I suppose you can do whatever you want.¡±


    Oroza opened her large mouth to speak. She was going to explain that she lacked the strength to swim for another mile, let alone leagues and leagues, but the words were lost in the sudden surge of currents that surrounded her. They pulled her out of her own grave and flung her off at great speed through the darkness to someplace only Istiniss knew.


    There was a time when Oroza would have fought her way free on principle. She lacked the strength to do that now, though. Instead, she was dragged through the depths back toward the surface. That was not her destination, though. Instead, she was propelled for a night and a day like that toward warmer waters and sunnier climes.


    Three times, she saw an island speeding toward her from the horizon, and each time, she thought that was her destination. She passed all of them by, though.


    Oroza glided across the water until she no longer recognized the color of the water or the sky. Even her cleanest mountain lakes were not so teal, and the strange pink rocks she glimpsed beneath her were contrasted by brightly colored fish that were every color of the rainbow. She would have thought for certain that she¡¯d left the world entirely for some new place were it not for the constellations in the sky.


    Then, the next morning, shortly after sunrise she spied a fourth island, and the currents carried her all the way to the breakwaters of it before they finally released her. It was a strange place, with oddly shaped trees that had broad leaves only at the very top of tall, crooked trunks.


    All of that was beautiful, but as she got close to the shore and let her dragon form fade away to reveal only an old woman in a silver dress, it was the woman standing on shore that caught her attention. She was alone there, in ankle-deep water, wearing fine black clothing that did not fit at all with everything else. She had no idea what to make of that, but she didn¡¯t feel at all threatened by the dark-skinned woman as she slowly waded ashore.


    ¡°I was sent here,¡± Oroza said, rising from the surf and walking toward the shore on shaky legs.


    ¡°You were,¡± she agreed, ¡°but you don¡¯t have to come here. Not if you don¡¯t want to.¡±


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I want to?¡± Oroza asked, suddenly unsure.


    ¡°Where you stand now, you have the traces of not just life and death, but undeath upon you as well.¡± The dark woman said. ¡°If you leave the surf and come fully onto the shore, you will leave behind two of those worlds forever.¡±


    Oroza paused. Trying to decipher the cryptic words as she stood there, struggling against the tide as it lapped against the shore. She was exhausted, and truly, there was nowhere else for her to go. Still, she asked the obvious question, ¡°Who are you?¡±


    The dark woman smiled with frighteningly white teeth and said a word. It might have been a name, even, but it was lost in the crashing of the tide that churned around them.


    ¡°That won¡¯t mean too much to you, though,¡± she continued, extending his hand, ¡°Not until you make your decision.¡±


    Oroza only had to think for a moment. Then, with determination, she gripped the stranger¡¯s hand and strode ashore.

 Ch. 159 - Uneasy Silence

    At first, the denizens of the port sought simply to ignore the dark fleet that had anchored in such a way as to choke off most of the harbor¡¯s approach. A few brave merchant ships rowed by during the day, but by night, they lost their nerve and hid in the port, hoping for one more night of safety.


    The Voice of Reason would have let them go, of course. Killing merchants and sinking their fine ships in sight of the city would have been exactly the wrong thing to do, to prepare for all that was coming next.


    Twice, a small formation of ships rigged for war formed up in the harbor, preparing to sail on the Voice¡¯s fleet. Whether that was because they planned to fight or because their pride demanded that they show they were, she couldn¡¯t say. The spirits of the sailors they¡¯d fished from the wreckage of their last battle largely agreed that the ships were waiting for the return of the fleet she¡¯d already burned and that they would strike once they sighted those white sales on the horizon.


    It would have been a classic pincer maneuver. It would probably have been quite effective, even. Sadly, they were out of allies and the fearful men would have to treat with her directly, or continue to cower behind the beautiful walls of their fragile city until she finally lost patience with them.


    Given enough nights to study the place, she didn¡¯t need her master¡¯s Dark Paragon to tell her that it would have been much easier to conquer this place than Constantinal or Rahkin. She might have enough death knights and other constructs to march right up through the harbor and sack the palace in a night or two.


    That would have defeated the point, though, she thought crossly to herself while she admired the distant lights that flickered off the glittering waves. The Lich had endless numbers of servants that could conquer, but only one that could do it without swords, and she needed to show her worth in that regard.


    It took almost two weeks for the powers of Tanda to cease their bickering and send forth an envoy. His dhow was an ornate pleasure craft, which made it quite showy, but it was a flat-decked vessel that left nowhere to hide unwelcome surprises.


    She approved. It was a sensible choice intended not to provoke her further while still offering a glimpse of the wealth and status of this place.


    Thanks to the wraiths that circled the waters like so many gulls, she knew what she would see long before the fragile boat reached her flagship. Onboard the Mysterious Ways was a single, plump eunuch who only just barely managed not to tremble as he stood there between his eight rowers, reeking of fear.


    The voice stood there as the boat pulled slowly alongside of hers, and then as he began to shout his entries as to parlay, she walked toward the bow of her ship, tracing the rails lightly as she studied the little man and his strange accent.


    He tried three different languages before the figurehead on the bow of her vessel began to unfurl and extend. The Voice wasn¡¯t concerned. She knew every language her Master did, and she was sure that any that she did not already know would come to her quickly.


    The figurehead had been a beautiful maiden made of ivory holding a harp, but as soon as the Voice approached her, she extended into her true form, becoming a bony Llamaia that slithered almost completely free of her bonds, becoming a delicate stairway that curved around toward the aft of the dhow.


    Though she could be unleashed completely and made into a killing machine, that was not the main purpose of the figurehead. It was to provide an easy way for the Voice to board and disembark the vessel. After all, she was far too heavy to float, and if she were to fall into the water, there would be nothing to catch her until she reached the abyssal sands hundreds of feet below.


    Though she could presumably walk until she reached the shore again, she didn¡¯t like to think of what such a fate would do to her fine dress or carefully tanned skin. The odds of staying unmolested by the things that dwelled down there long enough to reach land weren¡¯t good, and she had not been built to fight them. Evidently, the Lich had similar fears, for it had given her this guardian to prevent exactly that fate, and graceful Llamia did an excellent job.


    Even though both ships bobbed up and down in the surf out of sync with each other, the Voice never felt it. Instead, each bony stair beneath her moved ever so slightly to cancel out all the motion, making her the only part of the entire tableau that was even capable of stillness as she walked down the path with her stiff, prideful gate.


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    The screams started before she reached the dhow, but she knew that they weren¡¯t because of her. None of the rowers who were trying their very best to fling themselves into the sea were attempting to escape the beautiful woman in black who was strolling down her own private staircase made of serpentine vertebra; instead, they were doing all they they could to escape her loyal llama.


    They couldn¡¯t, though. They were chained to their rowing benches, and in the end, all they could do was find something to defend themselves.


    When the voice stepped onto the deck, she curtsied slightly in her long black dress. She only walked three steps forward before the first fearful slave attempted to strike out at her. Fortunately, his master was faster with his whip, and before the terrified rower could strike a second time, the chubby little eunuch was already waddling toward her.


    ¡°Mistress, please!¡± he said, struggling to maintain his composure as he moved himself between her and the rest of his crew. ¡°One thousand pardons for this. I will have him flayed to within an inch of his life once we return to port. I am Harun Rok, a lowly functionary who serves the Sultan, and I have come here to ascertain who the great power behind such a fleet might be and what it is that they would want from the ivory port of Tanda.¡±


    ¡°This would be an acceptable apology,¡± she nodded, letting a moment of silence linger before she continued just to make the man sweat. ¡°I am the Voice of Reason, and I come from the darkened lands to the south at the behest of my Master.¡±


    ¡°Your Master?¡± he asked hopefully, seeking to wheedle out more information, but the Voice ignored him.


    ¡°We thank you for your bravery, Harun Rok,¡± the Voice said with a cold smile, ¡°But this is a conversation for your lord. You are here to work out the details for such things and nothing more.¡±


    The man was so concerned with the snake woman that lingered just beneath her that he barely noticed the slight. Instead, he nodded blankly and agreed, ¡°Yes, the arrangements, of course. When will you¡­¡±


    ¡°Midnight,¡± she said in a tone that was as much answer as it was command. ¡°I shall journey to the palace tomorrow at midnight so that we may have an amicable discussion about all of this. Please go and deliver this message to your lord so that he may expect my arrival.¡±


    The man had obviously expected a longer audience or even negotiations, but as soon as the exchange was complete, the Voice was turning away and returning to her ship. There was nothing to be gained by further discussions with someone who had no power, not when the cost was mystery and intrigue. She would let poor master Rok return alone with nothing but a name and a time, and that would be enough to practically watch the whole of Tanda¡¯s dense harbor, and white walls burst into flames of intrigue from here.


    She watched the tiny dhow slink back the way it had come with its tail between its legs, and In the day that followed, she did little except choose a few appropriate gifts as tokens of her Master¡¯s generosity. After some consideration, she chose a fist-sized pearl carved in the shape of an eye and a wind-up raven made of brass and bone that would flap its wings quite convincingly when the key was turned.


    The latter had no magic, of course, which was just as well because the former was overflowing in enchantments. With the right level of focus from the Lich, it would be able to spy on half the city even if they tucked this thing away in the deepest treasury, which is what any sensible ruler would do. Still, it was a work of singular beauty, and the iridescent iris was arresting in its detail, so she was fairly certain that a ruler with this level of wealth and vanity would put it on display regardless of what his advisors had to say.


    She wouldn¡¯t have to wait long to find out, though. Less than 24 hours later, her ship, along with two more flanking it, moved slowly toward the vacant pier at the heart of Tanda¡¯s harbor where her small company of only a few dozen disembarked. The voice no longer had her carriage, but even if she did, she wouldn¡¯t have had any way of moving it from sea to land. Neither did she have any way of matching the ostentatious pomp of this foreign place, so she didn¡¯t try.


    Instead, she met the overwhelming wealth of their mosaics and silken banners with dread austerity as she mounted her palanquin and was carried into the city by four towering death knights. They were escorted by another three dozen that marched in perfect unison; it was an impressive showing of steel and precision, but that was not the reason that she¡¯d chosen them for this occasion.


    It wasn¡¯t even because they were as merciless as they were deadly; It was because out of all the soldiers and monstrosities concealed below decks in the black fleet, these were the only ones that appeared to be human in a convincing way, and while she was in no way ashamed of her undeath or that of her minions, she had a better understanding of fear and panic after the events of Rahkin, and she would not let the reaction of the streets and those who dwelled among the gutters force the Sultan¡¯s hand.


    So, despite the growing crowds, she and her fearsome entourage marched in perfect silence from the harbor to the palace. There had been a welcoming party to greet them, headed by the same eunuch and a few other dignitaries, but her dismissive gaze had made her stance clear without a wasted word: I am not here for you.


    That dismissive silence clung to the group as it made its way to the palace, and though the size and the volume of the onlookers increased as they went, even their exclamations were not enough to breach the metallic drum beat of dead footsteps that silenced everything as they went.

 Ch. 160 - Foreign Gods

    The voice had known that Tanda was going to be wealthy before she¡¯d ever set sail on this voyage. The northern trade routes were well known for luxuries that were very nearly unheard of in the South. Even her time spent off the coast, watching the city night after night, had not prepared her for the dizzying variety of that wealth, though.


    The undertemple within the Lich¡¯s lair was a gilded nightmare that grew more extravagant with each passing year, but even that terrible heart of luxury was the only part of her Master¡¯s kingdom to compare to the thousand delights she saw on her way to the palace. It was a humbling experience, in its way, though none of that consternation made its way to her carefully neutral face.


    Instead, she studied the sights from her ornate palanquin as she glided through the darkened streets and studied the city that passed around her. The city was made up of stone and stucco buildings, and each dwelling that was too poor for a mosaic or statues to mark its existence was decorated with colorful frescoes or lined with ornate friezes.


    Together, the result was that it was impossible to tell which buildings might be the tenements of paupers and which might be the homes of merchant lords. In the end, the whole thing became a sort of temple in its own right, and between the silken banners and fine clothes of the natives that had braved the late hour to see what the commotion was, the only symbol of status that she could ultimately discern were the small gardens and oasis that hid behind wrought iron fences along her route. In a city where everything was fancy, only a few could afford the space for simplicity.


    That lesson was driven home when they finally reached the palace of Tanda¡¯s Sultun. It was a large, towering building, built in a spiral like a narwhal¡¯s horn in such a way that it lorded over the rest of the walled city. It was neither its size nor its opalescent tiles that made it stand out, but the broad and verdant gardens that separated it from the rest of the city like a green manicured moat.


    Guards with wicked halberds had lined the whole route to the palace. They kept the commoners away from her death knights as much as anything, but here she faced what might as well have been an opposing army. Not only were there hundreds of broad-shouldered men wearing well-polished conical caps standing at attention, but there were mages too, draped in silk and watching her from high above as they circled her on tiny flying carpets.


    The scene struck her as a show of force that was almost as ostentatious as the rest of the city, but then the Voice of Reason was sure that was the point, and to her, it stank of weakness, not strength. Mortal soldiers needed to eat and sleep. Most importantly, they needed to be paid, and with as much money as the people of Tanda spent on their decorations, she doubted very much that they had a large standing army.


    So, instead of doing anything that might provoke conflict, she dismounted her palanquin and strode past the assembled defenders with only a single skeletal knight in tow to hold her baggage as she walked toward the palace gates. No one opposed her. Indeed, the sense of relief radiating off these perfumed warriors that this would not devolve into bloodshed as she walked through the garden-lined path was palpable, and the towering bronze gates opened before her quickly enough that she didn¡¯t even need to slow her steps.


    Once inside, she finally stood on familiar ground. There, she encountered the true warriors of the merchant realm, the servants and the courtiers, and she was bombarded with all the polite and hospitable weapons that they had to offer. The Voice of Reason would not allow these to slow her down, either. She knew that she had perhaps five hours until the blue-gray light of dawn colored the horizon once more. As much as she might wish for all the time in the world to conclude such important negotiations, time was ever against the servants of the Lich.


    So, buffeted by fawning curiosity, she moved ever forward, giving the well-dressed men and women that swirled around her just enough information to announce her properly as she moved toward the heart of the court. There, she found a place not at all like the audience halls of the South that she was used to. Instead, she found the Sultan half reclined on a pile of plush cushions at the heart of the building, ensconced in the warm light of oil lamps and the glowing wards of mages.


    The Voice of Reason made no effort to approach these. Instead, as the room was stilled and her presence was announced in half a dozen foreign tongues, she studied the men and women that ringed the outside of the room to watch. It was clear to her immediately that not all of them were human. Some of those in attendance were shown with an inner light that marked them as spirits or even small gods.


    Are such things more common here? She wondered. Did that make peace a more or less likely prospect?


    The Voice wasn¡¯t sure. Such things might change the outcome, but they wouldn¡¯t change her efforts. It was not at all unlikely that a city as old and grand as Tanda would have a godling of its own, but who were the others, then? Might the desert have a spirit? What about the river or the bay?


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    All of that would require further study, which would be the prerogative of any number of other spirits. Her job was not to puzzle this strangeness out but to make peace with it, which she did with her gifts, a chilly smile, and as many kind words as she could muster.


    The Sultan¡¯s servants took her precious objects from her as she presented each of them, and once that was done the Sultan looked down on her magnanimously and offered her exotic incenses and aged wines from a dozen different ports along with golden jewelry. It was only the last that the Lich would have an interest in, but she thanked him for all of them just the same.


    ¡°Surely you have come all this way for more than gifts and pleasantries,¡± the Sultan said finally. ¡°Tell me¡­ tell all of us what your dark fleet is doing here.¡±


    ¡°We have come to make war¡ª¡± she started to answer, but the Sultan quickly interrupted her as he finally pulled his bulk up to his full height instead of slouching.


    ¡°Is this a threat? In the heart of our power, you think to¡ª¡± he started to say, his indignity rising with each word.


    ¡°But we have come to make friends too,¡± she said, continuing in a loud, clear voice that silenced the few remaining whispers. ¡°The darkness has risen and claimed the South, but it will not stop there. In time, the whole world will belong to my master.¡±


    ¡°Tanda has stood for hundreds of years and resisted dozens of armies,¡± the Sultan said, leaning forward. He was obviously enjoying this as he licked his fat lips. ¡°What makes you think yours would do any more than add to the bones in the wastelands around the city?¡±


    ¡°Besides the fact that those bones would be converted into fresh soldiers for the fight?¡± the Voice smiled. ¡°Tanda has been strong for a long time. It would be strong even now, at first, at least, but we have already claimed Constantinal and Rahkin and every kingdom in between the two, and only those few that surrendered to the darkness still live and breathe. All the rest are broken places, grown over with weeds and shadows.¡±


    ¡°So you ask us to bend the knee?¡± The Sultan asked, appearing even more annoyed. He looked like he was about to tell her off, but a look at one of the women who lounged around the base of the Sultan¡¯s dais seemed to make him think better of it. ¡°We will not surrender to you or anyone else, but we would¡­ consider an alliance, perhaps, with the proper terms.¡±


    ¡°An interesting proposal,¡± the voice said automatically, but it had barely registered. ¡°What would that look like in your mind?¡±


    Instead of dealing with the puppet figurehead, she turned her gaze to the woman whom she¡¯d thought to be nothing more than a courtesan until that moment. She was dressed in pale silks and golden ornaments that showed more of her body than they hid, but as soon as their eyes met, the Voice could see an ageless depth in the eyes of the other woman.


    While it was possible she was a mage, it was far more likely that this was the goddess of Tanda here, hiding in plain sight. It was that insight that guided the rest of the Voice¡¯s conversation with the Sultan. He might have been the one saying the words, but it was the nameless woman¡¯s body language she was listening to as the two of them began the elaborate dance of diplomacy.


    For the next two hours, the three of them made proposals and counterproposals as everything slowly fell into place. Given the Sultan¡¯s hostility, it was hard to understand why this meeting was even taking place at first, but it eventually became clear why: Constantial. Every time the name of that city came up, the Voice saw the shadow of fear cross the eyes of her true opponent. The goddess of Tanda did not wish to share the same fate as her sister city and was forcing the mortals that ostensibly ruled her to find another way.


    That was reasonable. That was a motivation that the Voice of Reason could understand, and she used that to frame the discussion. Guaranteeing both the city-state of Tanda as well as any of their partners that wished to sign on as well safety and security both from the Lich and any of their neighbors that might feel differently for a moderate tithe, to be delivered monthly to Rahkin, or possibly other nearby cities after they had been conquered.


    ¡°O-o-one percent of the city¡¯s population every year¡­¡± the Sultan stammered when she first proposed the terms. ¡°Even spread out monthly, that would still be dozens of ships! The cost is too high!¡±


    ¡°You would lose more people in your first night of standing against use than you would in a year of fealty,¡± the Voice insisted. ¡°I¡¯d invite you to ask the good people of Rahkin, but they refused our generous offer and are no more.¡±


    That caused a round of collective gasps, but the Sultan ignored them. ¡°If you¡¯re so confident, then why not ask for two percent or even ten percent?¡± he asked.


    ¡°We seek a relationship that will span decades,¡± the Voice answered smoothly. ¡°No city could flourish under such an onerous yoke.¡±


    That metaphor was as close as she dared step to the truth. The people of this city, and all cities that might yet be brought to heel, were nothing but herds of cattle, and so they would be harvested slowly. For now, they could pay in beggars and criminals, but she was certain that in time when the Lich held dominion over the world, they would pay with their prayers and their dreams, too. After all, just as her dark lord used every part of the body to build its creations, it would use every part of creation to build what was going to come next.


    Though the negotiations lasted almost until morning, she returned to her ship before the first sun rose with a deal signed in blood. One more city entered the fold, and she hadn¡¯t lost so much as a single death¡¯s head to achieve her goal.

 Ch. 161 - An End for Abenend

    Though it took almost a year for the winds of magic to sour enough to spell the doom of the Magica Collegium, the effects were felt widely within months. For a time, the mages struggled against the invisible noose of the Lich without any real understanding of exactly what it was it had done, but it was no use.


    First, the delicate divination and teleportation magics they relied on to detect and counter any incursions into the valley failed them, and in time, everything else did as well. By the time Groshin¡¯s rats had wormed their way into the granaries of the villages and the basement of the school itself, the wards that had protected it for so long were spontaneously combusting nearly every day and becoming almost as hazardous to those they protected as to those they defended against.


    In that way, magic was increasingly becoming more of a liability than anything. One minute, a set of wards that had been carved into the doorway of a building to protect it from evil were doing the job they''d done for generations, and the next, they were bursting into flame and catching the thatched roof on fire.


    It was a subtle evil that apparently not even their Goddess had discovered the cause of. For it was only at the end of things when mages were already fleeing their sinking ship, that they even thought to begin striking out those ancient wards with hammer and chisel. Those short-sighted actions would not save them, though; they just made Tenebroum more eager for what was to come next.


    The mages of Abenend had lived by magic for so long, and now they would die from it as well. The Lich hungered for that moment. It remembered well when they tried to drown it and smother it in its cradle. They had failed, but it would still return the favor. Tenebroum just wished that it had been able to use water rather than air to affect its revenge; it would have been more poetic that way.


    Indeed, the day the hordes of undead finally began to pour the tunnels that had been dug in opportune places where underground caverns nearly reached the surface, it was probably already over, and most of the runes that might have warned the mages of what was coming had long since been defaced. The result was a massacre.


    Until now, every assault after the first one had been met with overwhelming firepower as soon as the Lich¡¯s forces were within range. This time, the mages that remained to secure the walls of the Collegium were blindsided, and the battle that followed was bloody and brief.


    It was hard to fight, of course, when every fifth spell might blow up in the face of the caster. Even before the Lich¡¯s abominations had topped the ramparts, there were already mages on fire and others who had turned themselves to stone in the face of twisted essence. For the first time in their long history, indeed, for the first time in the history of the world, the winds of magic had turned against them, and they had no idea how to cope with that.


    Tenebroum had decided not to send anything fancy or complicated on the assault, for that reason, of course. Krulm¡¯venor and the shadow drake were both left home, far from this battlefield, because the delicate spells that bound their tremendous power might unravel in a stray gust of un-wind. Instead, the Lich sent simple, bloodthirsty creatures that were less likely to be affected by such complexities.


    The wights and the war zombies that boiled up from the ground and charged across the night were fast and brutal but not nearly as fast as the centipede cavalry that followed in their wake.


    The multi-legged horses and their skeletal riders sometimes started to come apart where the lack of magic treated them unfavorably, but this didn¡¯t stop them from forming siege ladders on nearly every stone wall that protected the school. Its cavalry was gruesome but fairly simple. Even the relatively simple magics that tied together the bones of dozens of different people and animals were too complex for the terrible smog that now covered the valley.


    Indeed, the strangulite-laden winds proved more dangerous than the mages themselves, and once they had unfolded in place, only a few of them were dislodged by lightning and other magics. The casters themselves weren¡¯t so lucky. They became lightning rods that glowed even brighter than their targets while they were boiled alive by their own magics.


    It was a thing of beauty, or at least it would have been had Tenebroum dared to observe it up close. The whole valley of Abenend, with its few remaining twinkling lights, was too contaminated for it to even risk a view from a flock of red-eyed black birds thousands of feet above. Instead, it merely tasted the impressions from its bloodthirsty minions as they charged heedlessly into danger. The resulting picture of a hundred maddened viewpoints was fairly complete but hopelessly flawed, like viewing the world through thick, frosted glass. Even if the details were lacking, the pain still came through very clearly.


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    It didn¡¯t need to see every blow to know that it was winning. It could tell that merely from the taste of blood and the sight of distant fire as the fortress finally began to burn.


    In the end, even the Lich had expected the defenders to put up more of a fight than this, but famine and the loss of magic had taken their toll; apparently, the two combined had broken the spirit of the mages far faster than it had hoped. Even so, it had expected that it would have to repeat this assault, once, or even twice more, to finally purge the annoying mages.


    When it saw the moon moving through the sky to defend her last bastion of mortal defenders, Tenebroum knew it had already won, though. She would never do such a bold thing unless her cherished mages were on the brink of defeat. As far as evil and darkness went, she was a terrible weapon in her own right, and as she brightened, night faded into pale twilight.


    As her light flooded the valley fully, it was enough to cause all of its undead minions who were not already deep inside the castle to turn to dust. Dozens of its minions died, but every one of them was easily replaceable, and Tenebroum cared very little for the loss. It would have lost a thousand minions to put her in such a vulnerable place without batting an eye because it was then that the Lich launched the weapon it had been working on for so long, just in case an opportunity like this should ever arise.


    Tenebroum could never be sure that the witch Lunaris would strike at it again at this moment, of course, but it had been certain that she would do so again one day. That was why it had taken the cancerous shard that would never become a copy of its dutiful Dark Paragon and turned the thing into a single cursed weapon that was closer to arcane cancer than any true construct it had built.


    The thing still had a tiny piece of its maker at its core, of course, but it had mutated beyond all recognition. It was a violent, primitive thing now, made from dark ether, and the Lich was certain that even if it tried to give the thing a body, it would have been quite mad and very nearly uncontrollable. So it didn¡¯t bother.


    In the last two years, the constantly morphing dark crystal shards had been pruned and sharpened, and they had been fitted with wings and enough minor air essence to ensure that it could fly as quickly as even the dark rider. The Lich had never bothered to name the dread creation, though, as a drudge that had been stationed on a nearby mountaintop for just this purpose released it, and the thing soared across the sky Tenebroum decided that it looked like a harpoon or a vampire bat more than anything.


    The Goddess paid no attention to it as it soared over the top of the Wodenspine mountains, aiming ever higher. She was so intent on burning the evil that was burrowing its way ever deeper into the heart of the Magica Collegium that she only noticed the jet-black projectile gliding against the black backdrop of the night sky in the moments before it struck her.


    By that point, it had flown so high that it had left even the tallest peaks in the distance behind it. Lunaris tried to retreat then, but she was too slow. She tried to blast it with the full force of her light, but it was impossible to focus on a point that was so close to her, and in the end, all she succeeded in doing was burning the wings off of the dread creation before it pierced the thin skin of lunar soil, and began to worm its way deeper inside of her like a bladed tapeworm.


    The soul shard had been rejected by Tenebroum because it was too aggressive and too out of control for any conventional servant it would care to make. To unmake one, though, or even a God, it was perfect, and it quickly began to spread out its tendrils of avarice and hate as it sought to devour its host.


    The moon screamed, then, as she turned away from the world completely to focus on the tiny shard of shrapnel that was growing inside her as it looked for something vital to sever and devour. As she retreated into the void, Tenebroum¡¯s awareness of its construct slowly faded. It doubted that a single pinprick would be enough to end such a powerful goddess, but it would certainly remind her that even she was not beyond its reach. That wound would take up her focus for a long time, and it would have been enough to put a grim smile on its face if it had been more than implacable gilded bones.


    Instead, the Lich turned its gaze back to the fall of Abendend and felt the desperate battle play out as a distant series of urges. Rage, bloodlust, and fear dominated the scene and gave it just enough details to understand that though it only had a few hundred wights and reavers left in that cursed place, the mages were far fewer in number. There were perhaps only a few dozen of them left, and they were quickly becoming an endangered species in their own bloody halls.


    In the basements, at the heart of their power, their magic worked far better, but even their strength could not last forever. It also cut them off from their greatest ally of all: the light. The suns eventually started to rise, but that light could not harm the teeming horde of the dead that still fought in the depths.


    For hour after hour, the two wildly uneven forces fought. Mages blasted apart whole corridors full of bloodthirsty monsters with their wands and staves, only to be ripped apart in turn by the pieces of the survivors that were still strong enough to rip them to bloody shreds. The fighting was as intense as any his forces had endured since the fall of Constantinal, and part of the Lich longed to get closer to the violence, but it knew the whole area was poisoned still, so it resisted.


    After the obelisks had been shut down and the whole area had been allowed to detoxify for several weeks, it would collect all the souls and trophies worth collecting. It would still have what it needed, even if the bodies had long since grown cold.

 Ch. 162 - Awakening the Wolf

    The battle lasted all day, and it wasn¡¯t even clear until almost evening that Tenebroum¡¯s forces would win. At this point, the outcome of the war was not in doubt, even if this desperate battle still hung in the balance. In the broadest sense, it wouldn¡¯t matter if it took one battle or five of them to secure their doom. However, if it gave the mages breathing room, it would almost certainly affect the quality of knowledge that it would be able to pillage from the place.


    That was what drove the Lich on more than anything at this point. A victory for the mages, while meaningless in itself, would give them hours or days to address the corpses that littered the interior of the Magica Collegium. Every head they managed to burn on a funeral pyre would be one less mage that it could add to its library. While both men and undead abominations were replaceable, the arcane knowledge contained in the minds of some of these men was not.


    That was what drove it to scrape together whatever reinforcements it could, including drudges fit only for digging tunnels. It would send another wave the following evening, even if only to keep the mages pinned. Fortunately, that proved unnecessary. A few minutes before the blood-red sunset, the final mage was torn to pieces where he was hiding in an alcove on the third basement floor. Out of the hundreds of deathless warriors the Lich had sent to launch this surprise attack, only seventeen of them still moved, and none of them were whole, but it was enough.


    Thanks to what it had done to the flows of magic, it had been able to accomplish with a small force what it probably wouldn¡¯t have been able to do with the entirety of its army if magic had worked properly. It had even wounded the Goddess Lunaris herself, which was, in its mind, worth nearly as much as the sacking of Abenend. Both were victories worth celebrating, and it immediately ordered Verdenin to have his acolytes and sightless monks do just that. What was the point of having a congregation or worshipers if not for moments like this?


    Sadly, the Lich could not begin to investigate its spoils immediately. Instead, its minions had to disable all of the dark obelisks and dread monoliths that it had spent so long installing. Then, once that was done, it had to wait weeks for several storm systems to dilute and dissipate the poison that had taken so long to build.


    Tenebroum spent that time listening to the songs and the chants of its growing priesthood as it lurked among the undertemple. Most of these rites involved human sacrifice, at the moment of crescendo, but these were largely war captives taken from isolated villages, or tribute that had come to it from the Voice of Reason by way of Tanda. None of those lives mattered, of course, at the best use of them was for moments like this.


    Tenebroum acknowledged that such moments were indulgent, but they passed the time, and it had no other pressing tasks to accomplish. Most of its ever enlarging empire proceeded on autopilot at this point, leaving it free for new experiments. The Lich did not have to travel east to Constantinal to ensure that the production of its armies were proceeding on schedule, any more than it had to travel north to where its armies were marching across the desert, one night at a time.


    Indeed, the only thing it paused to do besides bask in the adoration and the fear of its worshipers was to study the stain on the face of the moon. Because of the way her phases changed, and she moved to hide the darkness, it was hard to see, but even so, Tenebroum could very clearly see the shadow''s long tendrils crawling across her surface. Its weapon had found its mark, and though it spread slowly, it was still spreading, which meant that the Lunar Goddess of magic and protection still hadn¡¯t found a way to fully combat his vile sorcery.


    That was welcome news, highlighting that she was every bit as unprepared for him as Siddrim had been. So, while the Lich listened to dirges that celebrated his final victory over the last holdout of the area, it mused and deliberated over various plans that might be used to end her once and for all before passing them off to its library so they could be refined and implemented.


    It was only three weeks later when the taint in Abened had fallen by more than ninety percent, that the Lich approached the school in a body that had been prepared for this environment. Though not exactly built for combat, the abomination it walked the world once more with had been fortified and reinforced with a leaden skin that had been embedded with hundreds of cast iron runes that were meant to warn and protect against the worst of the miasma¡¯s effects.


    This form carried no weapons with it beyond its metal fists and its powerful runes of protection. Indeed, it was armed only with a golden collar that it had made for its quarry, should it really be here.


    Tenebroum wished to see the lair of its enemy with its own eyes, but it would not do so in a foolhardy way that would see it crippled for weeks or worse. Its encounter with the Templar and his dragon fire had left an indelible lesson in that regard.


    Still, if those mages had so many powerful weapons that they could use them so casually, then it was that much more important that it carefully dissected their holdings itself. That was why it did not delegate this task to a lesser mind and journeyed from the cavernous beachhead its minions had dug several miles from the school to the charred gates themselves.


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    The way was not far and led through the partially rebuilt ruins of Abenend, but the faint glows that spread across the Lich¡¯s leaden skin revealed nothing it needed to be concerned about. The school itself, though, was another matter. There, in certain hallways and in places where the fighting had been thickest, the miasma still clung to the corpses of the fallen, and it was forced to backtrack and take new paths to its goals.


    In its wake, it left drudges with any number of orders: clean this up, gather those books, harvest and preserve these heads. There was always a flurry of activity in the Lich¡¯s wake, but whenever it was examining something important, it was always alone so that it might deliberate in stillness.


    The Collegium was a mess but an impressive one. From the outside, the Lich had viewed it as a castle and a bastion of war for so long that it was easy to forget that it was a school with lodging for hundreds of students and dozens of teachers. It took quite a lot of space to support all of those people, as well as the servants who cooked and cleaned for them. On top of all that facilities to support that mass of humanity, there were also innumerable warehouses, store rooms, study halls, libraries, workshops, and classrooms.


    After almost a day of wandering the premises, the Lich was fairly sure that the place was larger on the inside than it was on the outside. That realization was enough to make it recall the uncomfortable battle that occurred with the city god of Constantinal so long ago. For a brief moment, fear of that inexplicable infinity shot through it. If the space inside the Magica Collegium was distorted in similar ways, might there be similarly inescapable traps?


    The thought put the Lich on guard for the next several days, but it was not afraid. The mere idea that something might exist was not enough to merit retreat. After all, despite all the battles that had taken place here, it had never seen evidence of a small god associated with the Collegium. It was certainly old enough to have one, of course, but it was also entirely possible that the mages had done something to prevent one from taking root.


    Tenebroum might find the answer to those questions when it began to ransack the memories of the mages that lived here, but for now it put it out of its mind and focused on the present as it descended ever deeper into the dead hallways of the school.


    Along the way, the Lich found dozens of objects of interest, from magical relics that it did not fully understand to books that had been bound shut for unknown purposes. Every one of these was collected, but it was only on the bottom floor of the deepest basement that the Lich finally found what it was looking for.


    There, past remains that had been interred in Sepelchurs that displayed the honor or dishonor that led the mortal remains of some ancient sorcerer to be interred in such a spot; the Lich finally saw the stone sarcophagus it had been searching for, sealed in lead and lying undisturbed for who knew how long.


    The runes of its magic-resistant body glowed a dull, angry red down here. That wasn¡¯t because the whole floor was guarded against evil with layered enchantments. They might be enough to make a lesser drudge cease to function or crumble to dust, but against the Lich, all they could do was express their displeasure as it moved past them.


    When the Lich reached the Sarcophegus, it ripped the stone lid off without much effort at all. For a moment, the enchantments that warded the lid screamed against its touch, but even as its current body¡¯s fingertips began to melt, it hurled the thing aside, letting it shatter against the far wall.


    There, in the container, was a large, desiccated hound that might have been nearly the size of a pony bound by rusted chains. The Lich had half expected it to come to life on the spot, but when it sat there like little more than the mummified pet of a long-dead king, it placed the collar around the neck of the ancient hound¡¯s corpse, then picked up the animal and began to carry it toward the exit. Obviously, the magics and wards were still too stone down here, and it would need to be revived elsewhere.


    The wards that Tenebroum had bypassed easily enough did not like this turn of events and glowed all the fiercer as it tried to leave, forcing the Lich to deface several on his way out the door. The mages here had truly planned for everything; well, everything except for it, Tenebroum thought darkly.


    The Lich brought its burden to a dining hall on the first floor. It was empty and save for a single feature, utterly unimportant. It just happened to be just below the room on the second floor where Tenebroum had ordered its drudges to gather all the unimportant bodies.


    So, it set the hound down in the center of the floor, and then, with a thought, the Lich ordered one of the reavers in the room above to punch a hole in the floor above, allowing all the blood that had started to pool up there to rain down on the ancient creature.


    At first, nothing happened. It was only after almost a minute that Tenebroum noticed that the desiccated corpse was drinking in that awful vitality and slowly returning to life. Moment by moment, its muscles bulged, and its tissues became more supple until it was finally strong enough to shatter the chains that bound it.


    Slowly, like a newborn fawn it found the strength to stand, and stood there on shivering legs. Then, when it turned and saw the Lich standing there, it growled a deep, bone chilling growl that resonated throughout the room. It took a moment, and then it slowly advanced on the leaden construct with its teeth bared.


    Before it got halfway to Tenebroum, though, the Lich spat a command. ¡°Sit!¡± The word echoed through the room briefly, and then a moment later, though the giant hound clearly didn¡¯t want to, it did exactly that.

 Ch. 163 - Digging for Answers

    Tenebroum had hoped that the hound would have been able to provide it the answers it craved, unlike the incoherent swarm of rats, Ghrosian. In that way, at least, it was disappointed. The thing had a powerful soul, even in its weakened state, but there was no intelligence there. Instead, there was only an overflowing font of rage that swirled in its core.


    That wasn¡¯t completely different from the rats, of course, save that they swirled in fear. It could see how the two of them were compatible in that sense and that they might fit together. Not that it would ever bring them together, of course. The Lich had the nameless hound tied to a stake in a cave and allowed to continue to decontaminate for a month before it was brought back to Tenebroum¡¯s lair for further experiments.


    The hound spent most of its time sealed in a room on the third level, far from the caged rats that the Lich had brought here for study previously. The two might have very compatible souls that could fit together, but that did not mean that the Lich had any desire to bring them together. That was one experiment that was simply too dangerous until it knew more.


    At first, those were a matter of simple bloodsport. It would pit the thing against various beasts before having it fight men and even undead abominations. Though the hound was huge, it was also barely skin and bones when these matches started. Yet despite that, it never lost. There was a terrible ferocity in it that the Lich could not fully understand but was eager to see in action. In its first match against a grizzly bear, the hound tore it to shreds despite being entirely outclassed in both size and weight. It was a bloody spectacle that simply had to be seen to be believed.


    It scarcely killed any quicker when it faced off against a man in full plate mail. Somehow, despite any specific magics that Tenebroum could identify, the thing simply shredded its opponents, always becoming stronger than them, and after each bloody bout, it grew visibly. At first, it had been the size of a large hunting dog, but now it was something closer to a small horse, and even with its collar on, it paced back and forth pensively whenever the Lich locked it away.


    Sometimes, when Tenebroum brought its latest pet out of its cage, it would not be for its own private bloodsport. Instead, it would experiment on the thing while it bayed and howled. Sometimes, these experiments would be simple dissection and vivisection, as it wondered what made this thing tick and accounted for its strange immortality. Other times, it would be bound within one or more magic circles of the Lich¡¯s devising while it sought to study the thing with divination magics. It found nothing useful, which was as rare as it was frustrating.


    How could such a simple creature evade my understanding of it! Tenebroum thought in annoyance. It is more animal than spirit!


    Eventually, for lack of anything better to do, it released it into the Red Hills just to see what it would do to the poor, woefully unprepared goblin tribes that still existed there. The Lich still kept an outpost of undead at the gold mine where drudges slaved away endlessly, and it occasionally sought out unwilling goblins for experiments, but by and large, that place had lost most of its importance to the Lich, who was now focused on other fronts.


    The hound tore through the place like a force of nature, devouring a new lair nearly every night. It didn¡¯t matter if they used poison or magic, and if they fought with weapons or claws, nothing could stand against the monster.


    In fact, its performance was so frightening that Lich immediately began to work both on a better binding collar and a method of eliminating the wolf, should it ever find a way to turn on its owner. It clearly did not like being forced to obey, and the Lich had little doubt that if it ever broke free in the same way that the troublesome river spirit had, it would not end well.


    So, it set to work on several ooze-based solutions that would be entirely immune to the teeth and claws of the hound so that it would have options should the need arise. One of its fleshcrafters suggested that the Lich could install a failsafe alchemical charge in the thing, but given how poorly the Lich¡¯s attempts to graft better weapons to its claws had gone, such an experiment seemed unlikely to end well.


    It is not a creature, dead or alive, the Tenebroum reminded itself. It is a godling, the same as my twisted dryads or that cursed moon.


    It was easy to forget that, given that all it did was fight and kill and devour. The hound had a certain predatory intelligence, but nothing more than that. Were it not for the golden collar that it wore around its neck, it would be nothing but a berserk, slavering beast.


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    After months of study, the Lich eventually lost interest in its newest pet and left it to rampage in the Red Hills while it turned its attention to older projects; in time, when Tenebroum was sure the thing had stopped growing, it would send it to the front to fight with the rest of its minions, but it wanted no surprises.


    As it searched through its catalog of unfinished abominations, it found none, either. Its carefully pruned nature goddess no longer spent all of her time screaming and begging to die. Instead, she¡¯d decorated the small garden it had allowed her in that barren Constantenal courtyard with deadly nightshade and any number of other toxic herbs and flowers, humming away while the thorns that pierced her skin bled as they always did.


    She still cowered in its presence, but the Lich was certain that when she was set free, she¡¯d be happy to do as bidden and hunt down her former peers. However, for now, the Lich was content to watch her grow and change, studying her as the scars continued to fade, looking for any clues as to what she might become when she was complete and finally blossomed.


    It spent some time examining the new juggernauts that were being created in Constantinal and some of the new vessels that incorporated parts whales and sharks in lieu of wood in Rahkin, but eventually, the Lich found itself once again focused on its plot to undermine the All-Father again.


    Its poison was still spreading through the moon, and she was rarely seen in the sky as anything but a waxing or a waning crescent anymore. There had been some signs lately that she might manage to fight off the cancerous soul that had been injected into her, but each time she made progress and seemed to get brighter, a few weeks later, there would be a relapse, and she would lose all the progress she¡¯d made.


    The Lich didn¡¯t understand exactly what was happening, but it didn¡¯t care either. As long as she was weak and suffering, it could focus on trying to hunt down and break other gods, and for some time now, it had chosen the dwarf to deal with next.


    This wasn¡¯t because the All-Father was the most powerful or the most dangerous. It wasn¡¯t even because it had dared to lay a finger on the Lich in their single real encounter. It was simply because he was accessible.


    Once Tenebroum had decided that Krulm¡¯venor would not be useful in the war against the mages now that they¡¯d developed some way of nullifying the magics that animated the godling, Tenebroum had sent him into the depths to purge other dwarven cities with fire. This was for the death and the pain it provided Tenebroum as much as anything, but each conquest allowed it to steal away a few more dwarven relics, and that, it had decided, was the key to breaking the All-Father¡¯s soul.


    As a god, it was better known to the Lich thanks to the wealth of stolen source materials it had taken from the charred cities and tombs it had ransacked over the last several years. It was also simpler than the others it had tried to learn about. The secret that Krulm¡¯venor had tried to hide for so long when it had been in every book and mural: the All-Father was literally an amalgam of all the honored dwarven dead that had gone before.


    Though it did not yet fully understand why dwarves ossified as they aged, it was now very clear that when a dwarf finally could live no longer, its flesh would turn gray and shrivel into something like soft sandstone before falling to dust, leaving only the partially crystallized skeleton behind. It was the skulls that the dwarves were interested in when they buried the body, which meant that it was the skulls the Lich was interested in as well.


    It had constructed many abominations from the bones of dwarves at this point, which meant that its flesh crafters had dissected thousands of corpses, and these changes only seemed to start sometime around three hundred years old. The very oldest dwarves might reach three hundred and fifty years of age, but the exact age didn¡¯t seem to matter, only that they lived a life of honor and lasted until it was their time.


    For a while, the Lich had merely crushed the skulls to extract a lifetime¡¯s worth of essence, but recently, it had become more interested in a simple question: if the All-Father was a giant structure built brick by brick from the souls of the honored dead, then how many of those souls would the Lich have to corrupt or drive insane before the whole thing collapsed.


    On the face of things, the All-Father was an indomitable warrior who spent almost all of his time deep in his earthen fortress where no one could touch him. That wasn¡¯t true, though. The God¡¯s seat of power might be there, but in reality, he was spread across a hundred cities, and a thousand graveyards, and the Lich was determined to destroy as many of them as it had to before the God finally came apart at the seams.


    Of course, it was much too busy to do such things itself, but with a little effort, it had driven a handful of dwarven priests insane, and now they labored day and night in the Lich¡¯s warehouse of crystal skulls with forbidden runes that conflicted and warred with each other, carving them into the crystalline skulls one at a time. This was not an effort that would pay dividends tomorrow. It was like the erosion of water on stone. Each drip was imperceptible, but taken together, they could wear away a whole mountain range.


    When used to attack a god that had been around as long as the All-Father, that was certainly an apt metaphor. Tenebroum¡¯s slow but insidious efforts would break him, and then it would devour whatever pieces were left.

 Ch. 164 - Soon

    ¡°This is what I wanted to show you,¡± Jordan said finally, unwrapping the dirty cloth that covered the manacle that he¡¯d kept hidden for so long and showing it to Taz for the first time.


    The archmage didn¡¯t look at the cursed thing, though. Instead, he simply stared deeper into Jordan¡¯s eyes, searching for something. The silence lingered for almost a minute before the ageless man said, ¡°Why didn¡¯t you bring this to me earlier?¡±


    ¡°Because I wasn¡¯t sure I could trust you,¡± Jordan said, mostly truthfully. ¡°Not after¡­ well, you know¡­¡±


    The truth was that it wasn¡¯t the way that this man had ended Sister Anisse without a second thought. It was the way that he continued to sniff around and ask probing questions. Taz knew that Jordan was hiding something from him; he just didn¡¯t know it was the book. So, Jordan was offering him this as a gambit to try to muddy the waters. While he doubted the archmage would be happy to discover that an artifact of the Lich had been smuggled into his domain, he was certain that he would be much more upset if he found out that Jordan had been hiding a book that told the future all this time.


    Of course, it was also hard to trust Tazuranth, given the things the book had been hinting at lately. Jordan pushed those thoughts from his mind, though, as he met the other man¡¯s gaze, lest he somehow sniff out Jordan¡¯s stray thoughts.


    ¡°After all this time you still think I mean to hurt you?¡± Taz asked with a cold smile, pretending to be hurt. ¡°You¡¯re my apprentice, of a sort. I could never do that. Besides, now that the Collegium has fallen, you might be the last mage left on the continent beside me. When I ascend and beat back the darkness, I¡¯ll need you to refound the school for me.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ what?¡± Jordan gasped, his mind reeling. ¡°The Collegium fell? But how? I thought that it was holding up better than expected?¡±


    This was hardly the first time they¡¯d talked about the place. For a time, it had been flourishing, at least according to Taz. His divination spells had shown him a valley of lights, which had become a bastion against the darkness that had swept across the rest of the land, and now all that seemed to have reversed, and somehow, the ageless man didn¡¯t seem particularly upset by the news.


    ¡°It was,¡± Taz nodded, ¡°But the Lich unleashed some new weapon that undid the very rules of magic itself. Things fell apart rather quickly after that.¡±


    ¡°But that shouldn¡¯t be possible,¡± Jordan answered, uncertain if that was true but even more uncertain as to whether or not Taz cared very much about what he was saying. Jordan had certainly never been taught such a thing, but then, his education was far from complete. ¡°Is that what injured the moon, then?¡±


    Taz had reached down to pick up the corroded manacle. He was busy studying it, but as soon as Jordan spoke, his gaze lifted back up to meet Jordan¡¯s eyes. ¡°How do you know about that?¡±


    ¡°You can s-see that something has happened, even without your fancy telescope,¡± Jordan stammered, realizing he¡¯d tipped his hand a little too much. ¡°There hasn¡¯t been a full moon in over a month now, and there¡¯s a growing stain in the lower quarter.¡±


    In truth, it was barely more than a dark smudge through the naked eye, but he¡¯d seen much more detailed drawings in the book. Though all it would say is that ¡®the Lich struck a blow that could not be healed,¡¯ as it showed off the worm-like cancerous growths that were spreading on the moon, which was either the body of the goddess or the place where she lived, depending on which page of the book he read.


    ¡°It might be related,¡± Taz said finally. ¡°It¡¯s hard to say. She hasn¡¯t spoken to me since the incident. She may yet recover from it, or this might be the first sign that I¡¯m about to replace her. We should know soon in either case.¡±


    Soon was, of course, an impossible measurement when dealing with Tazuranth. He might mean a few months or a few decades from now, so Jordan simply ignored the statement.


    ¡°So what will you do then?¡± Jordan asked.


    ¡°I will be patient, as always. I will study this bauble you¡¯ve brought and see if we can find some way to turn it to our advantage, and I will learn what I can so we can be ready when the moment arises.¡±


    Some version of this was Taz¡¯s answer to almost everything, and Jordan fought to avoid rolling his eyes. It said exactly nothing, which was probably exactly what the ageless wizard meant to say.


    ¡°Do you think this will be useful to you?¡± Jordan said finally, gesturing toward the manacle, ¡°Or do you think we should destroy it before the Lich uses it to track us down?¡±


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    ¡°Through the barrier?¡± Taz laughed. ¡°If it can manage a spell that leads it past the edge of the world, I would be very impressed. No, it should be safe enough. It¡¯s a crude thing, but it certainly gives me some insight into the magic it prefers to use. This is a hentarctic formulation. Very basic stuff. It tells me that we might be misreading this situation altogether. Perhaps what we face is no mastery of sorcery but some other kind of aberration.¡±


    Tazuranth started an impromptu lecture and length then. Sometimes, when you wanted an answer the man would dodge and weave avoiding anything that might appear conclusive, but if your discussion happened to tread into magical theory, he might spend an hour, or even two discussion the minutia of ancient history, and the merit of different theoretical approaches.


    Jordan paid attention as best he could. At times, he would try to return the topic back to the fate of the Magica Collegium, but the most detailed answer that Jordan could get from Taz was that ¡°Scrying spells became unreliable several months ago and only recently started to work again.¡±


    Even that wasn¡¯t enough to hold Jordan¡¯s attention, though, and his attention began to wander, he stood up and wandered around the room instead. He still answered Taz¡¯s questions as best he could, and even tried to ask some semi intelligent follow-up questions where they were appropriate, as Jordan struggled to remember his ancient runic languages.


    Still, as he worked his way around the room, he noticed that the ancient mage¡¯s telescope was pointed down toward the beach and not up at the sky where it usually was. He didn¡¯t approach it directly, and he definitely didn¡¯t look through the eyepiece. That would have shown that he noticed. Instead, Jordan continued his slow loop around the room, looking at different odds and ends while he discussed the nature of binding rituals on unquiet spirits with the other mage.


    Still, when he was in the right spot, across from the wide picture window, he looked down and noted the part of the beach the telescope was pointed at. Jordan immediately recognized it as the place where the children held their practices and tourneys when the tide was low. Right now, the tide was high, so the sandy strip was almost completely underwater, but still, the fact that the man had been watching¡­ It was the first confirmation of some of the things the book had been hinting at for a while now.


    Jordan tried to push the thought from his mind, at least until he got back to the little farm he called home, but it distracted him until Taz had finally had enough of the conversation. Then the ageless wizard assigned him some light reading from three massive tomes about the nature of rune construction and then sent him on his way as the last sun was heading toward the horizon.


    Though the meeting had largely been boring, it had given Jordan much to think about. Really, he should have been obsessed with the school. If he¡¯d returned there as he¡¯d planned to do so often, he¡¯d be dead right now.


    Or maybe I would have managed to turn the tide somehow, he thought to himself. As if one more apprentice could have done anything useful.


    In the end, it wasn¡¯t the Collegium¡¯s fall, or even the moon¡¯s wound, that he thought about, though. It was the children. He spent the whole walk back worrying that what he¡¯d read was going to come to pass. It almost had to at this point. There was no way around it if Tazuranth was studying them discreetly from a distance. He really was going to use them in some sort of twisted experiment. Maybe not soon, but someday. The book had been very clear about that.


    In a place where time has little meaning, someday is forever, but someday, just the same, the mage that covets their light will try to find a way to take it for himself. Given that he is entirely undefeatable, such eventualities are unavoidable.


    However, the thoughts never left him, even when he came home to find the older children already cooking a fish stew. Still, he tried to keep the worried expression off his face for their sake. Instead, he listened to them as they told him about their day. They were a large and unruly tribe at this point, and he was likely to be the only parent they ever had.


    One by one, between different fights and bouts of bickering, each one of the twelve light-eyed children told him about their day, and he nodded, asking questions as he pretended to be interested and engaged. They¡¯d all spent the earliest part of the morning looking for a lost lamb once their drills had been done at dawn, of course. That was a devotion that never wavered, even if Brother Faerbar hadn¡¯t been around in more than a year now.


    After that, though, they¡¯d gone in half a dozen different directions to help the good people of Sanctuary and earn their keep. Toman and his brother had mended nets, Cynara and some of the other girls had helped the village¡¯s wise woman gather herbs that were just coming into bloom for the season, and Reggie and some of the other boys had helped to weed the fields. All in all, it was a productive day, and it might have sounded like a hundred others they¡¯d had since they¡¯d come to this strange place.


    Indeed, the weather was better than average here, and most days were cool and clear, so they really did start to blend together. In the end, as they all ate, everyone got the chance to tell their story. The only one who didn¡¯t say a word was young Leo. That was to be expected. He¡¯d talk if Jordan asked what he¡¯d done today, but there was no need to do so. The young man had almost certainly spent the day praying and training just like he always had.


    He was frighteningly intense for a boy of eleven. Technically, he was almost two years older than that now, but the boy didn¡¯t age beneath the barrier the same as everyone else, which made his focus and maturity all the stranger. Jordan had never planned on being a parent, and certainly not to twelve children, so he had no idea what to do about that sort of behavior; in the end, he resolved simply to ignore it in the face of larger issues, though he knew that wasn¡¯t healthy either.

 Ch. 165 - Sight Beyond Sight

    Leo roared as he beat back Jamin¡¯s wooden blade, trying and failing to move in for the kill. He couldn¡¯t, though. His opponent¡¯s shield was too large, and even though he was only a year older than Leo, his reach was too long. After a few tense moments filled with lightning-fast exchanges, Leo found himself on his back. He lay there in the soft, wet sand of the beach, breathing heavily, as a proper corpse should.


    Many of the other children got up when they¡¯d been defeated and left the battlefield to watch the rest of it play out, but not him. He wasn¡¯t going to move to the sidelines and use the light to heal his wounds in the same way that almost all of the other kids had learned to do by now.


    This was his shame, and he would suffer for it. Suffering would make him stronger.


    Other than the occasional lucky blow, he knew he was never going to win in this place, so he had to get used to it. He was the youngest and the smallest of their group, and here they had all been frozen in time, which meant that he would never have the growth spurt he needed to change that.


    It was incredibly frustrating, but he would not let that knowledge defeat him. Nothing will defeat me, he swore to himself. Yet, no matter how often he promised himself that, it changed nothing. He was still the runt of the litter, and even though he was the only one who spent all day pushing himself, he was the only one who lost every single morning.


    It might have been enough to make him cry, but he¡¯d run out of tears a long time ago, the day before Brother Faerbar had left them all. That was the day that the Templar had explained to Leo his dark origins.


    ¡°You are the son of a monster,¡± the old man had said simply after he¡¯d separated Leo from the other boys before he went off forever to die in his fight against the darkness. ¡°I¡¯d kill you myself if I was sure it was the right thing to do, but there¡¯s light in your heart, so as far as I¡¯m concerned, that¡¯s enough to give you a second chance, but never forget where you came from or how easy it is to fall. You might say you¡¯re predisposed to it.¡±


    Leo had asked a few questions about his father and received less than specific answers, though it seemed to him less like Brother Faerbar was trying to shield him from some terrible truth than that he¡¯d just forgotten many of the details over time. His father was a ¡°licentious wastrel of a Count¡± in the Templar¡¯s words. Leo wasn¡¯t quite sure what that meant, but he wasn¡¯t about to ask Jordan or anyone else for those definitions. It sounded bad, and that was what mattered. He took some solace in the fact that he was named after his grandfather, who was apparently a good but weak man.


    That was all the information that Leo needed, even if he didn¡¯t really understand what it all meant. He knew what he had to do, even at that young age. He had to be better than his father and stronger than his grandfather. That was what he devoted his life to now.


    So, when the fighting was done, and Cynara had won as she almost always did, he pulled himself to his feet. However, even as everyone else got ready to go help the villagers of Sanctuary with their chores, he retrieved his wooden sword. Then, beneath the judging eyes of everyone else, he got to work practicing his swing, his footwork, or whatever else it was he thought he needed to improve to finally start to beat some of the other younger kids on the field of battle.


    Though he was sometimes tempted to tell his friends that he was actually Count Leo, the fifth ruler of Greshen County, he opted not to do so for obvious reasons. Not only would that secret be told to everyone within a day, but it would just give the other children something else to make fun of him for, and they had quite enough to do that already. He was the smallest, the last picked, and the first to die.


    Some of the others were nice and never said anything mean to him. That was easy for people like Cynara because she was the biggest and the fastest now, and as long as time stayed stopped, she always would be. None of the boys would ever grow stronger than her here.


    Other people, like Toman, never failed to remind him that he was the youngest and the smallest. Some days, they called Leo the craziest, too, if they found him praying all day. It was regarded as universally foolish, and even sister Annise had tried to dissuade him before she disappeared. He¡¯d given up trying to defend the decision. Even if he had the words to explain himself, he didn¡¯t really know how.


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    It didn''t matter to him that the others didn¡¯t understand. Sometimes, Jenna or Sam would pray with him, but they were just trying to make him feel less alone. Their heart wasn¡¯t really in it.


    They couldn¡¯t feel the light inside them burning brighter when they said the words that the Templar had taught them. They couldn¡¯t hear the sound of some distant voice, with words just out of reach.


    Leo didn¡¯t tell anyone about that, not even Jordan. He already looked at Leo with more sadness than anyone else, and Leo didn¡¯t want to make the man think that he was going crazy. That was why he didn¡¯t tell anyone when he started to see things either because they were sure to think he¡¯d gone insane after that.


    About nine months after they arrived in Sanctuary, Leo¡¯s whole world started to bend. Even before Brother Faerbar left them, most of them could see good and evil, but this was different. First, he saw the shimmering outline of the barrier that surrounded the whole peninsula and the colored lights coming off of the tower most hours of the day.


    After that, he started to see other darker things. These weren¡¯t the typical shadows of evil. They were more like dark ghosts, and they were usually around Jordan or the things that the man owned, like the strange book he read every night. There was a sort of mist of shadows that surrounded that thing, and sometimes, if Leo looked at it for too long, he felt like it was looking back at him.


    It was an unsettling feeling, but Leo wasn¡¯t sure what he was supposed to do about it. So, he did his best never to be alone with the Book of Ways, and he threw himself that much harder into training because, after a while, it was the only thing that made him feel sane.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you ever help us put food on the table,¡± Reggie complained one day as he pulled turnips while Leo swung his sword until he thought his arms were going to come off. ¡°Every night, you eat, but you never put the work in. It''s like you¡¯re too good for it.¡±


    In that moment, Leo almost told him that he was a noble and that he needn¡¯t work in the soil like the rest of them. That would have been a terrible mistake, though. So, instead, he simply said, ¡°We all need to do our part, but I have a higher calling. That¡¯s all.¡±


    That was a mistake, too. That was the day everyone started to make fun of him for his higher calling. It was upsetting, of course, because they couldn¡¯t understand the way he could, even if he explained it. They didn¡¯t see the light, and they didn¡¯t have a connection to the divine like he did, not anymore. They were blessed by Siddrim, but he could feel himself going beyond that, one day at a time now.


    Part of Leo felt sure he could walk right out of the barrier if he wanted to at this point, but he didn¡¯t try. Not only were they under strict orders from their guardian, Jordan, never to approach the boundary, but he feared what was on the other side of the line. There, the shadows ruled and drifted on the wind. If the barrier was what he needed to avoid such evil, then he would gladly shelter behind it like a kite shield.


    The day they started mocking him for being touched or being ¡®blinded by the light¡¯ was the day it all started to change. That was the day that his sight revealed to him something new: what his opponent was going to do next. At first, he thought they were just after images caused by the rage that was building up inside him. It was only after a particularly intense and violent flurry of blows left him standing above Jamin, who was bleeding on the sand beneath him, that he finally calmed.


    The battle was stopped then, and the other young boy was healed, but people looked at Leo differently after that. They teased him less and shunned him more.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be more careful,¡± Jenna chided him. ¡°Save your anger for the enemy. Someday, it will be here, just as Brother Faerbar said, and on that day, we must be ready.¡±


    He thought her words were unfair but said nothing because he wasn¡¯t sure what to say. They always gave it their all. People got hurt. It happened nearly every week and was usually seen as the fault of the person who had been injured, but for some reason, when he finally won a bout, suddenly it was his fault.


    That didn¡¯t stop him from suddenly winning more, though. He couldn¡¯t beat everyone, not even with his new trick, but suddenly, he could beat anyone who had less than a foot of advantage on him. Jamin, Sam, Rin, and anyone else who tried him suddenly found an implacable enemy that they had trouble landing a blow on.


    Several of them had developed new abilities beyond merely the ability to see evil or to heal with a touch. Cynara was able to make her weapons glow with holy light, Toman could detect lies, and Sam could bless an object and make it almost indestructible. As far as Leo knew, though, he was the only one who could glimpse the future and see what move his opponent was about to make.


    It felt like cheating, and he felt bad about that, but what was he to do? Simply pass on the advantage? He had no idea how it worked or how to turn it off. He thought about explaining it to Jordan at least but decided against it. The man had been an excellent guardian to all of them, but whatever he was reading in that book was making the darkness gather in his soul, and after several months without Sister Annise there, he found himself pulling away from the older man.


    It wasn¡¯t that he didn¡¯t trust him exactly; it was that he didn¡¯t understand, and honestly, he wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to. He wasn¡¯t going to see it, of course. He could see that many of the other children saw something as well, and slowly, the children of Sanctuary began to pull away from the adults.

 Ch. 166 - The Long Way Down

    It took some time for Oroza to figure out that she was dead. Not just dead, but in the afterlife, at least in a sense. It should have been obvious from the beginning, of course, as she stepped free from the shredded remains of dull scales and emaciated flesh on the shore and strode into paradise.


    From the sea, the island seemed like a tiny thing surrounded by strange, colorful plants made of stone just beneath the waves, but as she walked with the dark man into the interior, she found more. More of everything, really. More trees, more buildings, and many more people. Eventually, there were more people in this one spot than she¡¯d ever seen in her life, but it was only when she started to meet some of the women that she recognized as her followers from decades and decades ago that she finally understood.


    This was the eternal reward. It was the end of everything.


    ¡°Well, not everything,¡± the dark man corrected her. ¡°Souls stay here for a time, and when they are ready, they move on to the next stage to be reborn again.¡±


    He showed her a cave that people occasionally entered, leading down into the dark. No one forced them to leave paradise and walk into the darkness, and yet, sometimes, they did for reasons that Oroza could not explain.


    ¡°You will need to walk into the darkness soon,¡± he told her, ¡°Though not that way. There¡¯s no way back from this particular point.¡±


    ¡°Then why do people go?¡± she asked.


    ¡°For the same reason people die,¡± he answered with a shrug, ¡°It¡¯s their time.¡±


    That conversation led many places, but the place it returned to again and again was Death. ¡°If you¡¯re the god of death, then why are you here on an island and not out there, stopping all this?¡± she demanded. ¡°Evil has been unleashed, and you could do more than the goddess of a river or the god of a city could ever do!¡±


    ¡°I would have,¡± he nodded sadly. ¡°Alas, I have been dead for a long time, and I no longer leave this place than any of the other spirits that have been confined here.¡±


    ¡°But that doesn¡¯t make sense,¡± she insisted. ¡°How can the God of Death die?¡±


    ¡°All things die, eventually,¡± he said, looking at her with eyes so deep and dark that eventually she was forced to turn away. ¡°As to how I would tell you to ask Siddrim, but sadly, he is not here. Sufficed to say, Death was one more evil he sought to eliminate from his perfect world, but he was only partially successful.¡±


    ¡°The world decided that death was something it would handle on its own, and for the most part, it does.¡± he continued with a shrug. ¡°If I sit here long enough, then all the dead of the world will come to me on the tide just as you did. It¡¯s only a matter of time.¡±


    Oroza didn¡¯t know what to say, so she sat down on a nearby boulder and stared off into the distance. This wasn¡¯t what she¡¯d expected at all. Here, there were so many people chatting and swimming or simply eating fruit that grew back almost instantly. It truly was paradise, but it wasn¡¯t what she¡¯d been looking for.


    She¡¯d been looking forward to when her grip on life relaxed, and she slipped down her river and into the sea to die. It was supposed to be oblivion that awaited her, but instead, Istiniss had forbidden such an outcome. However, if the god of Death was to be believed, then she would have washed up here one day, regardless of what she wanted. She¡¯d only found a more direct course.


    ¡°Well, if people can¡¯t leave, then why did you say I¡¯ll need to descend into the dark,¡± she asked finally, unwilling to complain about this outcome.


    ¡°Dead Gods and Goddesses are far more complicated than the average soul,¡± he said slowly like he was trying to decide how much to say. ¡°These things take time. Days. Months. Years. It depends on how long you lived, how much power you possessed, and how many worshipers still whisper your name. It took me decades before people forgot about me.¡±


    Orozoa tried and failed to remember his name, but she found she couldn¡¯t. She wondered how long it might be until she forgot her own name too.


    ¡°Regardless, at least as far as the prophecy Lunaris shared with me,¡± he continued, ¡°You still have time enough for three things.¡±


    ¡°Lunaris¡¯s prophecy?¡± Oroza asked. This wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d heard of it. ¡°What is it I¡¯m supposed to do exactly.¡±


    ¡°Not her prophecy,¡± Death corrected her. ¡°Just one that was shared with her. Magic and destiny are not the same things. Regardless, the words of fate say you will yet do three things: you will visit the forge, you will imbue the sword with light, and you will give it to the chosen one. After that, you may finally rest.¡±


    ¡°What if I just stay here?¡± she said, feeling suddenly obstinate. ¡°What if I just¡­ just stop and wait here for it to all be over?¡±


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    She knew she wouldn¡¯t do that, of course. If she had something she could do to strike back against the darkness that had taken so much for her, she would. Still, part of her wanted to. She was tired, and more than anything, part of her just wanted to lay down and sleep, even as rejuvenated as she was.


    ¡°You can try,¡± Death agreed, ¡°But the words of true prophecy are difficult to resist. I should know. I¡¯ve tried, but here we are.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know what the forge is,¡± she sighed.


    ¡°Oh, that much is easy,¡± Death smiled, his dazzling smile. ¡°There is only one forge worthy of prophecy, and it sits at the very center of the earth where the All-Father pounds away night and day on his creations.¡±


    ¡°That sounds like a long way,¡± Oroza answered doubtfully.


    ¡°It is, though it takes less time than you¡¯d think, especially since it¡¯s so hard to get lost,¡± Death explained. ¡°Just listen for the pounding of his anvil, and you will not go away,¡±


    They talked a while after that, but it became increasingly clear to Oroza that she wasn¡¯t going to resist. Instead, she listened to the man as he explained to her where she must go. The cave at the center of the island wouldn¡¯t take her to where she needed. That place only leads to oblivion and rebirth.


    Instead, she had to don the skin and scales of her serpent form once more and wade back out into the sea. It was a jarring experience. Even though it felt like she¡¯d only just left the water earlier that day, it already felt like an alien environment. The water chilled her, and the salt choked her, and even as she began to swim toward the bottom of the sea, all she wanted to do was go back and lie down on that sunny beach.


    The crevice she¡¯d been directed to find in the ocean floor wasn¡¯t hard to find or navigate. All she had to do was swim ever deeper. It was only when she reached the bottom and had to search for the tunnel that things slowed down. It took her far too long to find the path forward, but once she did, she made good time again, descending ever deeper into the earth.


    Things only slowed down when the water ran out, and she was forced to walk rather than swim. Then, at least, she could hear the hammer blows. They led her the right way at every juncture, though she marked her way as she went because she suspected that she would have to come back this way when she was done. As much as she longed for oblivion to take her, being buried miles beneath the ground was hardly her idea of a perfect end.


    Oroza put one foot in front of the other until time lost all meaning. Had it been days or weeks? She simply couldn¡¯t say. She was surrounded by darkness and stone, and in all that time, the only sign of life she saw, other than the continuous sound of hammering, was a tiny creature made of stone that fled from her as soon as it saw her.


    The underworld was a strange place; it was a dark and endless desert that was only occasionally brightened by glowing crystals or luminescent fungus. Other than the Lich¡¯s lair, she had never seen a less hospitable place. She¡¯d actually never even imagined that such a place might exist, and it certainly went a long way to explaining the dour demeanor of the All-Father on the few occasions she¡¯d seen him.


    Still, she didn¡¯t understand him completely until she saw walked past the flowing magma rivers, and over the ancient granite bridges into his stone sanctuary at the center of the world. It was a sweltering, oppressive place that made her long for the cold dark tunnels, but she¡¯d come so far that there was no way she was going back empty handed.


    Oroza continued, moving forward, though, through ancient halls that were built for someone at least twice her height. There, she found the ghosts of dwarves, or perhaps the memories of them, running to and fro on nameless errands. They ignored her, though, just as she ignored the deafening sound of steel on steel until she finally found the All-Father.


    Though he was the god of the dwarves, he was a giant of a man at more than twice her height. He stood there at an anvil that must have weighed thousands of pounds, lit only by the orange glow of the incandescent metal. She had to approach within a dozen feet of the god before he finally stopped his endless hammering and said, ¡°So you are here at last.¡±


    ¡°At last?¡± she wondered aloud before realizing that Lunaris must have told the dwarf everything she¡¯d told Death.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she agreed. ¡°I¡¯ve come here as I was told to.¡±


    ¡°Well, then give me the metal, and I¡¯ll get to work on the cursed blade that the Moon Maiden wants so badly,¡± the All-Father said grumpily.


    ¡°Metal?¡± she asked, confused. ¡°I wasn¡¯t told I needed to¡ª¡±


    ¡°How in the blazes am I supposed to make a sword of singular sharpness without any metal?¡± the dwarven god yelled loud enough to make her tremble.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Oroza didn¡¯t know what to say.


    Was she supposed to apologize? Was she supposed to walk all the way back to the surface and ask Death for help getting the thing she needed? While she wondered about this, one of the scales that made up her fraying form fell to the ground, making a metallic clink as it hit the ground.


    She picked it up and studied the tarnished silver scale between two clawed fingers. Was this why I was the one to be included in this stupid prophecy? She wondered. Is this what he needs?


    ¡°Will this do?¡± she asked finally, reaching up to hand the small thing to the dwarven god.


    He studied it for a long moment before he said, ¡°Aye, this and another hundred or more just like it mixed with mithril might indeed do the trick.¡±


    The idea of plucking her few remaining scales off of her already threadbare form made her despair, but that sadness wasn¡¯t enough to stop her from doing just that. If this is what it would take to stop the Lich, then she would do all of this and more.


    Carefully, one at a time, she began to pull scales from her flesh. She started with the closest, but when those were all gone, it was like pulling teeth. Still, she bore the pain, and she she¡¯d finally reached a hundred she handed them all to the All-Father¡¯s ghostly helpers who immediately took them over to the forge to be melted down until the darkness and impurities were burned away and those pieces of her had been reduced to nothing but liquid silver.


    ¡°There we are,¡± the All-Father nodded, watching the metal that had once been part of who she was getting poured into a crucible to be alloyed with the Mithril that the forge god had spoken of earlier. ¡°With this, I can make you a blade that could strike down any god, living or dead. Mark my words. Now you just need to find a hero to wield it.¡±

 Ch. 167 - Ever Further

    As the months ground on, The Voice of Reason and her forces moved ever further north. They kept a good pace, but even so, they were never able to outrun the news of their approach and gain true surprise. Though there was a time when such an outcome would have been ideal, even if such things were impossible when one served a master as illustrious and powerful as she did, she would no longer have welcomed it now.


    Not only did that lack of surprise do nothing to aid their enemies, it undermined them. Every week, she continued to glide inexorably further up the coast, visiting every Sultan and Pasha that would receive her and crushing the few that would not. In every port she visited, the rumors of the black sailed ships ran before her like messengers announcing her arrival. They foretold the danger that any city or kingdom would face as soon as they sighted her on the horizon.


    The threat was very real now. However, it did not come from her tiny fleet. Instead, it emanated from the Dark Paragons that scoured the deserts in her wake, marching north with their growing armies. The message was an incredibly clear one: make a deal with her or deal with them. It wasn¡¯t hard for most people to decide the right answer to that question.


    The Lich¡¯s forces were an unstoppable wave of darkness now that was slowed only by the treacherous terrain they were forced to navigate. She had gotten only the briefest glimpse of their armies when they laid siege to Abbas, but what she was deadly enough.


    Other than the truly wealthy city-states like Tanda, these desert cities had only small walls of sandstone or adobe. They were just strong enough to look imposing and no more. They didn¡¯t need any more than that. Not when they relied on the desert as their primary form of defense. After all, how could a force of any size lay siege to your walls when there was nothing to drink and nowhere to hide from the sun? How would someone move siege equipment through endless soft sand?


    Wars this far north had apparently been decided with subterfuge and piracy more than large armies or even the lightning-fast cavalry that the lords of the region loved to use in their endless border skirmishes. When launched against the forces of the Lich, though, those proud princes and their expensive horses had a way of disappearing into the desert, never to return. The cities themselves did not fare much better.


    Though Tanda had all but surrendered without a shot at the apparent behest of a small god that had no wish to give the Lich an excuse to devour it, other cities had proven more truculent until the brutal fall of Abbas had given them a reason to take her unspoken threats more seriously.


    Of all the cities in the area, it was one of the most powerful. It had a small standing army, a few mages, and a proud Emir that would pay tribute to any man. On her brief, chilly visit, the Emir had made it known that ¡°Even if you think your lord to be a God, that changes nothing, for he is not our god.¡±


    She hadn¡¯t done much to attempt to change the man¡¯s mind. While some rulers could be reasoned with, and others could be convinced by discussing what other rulers had chosen to do, she knew immediately that even spending this much time with the Emir of Abbas had been a waste of time. He could not be brought to their side; he could only be killed and removed as an obstacle.


    Abbas¡¯s resistance lasted for a month, but only because it took that long for two of the three armies making their way north to get into position for a truly decisive strike. They would snipe at traffic on the trade routes and make whole mounted patrols vanish into dust, but they did nothing to attack the city itself until all was in readiness and they had moved up their lines to within a few hundred feet of the enemy¡¯s torches.


    It was only when everything was in readiness that they boiled up from the sand as one and attacked. Such a precise attack would have been impossible for living troops, but the Lich¡¯s deathless soldiers had no such limitations.


    As the Voice of Reason watched from just offshore, she¡¯d expected to see the green and orange fire of the Lich¡¯s alchemical explosions light up the night. Instead, all remained dark. Instead of wasting such powerful tools on such a pitiful target, huge grapnels were thrown by the largest of the abominations, and then whole sections of the fragile walls were pulled down by inhuman strength.


    Once they were breached, it was all but done. The defenders ran out into the dark to try to plug those gaps, but they had no idea what it was they faced. From everything that the Voice had heard, it was widely assumed that the very nature of the Lich¡¯s forces was assumed to be exaggerated. A place as sunny as the endless desert rarely dealt with the undead, so the idea that someone really might raise thousands of corpses and use them to crush you was seen as more than a little far-fetched. That night, they learned the truth, and not even the mages could save them.


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    Indeed, though their lightning did some good, most mages seemed to try a sort of sandstorm spell first, which was entirely ineffective against the dead. It was so powerful that it could turn the desert sands into a weapon that scourged flesh from bone and even made the sails of her ships flutter over a mile away, but in this case, the loss of flesh did nothing to stop a zombie from ripping you to pieces.


    Though the city was annihilated that night, something else happened that hadn¡¯t occurred in a very long time; the Paragons¡¯ forces left survivors. That wasn¡¯t an accident. No brave forces had managed to fight their way free of the noose. With less than five thousand zombies and abominations, it would have been the easiest thing in the world to crush every last spark of life in the city, but that¡¯s not what happened.


    For months, the Dreamer had done to seed how dangerous the Lich¡¯s forces were in the mind of these desert dwellers, seeing was believing, and the fear of the few men that would escape this night would spread like the plague, leaving tens of thousands in their wake begging to be saved from such a fate.


    The Voice of Reason¡¯s lips curled in a smile as she remembered watching how that spread from city to city and how much easier her job became after that. Though the Paragons had not wanted to spare even a single life thanks to their natural blood thirstiness, they had acknowledged that hers was the correct approach.


    As a result, most of the city-states and kingdoms she found as she worked her way up the coast were practically clamoring for her arrival. According to the Puppeteer, people were saying, ¡°The only way to avoid death is to make an agreement with the Dark Lady.¡±


    She smiled at that. Not only did she like the name, but she liked that hers was the only path to salvation for these fearful leaders. That let her impose ever more onerous terms of these places as they traveled north. Fearful rulers rarely did more than agree when they understood how precarious their positions truly were.


    At this point, all it took was one look at her death knight vanguard, and she could see the rumors play across their faces. Sometimes, she was fairly certain that if she¡¯d demanded their firstborn, they would have agreed. She didn¡¯t, though. She wasn¡¯t here to choose what would hurt these people the least but to reach agreements that would benefit her master the most.


    From the smaller, poorer communities, she still chose a tithe of flesh, paid for with both the dead and the living. The larger cities would pay this way too, though often at double or even triple the rate that Tanda had gotten away with so long ago, but now they paid in gold, too. In most cases, such as the cities Idrhim, Malwar, and the island of Golway, a talent a year was the agreed upon sum, over and above all tolls that were paid with blood and flesh.


    ¡°You serve me well,¡± the Lich told her, sending a fragment of its soul as a message delivered by one of its dark riders in an unarmed death¡¯s head. ¡°Even now, ships full of the damned travel down the poisoned Oroza to be delivered into my inner sanctum peace does us many favors but do not forget that if these petty allies betray us, the bulk of my forces will be cut off far from here. So, learn well the price of subservience, and ensure that we shatter all those who might one day become a danger.¡±


    Even if the message was a backhanded compliment and harsher than the praise she¡¯d hoped for, The Voice of Reason understood the Lich¡¯s concerns. She gave a full report about her reasons and the results they¡¯d achieved, hoping that the news of several shipments of gold would please her dark lord more than the earlier victories had.


    She also informed the Lich that the desert was supposed to taper off soon and that, in the event they were betrayed, they would simply poison every oasis that wasn¡¯t behind city walls. Once that had happened, they could build a route through the deep desert that simply could no longer be reached by living bearings and their mounts due to the distances involved.


    ¡°Based on everything we¡¯ve learned from the dead and the living, the Kingdom of Varenell lies less than a hundred miles to the north. By all accounts, it is nothing like these little desert kingdoms, and it had much more in common with Hallen¡¯s cohesion. So, I thought it best to save military resources where possible to focus on the conquest to come.¡± Even after she finished her full report, she waited until the dark rider left before she relaxed visibly.


    It was only when she was alone once more and entirely surrounded by the mindless automatons that had been loaned to her that she let worry cross her face. Had she done the right thing? She wondered, looking up at the blighted moon. Would her desire for domination via peaceful conquest come back to haunt her?


    Even if it did, it didn¡¯t matter on some level. She¡¯d been created to want these things. She could no more be bloodthirsty than the Dark Paragons could become wise pacifists. The Voice¡¯s gaze flicked down to her hands as she briefly recalled a moment that she¡¯d been more than a little bloodthirsty, but she put it out of her mind. That conniving princess had deserved everything she¡¯d gotten and more.

 Ch. 168 - Nothing Ever Happens

    Leo regarded the cake as he would an enemy while everyone else sang him happy birthday, but he tried not to let it show on his face. After all, despite their differences, the other children had gone to such efforts to make this, and even though they didn¡¯t see eye to eye most of the time, it was still a nice gesture.


    It was just too bad that the cake itself was pretty awful. It wasn¡¯t their fault, of course. There was no sugar here and little in the way of sweetness to be found in Sanctuary. He only had the dimmest memories of what sugar tasted like from when he was very young, but he knew that it wasn¡¯t carrot or cream. This cake was a mockery of sweetness, but he was determined to enjoy it all the same, if only because it meant that another year had passed.


    Still, when they finished, he blew out the candle and smiled, thanking them all for remembering. The truth was that he didn¡¯t even know if this was his birthday. It almost certainly wasn¡¯t. Half of them had been too young to remember that sort of thing when they¡¯d been rescued by Brother Farbaer and Jordan so long ago.


    Leo didn¡¯t even remember the boat they¡¯d been rescued on, but some of the older kids did. They¡¯d told him that one minute, they¡¯d been sailing north with a man called Markez. One second, they¡¯d been looking for a place that still had light somewhere upriver, and the next, the Templar had appeared carrying a child to battle a rotting dragon. It had apparently been a terrifying sight.


    The description had been thrilling, but Leo would never know why Brother Farbaer was carrying him that day in the same way that he¡¯d never know his birthday. One day last spring, someone had simply decided that everyone who didn¡¯t know their birthday should get one, so they set about picking one out for everyone and then marking them on a calendar they¡¯d carved into a nearby liveoak so they remembered to celebrate them when the time came.


    Not having a birthday had never been a concern of Leo''s. At least, not until they came to this ageless place. Now that he never got any older he was pleased to have one, so he could at least keep track of all the growing up he was losing out on.


    This candle theoretically made him what? Fourteen? How different was fourteen than eleven for the third time?


    He wasn¡¯t sure, but he imagined that given the choice, he would prefer to be aging. Maybe old men like Jordan were glad to stay the same age forever. As far as Leo was concerned, being thirty was already like living with one foot in the grave. He wanted to live, though, and when every day was the same, that bordered on the impossible.


    That was why they needed something to mark time. The harvests helped, but really, that was it. Each day was distinct, but given that the weather was never too hot now, and the magic protected them from ever being too cold, it was hard to say what time of year it was on any given day.


    So, they made their own holidays now, tracking the passage of time with birthdays and holy days to keep things moving in something that resembled a life. Slowly but surely, the shreds and pieces they knew about Siddrim¡¯s worship blended together and became a new sort of religion to them, and though they didn¡¯t share it with the adults, they enjoyed it.


    As he contemplated this, small slices of cake topped with whipped frosting were cut and handed out to everyone. Even Jordan woke up from his nap long enough to join them, though that put a damper on the mood as a whole. The conversations that followed weren¡¯t anything that they hadn¡¯t had a dozen times before, giving Leo all the time in the world to study the man.


    On the surface, he was still just as warm and helpful as he¡¯d always been, but the darkness that had spread through him like a cancer had practically taken his eyes now, and not even his polite questions or wide smile could convince most of the children to talk to him any longer than they had to.


    The part lingered longer than it might have because no one could say the things they really wanted to say until Jordan finally left to visit Tax in his tower, but that was normal, too. They were caught in an eternal loop so completely that even birthdays and made-up holidays were quickly taking on a strange inertia of their own.


    ¡°I Just feel like we''re living the same day over and over,¡± Sam sighed when Jordan was finally gone. He¡¯d said the same thing not so long ago, but he¡¯d been every bit as right then as he was now. Almost everyone agreed with that at this point.


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    Even Cynara confessed that she was tired of winning all the time. ¡°I¡¯d trade a hundred victories for an actual challenge,¡± she said dismissively. Rin and Tara weren¡¯t too happy to hear that since they were the ones she always beat, but even they were forced to agree on this. It was hard to get better when you could only fight the same people, and your body insisted on never growing up.


    The only one that didn¡¯t agree with that, of course, was Toman. Out of all of them, he was the only one whose world had changed. Well, him and Leo. They¡¯d swapped places. Now, instead of being strong compared to at least Leo, he was the weakest of all because he lost every bout the two of them had now.


    Everyone said it was because Leo worked hard and was getting better, but that was only because they didn¡¯t know he was cheating. They had no idea what he could see, and he was determined to keep it that way. Hell, he was determined to rise to the top, though he didn¡¯t really know if that was even possible. He was working through Will and Rin¡¯s fighting style now, and he even beat them sometimes, but even with his ability to see blows and parries coming, it only offset so much of the deficit he had in strength and reach. Everything else would have to be made up for by understanding his opponent and their weaknesses.


    Nothing different than normal happened for the rest of the day, and indeed, he expected nothing too different to happen in any of the days that followed. He didn¡¯t expect that would change next week or next month. Then, he was woken up in the middle of the night.


    It wasn¡¯t the first time it had happened, but the last time hadn¡¯t been since Jordan had told them of Sister Annise¡¯s departure, and the children had met to discuss the fact that they¡¯d been lied to. This time, as he woke to Jenna¡¯s face and a finger pressed against his lips, he wasn¡¯t sure what to expect. Instead, he got dressed as quietly as he could and then went outside to join everyone else at the tree where the group had these rare midnight talks.


    It was chilly but no worse than normal, and Leo wrapped himself tightly in his cloak before he sat down on the grass and waited for everyone else. He didn¡¯t have to wait long before Cynara was up and standing in front of them, with her pretty blonde hair visible even in the thin moonlight.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re all wondering what we¡¯re doing here,¡± she said finally. ¡°I¡¯ll come right out with it. I think we need to leave sooner rather than later, honestly?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± one boy cried out.


    ¡°What happened?¡± another boy said.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing new, of course,¡± she continued. ¡°There was no accident or emergency; it¡¯s just that every time I¡­ and many of you look at Jordan or the other mage he is with, I see a growing darkness. Brother Farbaer didn¡¯t trust mages, and frankly, I don¡¯t either. I think the sooner we are rid of them, the better.¡±


    What followed was a quiet but spirited debate. Most of them could see a growing darkness in the mage¡¯s soul, but even though some didn¡¯t, all of them argued about what exactly it was that it meant. Was it this place? Was it that book?


    ¡°What if he means to do us harm?¡± Toman cried out, clearly on the side of Cynara.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he means to hurt us,¡± she said, ¡°But tainting us with his shadows would be almost as bad. If what sister Annise said was true, then we are the last bearers of the Templar¡¯s light. We need to preserve that.¡±


    ¡°But how?¡± Reggie asked. ¡°There is only darkness beyond the veil that protects us. To leave is to die.¡±


    ¡°So they say,¡± Rin said, but it was without conviction. No one seriously doubted that the darkness had been defeated in the time they¡¯d been here. They¡¯d all felt Brother Farbaer¡¯s passing, and no one seriously thought that the darkness that was devouring the world could be defeated without him.


    After all, how could darkness ever be pushed back without light? Though he prayed that a new light had risen up in some far-off land, Leo, like everyone else he¡¯d talked to, had the sick certainty that they were in. They were twelve tiny flames that stood against the end of the world, and trapped as they were in a place where they could never grow up, they¡¯d probably never be strong enough to do so.


    In the end, they held a vote, but less than half of the children thought they should try to leave. Leo said almost nothing the entire time, and it was only when he was prodded to give an opinion after the vote that he said, ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if we try to escape or not because it¡¯s impossible. You need to be able to work with spells and magecraft, and all that we have is the light.¡±


    Neither the vote nor the words of her peers were enough to stop Cynara and those who agreed with her. They announced that they were going to try anyway, but by morning, Leo woke to find them once again in their own beds.


    He never doubted that outcome. While he secretly believed that he could escape this strange prison, he was also sure that no one else could. The light had started to brighten in a few of his friends; at least, he was pretty sure it had. It was normal to wax and wane, but the darkness of the world outside had only grown worse, and baring a sign from the gods or a visit from the ghost of the Templar, he knew that their place was not out there. They were sparks that might one day rekindle a fire or flickering candle flames at best, but they were not a bonfire, and they could not hold back the night.

 Ch. 169 - All Just a Game

    Taz moved the ivory bishop carved into the shape of a high priest of Siddrim across the board with thoughtless ease and took a pawn with it. The move had been expected by Jordan, but it was still a painful one and moved him solidly back to the defensive.


    The bishop had a distinct enough face that Jordan had long suspected that it, along with every other piece on the board, was meant to be someone specific, though he lacked the history to even begin to guess, and if he asked Taz, then he would only be assigned more reading in an endless search to find answers that weren¡¯t there.


    Jordan had no interested in being given any extra reading, with his eyes being in the state they were in. Instead, he removed the spectacles that Taz had found for him among his seemingly endless trove of objects and peculiarities that were tucked away in his tower and cleaned them while he considered the board and the situation they were in.


    It wasn¡¯t just the bishops, of course. Every piece on the board, white and black, was carved in such a detailed way that they were almost certainly modeled on someone. While the white pieces were hard to figure out, the black pieces were less so. White was carved in such a way that they were mortals, but black - they were obviously carved in the shape of the gods. The black king was Siddrim, and the black queen was Lunaris; that much was very clear. One of the rooks was probably the dwarven All-father and one of the knights was Niama, mistress of the wild places. The others were more difficult.


    He was fairly certain that one of the bishops that Taz had already taken was Istiniss, mistress of sea and storms, and that the pawns were various small gods, but even if Jordan had the eyes to study those fine details, he simply didn¡¯t study the gods closely enough to make educated guesses for each piece. He didn¡¯t need to, though. It was clear to him merely from the theme of the board that Taz considered him to be at war with the heavens on some level. That every friendly game of chess they played was another exercise in subjugating the divine was no surprise to Jordan after all this time.


    ¡°Ready to concede already?¡± Taz asked with a crooked smile.


    ¡°What? No,¡± Jordan answered quickly, as he reached forward and moved the All-Father out of danger while using it to put pressure on Taz¡¯s undefended knight. ¡°I was just considering my options.¡±


    It was a fine move, but it was a delaying tactic at best. Jordan was fairly sure that, just like most of the other games they played, he¡¯d already lost this one; he just didn¡¯t see how yet. That was ironic because even though he felt like he was always a step behind in these games, thanks to the book of Ways, he felt like he was a step ahead in every other way.


    He knew that the children were looking for a way out of sanctuary but that they wouldn¡¯t find one for a long time to come. He knew that Taz was looking to harvest their light, even if the man hadn¡¯t come right out and said it yet. Jordan even knew how it was he would stop him when that horrible day finally came. Not that he ever would have thought of it, of course. Not on his own.


    Such things were enough to make him wonder if the book was so much predicting the future as it was dictating those events into existence. After all, Jordan would never have dreamed that the Archmage¡¯s weakness was his strongest point, the spell that kept them all safe, but after reading through what he would do on the appointed day more than once, he could find no fault with the logic.


    Now, the hardest part was keeping the look of distaste off his face whenever he had to spend too much time with the man. It wasn¡¯t easy, but then, there was nothing else to do while they were all trapped here together besides learn and play games.


    ¡°Are you quite sure that the youngest one of your little group hasn¡¯t changed recently?¡± Taz asked as a series of exchanges were made, and the game inched toward checkmate. ¡°He hasn¡¯t done anything out of the ordinary recently?¡±


    ¡°Leo?¡± Jordan asked, pretending to think. ¡°No. He¡¯s still the same serious little boy he¡¯s always been. I think he¡¯s getting frustrated with being perpetually the smallest since none of us are getting older, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°And the light?¡± Taz interrupted. ¡°Have you not noticed the light intensifying? What do you suppose the cause of that is?¡±


    ¡°Intensifying?¡± Jordan feigned ignorance. The book had the same thing, but it wasn¡¯t anything that was visible to the naked eye, and since he knew Taz watched all of them, the last thing he wanted to do was cast a spell that might clarify things. ¡°His eyes are no brighter than any of the other children. In fact, I think that in terms of brightness, Toman and Rin might¡ª¡±


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    ¡°Check,¡± Taz interrupted before standing up and walking to his telescope. ¡°Come here. There¡¯s something I want you to see.¡±


    Jordan couldn¡¯t help but notice that the lens was already tilted down toward the beach, even if the Children would have finished their little tourney hours ago. Slowly, the Archmage pointed the long brass tube toward the village of Sanctuary and then moved aside. After he adjusted a couple of lenses, he said, ¡°Tell me, what do you see?¡±


    Jordan bent to the eyepiece and took a long look at the small town. He was still impressed how Taz could make objects hundreds of yards away seem like they were only a few feet away, but every book on optics that the man had shared with him had gone over his head. Jordan might have some talent with magic, but this was entirely beyond him.


    Still, he wasn¡¯t sure what he was supposed to see, though, and he just started listing what he saw. Old man, Marley was bringing in some produce from the fields with Cynara¡¯s help, the blacksmith was pounding away on something small, and a few people were sitting in the shade on the east side of the market talking.


    ¡°Nothing seems out of place, does it?¡± Jordan asked finally.


    ¡°Not with the lens,¡± Taz agreed before he pulled out the clear lens that had been at the focal point and replaced it with a smoked one that looked like the mage had mixed glass with obsidian or something. ¡°But now that you¡¯ve seen what you¡¯re looking at, try again with this.¡±


    Jordan looked down at the village square again. This time, everything was hazy but unchanged. It was like a pall had been cast over the town, which made sense considering how muddled the new lens was. He was about to say as much when he noticed Cynara walking back into view. That was when he saw the light around her. She was largely a featureless silhouette like everyone else, but the light that was normally confined to her eyes coruscated around her like an aura now.


    ¡°She¡¯s glowing,¡± he breathed.


    ¡°She is,¡± Taz agreed. ¡°They all are. Now, see if you can find little Leo.¡±


    ¡°But how will I be able to tell anyone apart with this lens. They¡ª¡± Jordan started to protest.


    Taz cut him off, though. ¡°You¡¯ll see. Trust me on this one.¡±


    As Jordan looked, Taz started lecturing him on the optical properties of alchemically treated glass, but Jordan wasn¡¯t really listening. Instead, he was panning around the village, looking through the fields and the beaches in search of all the children.


    They were not hard to find. Though he would have a hard time guessing who was who, each of them stood out like little stars against the darker world. Some of them shone brighter than others, and while some children glowed with a golden light, others were closer to silver or even white.


    Jordan almost gave up on his search and pulled away from the scope. It was only then that he found what he was looking for. This time, he didn¡¯t have to feign surprise. Leo had just come up the path from the beach, and as soon as he walked into view, he appeared like a pillar of flame.


    ¡°What in the¡­¡± he gasped. He didn¡¯t need to fake his surprise this time. The book had told him that the lad was growing stronger, but not like this, and Jordan was entirely taken aback by it.


    Some of the other children¡¯s glows had flickering flames at their edges, but they were nothing like this. Even if Jordan still had the perfect eyes he¡¯d been gifted until recently, he would have trouble seeing the outline of the boy amid the glow. As it was, he was a smear of darkness surrounded by a bonfire, and Jordan could only look for a moment before the light hurt his eyes, and he had to glance away. Still, that moment was enough to send his mind racing.


    ¡°See, I told you,¡± Taz said smugly as Jordan stood and backed away. ¡°The boy is changing. Trust me. I¡¯ve kept detailed logs of him and all the others. A year ago, he wasn¡¯t like that, and two years ago, he wasn¡¯t anything special. Now though¡­¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t tell me you intend to harm them,¡± Jordan protested. ¡°For heaven¡¯s sake, Tazuranth, they¡¯re kids.¡±


    ¡°No one is hurting anyone,¡± the mage assured Jordan, even though Jordan knew what the other man was planning and that he was lying through his teeth. ¡°This is merely a mystery I wish to explore. In the face of the darkness, the heavens have great need of such light, and if we could find a way to harvest it¡­¡±


    Jordan tuned out the lecture as he looked out the window with his naked eyes for the boy. After a minute of searching, he finally found the distant boy who appeared no different than ever, at least from here.


    Taz often ranted about the nature of stars and how they protected the world from outer darkness. According to him, the greatest threat to the world at large was not the darkness sweeping across it. It wasn¡¯t even the broken sun or the dimming moon: it was the state of the stars.


    According to him, they were fewer and number and dimmer than they¡¯d been in centuries. Jordan had no idea if that was true, but the idea of trying to harvest the children¡¯s light to use it to fix that problem seemed to be a fool''s errand, and the Book of Ways had already given Jordan some insight into how that experiment would end if it was allowed to proceed.


    For now, he pushed that out of his mind, though, and instead focused on staying calm as the Archmage talked about big ideas concerning light and constellations. While Jordan might agree that the devils of the void needed to be kept back, as far from the world as possible, he was not prepared to do so at the cost of his wards¡¯ lives.

 Ch. 170 - The Death of a Dream

    For more than two years, The Voice of Reason had pushed forward, practically unchallenged, since the earliest naval battles. She had seen a whole region fall to the Lich¡¯s command, with only a few battles to put the desert peoples in her place.


    Part of her had thought that this would be the new model going forward and that the dread armies, which only grew larger month after month thanks to the tithes that she¡¯d secured and the bloodstained flesh factories that had been built amidst the wastes and the endless dunes.


    For a time, she even let herself second-guess the Lich¡¯s original campaign. She knew deep down that if it had only built her earlier and used the dreamer for more than just mind games and communal torture, that they could have secured huge regions of devoted worshipers instead of the empty kingdoms that it ruled over now in the south.


    Those dreams were all ended by the Kingdom of Varenell, though. For months, she lingered at sea, not far from their border. At first, she sent scouts and spies. Later envoys followed, but all of these were rebuffed. After that came scouting parties and headhunters that brought back enough body parts for the Puppeteer to rummage through their memories and determine what they might try next. His words were anything but reassuring.


    ¡°They¡¯ve been warned about us,¡± he told her in the voice of one of the dead men he was currently playing with. ¡°Extensively, it would seem. To call them on their guard would be an understatement.¡±


    Indeed, the longer they lingered, the more they learned and the more bad news they had to deliver to their master so far away. This new kingdom had strength, both magically and physically. For generations, they had built a wall that would hold back not just the desert but the raiders that regularly came from it, and now those fortifications were paying dividends in stopping the march of the Dark Paragons and their fifty thousand undead abominations.


    There would be no peaceful conquest here, she decided, which saddened her, but that did not mean that she could give up entirely. To claim the desert was a victory, but to leave when she could have done more was unforgivable. She offered to use her forces to sink whatever fleets came from the north, but after a meeting with the generals, they decided to confiscate most of her martial resources and all of her death¡¯s heads instead, sending her back to the south with little more than a skeleton crew.


    ¡°The fleet existed to bypass the desert and explore the islands beyond them,¡± the Triumvirate told her in a message that had been spoken practically in a single place, ¡°That has been done now, and at least until we have gained a foothold, there is no longer room for peace.¡±


    This was disappointing to the Voice of Reason, but she did not dispute it. That wasn¡¯t because they were right, though. She wasn¡¯t sure that they were; it was because their decision absolved her of responsibility for whatever it was that was going to come after.


    The Lich¡¯s servants might not fight to the same degree as the courtiers and nobles of other mortal courts, but she at least could see the struggles of competition as different servants jockeyed for their dark master¡¯s favor. As far as the warriors were concerned, the Lich¡¯s ambassador had been given much too much time in the spotlight, and now they aimed to take their turn.


    While she thought that was premature, at least she could wash her hands of it. Even as they set up dungeons and looked for weak points in the fortifications, she sailed south. She had given the Lich the north, and whatever these generals did next would be on her. That was of some comfort as she made her long journey home.


    She didn¡¯t go back, though, not right away. Despite the Voice¡¯s confidence that she¡¯d done her best, the shadow of the Lich¡¯s judgment still frightened her. So, she took her time and stopped by every city-state and principality that had bent the knee to the darkness and reinforced her position there.


    Ostensibly, those visits were about intimidation, and she made a point to mention just how well the war was going and just how far north her armies had pressed. She enjoyed watching the way those strong men paled as she discussed the dead cities or the endless ranks of armored zombies that she¡¯d observed so recently, but it took several visits to realize that she enjoyed one thing even more than that.


    It was only when she returned to the island of Golway, and she was sipping a glass of blood amidst the Amir¡¯s inner circle when she realized she would miss the pomp and ritual of these occasions almost as much as she would miss everything else. She might even miss it more, she realized as she gazed out past the paper lanterns of the party and the glittering seaside city spread out half a dozen stories below the tower where they held a feast in her honor.


    She had no purpose in Blackwater or even in Rahkin. She knew that. They were dead cities. There, she would find no agreements to forge or terms to hammer out. She might visit some of the smaller kingdoms that had surrendered in the early stages of the war, but it would be nothing like this.


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    It was vanity, and it was selfish. She knew that. She even regretted it and wondered what her master would do to her when he saw it inside of her. It was that last thought that slowed her trip down even more.


    Up until now, she¡¯d been lingering to enjoy the strange journey for as long as she could, but now that she worried she could be tormented the way the Lich toyed with Krulm¡¯vanor or even broken down and stripped for parts if she was truly useless, she grew afraid, and her voyage slowed even further.


    She found a chain of islands that had been missed on the way up and spent two months touring from one end to the other and using the dreamer to put the fear into them. Before her arrival, they worshiped a volcano that was just powerful enough for her to be sure a small god dwelled within it because of the way that it smoked fitfully whenever she approached it.


    After she left, though, the inhabitants¡¯ ancestor shrines had been tainted, their dreams had been haunted, and she was sure that at least a few of them would continue to worship the golden skull even after she departed.


    Perhaps this will make up for some of my other misdeeds, she tried to tell herself as the smoldering island slowly disappeared in the wake of her black fleet. She wasn¡¯t hopeful, though. The Lich wasn¡¯t the type to forgive even the smallest of slights. It used the Skoeticnomikos for many things, but its most important function was to document each and every slight that had been made against it, as well as an appropriate punishment so that the Lich would be prepared to torment each and every one of its enemies as soon as their lives or their souls fell into its bony hands.


    It was a fate that, at this point, she could delay, but she doubted she could avoid it. So she sailed on, reliving her original journey in reverse, until eventually she arrived in Tanda, where it had all started so long ago. Back then, it had been a voyage of discovery, and she¡¯d sunk the first fleet to cross her path. No, no one opposed her because they knew with certainty what would happen to them.


    Instead, the welcome she received was very nearly a moonlight parade. Despite the unexpected timing of her appearance, they still managed for dozens of performers and hundreds of gleaming soldiers to escort her to the Sultan¡¯s palace, where she was feasted, her master was honored, and the vows of peace were renewed.


    Part of her wished that she still had the death knights and the other weapons of war to conquer this city and make it her own. She couldn¡¯t, of course, and she wouldn¡¯t have even if she had an overwhelming army. Still, the temptation was there. There was just something about being at the heart of power, surrounded by people who decided the fate of thousands, that felt right to her.


    It was only toward the end of the night when she was touring several beautiful mosaic-encrusted shrines on her way back to the harbor and to her vessel and admiring the tan and supple skin of the acolytes, that she finally met the small goddess of the city.


    ¡°This is Tanda Nihara,¡± the Voice of Reason¡¯s Guide said after a small bow. ¡°And she is¡ª¡±


    ¡°She is here to talk to the dead woman,¡± the goddess barked. ¡°Everyone, leave us.¡±


    She was a slight woman in ivory veils with skin that was every bit as lovely as those that served her, and judging by the reaction of her guide, her appearance was entirely unexpected and not part of the plan.


    After the men and women filed out of the room, and they were left only with the altar and the burning oil lamps, the goddess waved a hand, and the doors vanished. They did not simply blink out of existence. Instead, the mosaics shifted, sliding sideways until the blue and white tiles devoured them, leaving the four walls of the inner sanctum bare of any way to escape.


    ¡°Do you mean to obstruct a servant of the Lich?¡± the Voice asked with all the dignity she could muster.


    ¡°Why would I harm a puppet just to anger her master,¡± Tanda Nihara said crossly, with a heavy accent. ¡°You will be on your way in a few minutes. I wish only to offer you a warning. That is all.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± the Voice answered with a nod. Her suspicion had not abated, but then she doubted very much that she could harm the other goddess if she tried. She¡¯d heard about the Lich¡¯s encounter in Constantinal, and she was fairly certain that on their own turf, small gods of places like this were close to inviolable.


    ¡°Most of the city-states that you visited in your time amidst the kingdoms of Zum Jubar¡­ they seek to betray you and your lord as soon as the situation allows for it,¡± the goddess explained, obviously conflicted.


    ¡°I should think that is obvious,¡± the Voice said, ¡°The question is, why you are telling me this now?¡±


    ¡°Because if the Lich¡¯s wrath is roused and he scourges these lands like a haboob,  I do not wish to be caught up in its wrath. Send a plague if you must to eliminate the city, but leave it intact. I want no part of this. I know what it is capable of.¡± The goddess spoke like she hated both the Voice and the Lich, but that did not stop her from helping them.


    ¡°Why would the Lich spare you, even after you betray its servants and break its deals?¡± the Voice asked, skeptically.


    ¡°Because I already stopped this little revolt once,¡± she spat. ¡°The other cities wait for Tanda to give the word, and I have prevented the Pasha from doing anything so stupid for now,¡± Tanda Nihara answered wearily, ¡°But the day will come when he gets his way. Probably after your first real defeat against the northern kingdoms if I had to guess, and then, the pits of all the hells will vomit up their chaos onto the world.¡±

 Ch. 171 - Almost Done

    Oroza had no idea how long she waited there in that Stygian place. To her, that island had not seemed like the afterlife, but this was close to her version of hell. The heat radiated from the forges, making the dark air ripple, and the sound of hammering never ended. She didn¡¯t think it could take too long to make a sword, and indeed, it didn¡¯t.


    The All-Father¡¯s first attempt took perhaps a day or two from the time he poured the silvery metal into the mold until he had finished hammering, honing, and quenching the blade. However, each time he completed these steps, he found some small flaw that made him melt the thing back down to try again. Each time, it was something different: an asymmetry, a crack, or even a balance problem would be enough to scrap the project and start again, no matter what stage of work had been completed.


    That was part of the hell, too. Watching the futility of it all. Ghostly dwarven servants rushed around doing this and that and bringing the All-Father whatever he required, but inevitably, the giant man would mutter, ¡°No, no, no - this will never do,¡± and toss it back in the crucible to start all over again.


    More than anything, Oroza wanted to leave. He can keep my scales, she thought to herself. She couldn¡¯t, though. She didn¡¯t know why this was important, but it clearly was. So, no matter how miserable she was, she could hardly quit part-way through. Instead, she suffered in silence, glad that lingering at death''s door as she was, at least, that she felt neither hunger nor thirst.


    Still, as the weeks and perhaps even months dragged by, she watched the progress. Eventually, the blade forging process was refined, and the temperatures were adjusted until they were always perfect. The edge came faster; it was a gleaming rivulet of silver so sharp that it looked like it was practically made of liquid itself, which pleased her. The project looked to be on the verge of completion as a pommel and handle were attached. It was only when the time came to carve the runes into the flat of the blade.


    These at least did not need to be done multiple times, but they were done with all the care of a jeweler setting tiny stones into a delicate ring. So, the process seemed to take forever. In the end, their efforts were beautiful but completely illegible to her. The structure was a series of entangled rectilinear knots that had no meaning to her beyond the fact that they were identical on both sides of the blade.


    When that was done, Oroza worried they¡¯d spend another eternity inlaying jewels in the pommel or some other unnecessary step. The battle could be finished before he¡¯s forged a single blade, she thought bitterly. No wonder the Gods were defeated by that monster. They can¡¯t manage to work together on anything, but the Lich is of one mind on anything.


    Oroza said nothing to vent her frustrations, but only because it would have slowed down the process even more. Fortunately, aside from the runes, which seemed to be functional rather than merely decorative, the blade was a plain thing and the scabbard they gave her to hold it even more so. The dwarven god had spent forever on the unique, silvery metal of the blade, but the wire wound pommel and the scabbard had been done in only a few hours each. The result was that she was surprised when a ghost suddenly brought her the weapon wrapped in an oilcloth parcel and sealed in wax.


    ¡°The blade is finished,¡± the All-Father pronounced with finality. ¡°You may tell the lady Lunaris that I have done my part, as promised.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± Oroza said, trying to remember which direction she¡¯d entered this strange room from after so long.


    ¡°But do not open it,¡± the god said, pointing his giant hammer at her. ¡°Not until you are on the moon. The metal is still too brittle, and it should not be exposed to the air until she infuses it with light.¡±


    Oroza didn¡¯t know what that meant or why it should matter. So, she didn¡¯t ask him about that. Instead, she thanked the All-Father for his hard work and then turned and started back the way she came.


    The walk back was another short eternity, and if she hadn¡¯t marked her way by scratching the walls at critical junctures, it was possible she might have gotten lost forever. Instead, once she reached the underwater tunnels, she transformed back into her threadbare river dragon form, and then, taking the small parcel gently in her mouth, she swam the rest of the way to the surface.


    From there, the way to the moon was long and well-known. She would have preferred to swim to it from the reflection of her own river, but the ocean would do. Unfortunately, since it was so dim, she had to circle anxiously just beneath the surface while she waited for the waning sliver to peek out from behind the clouds.


    Honestly, she couldn¡¯t remember the last time it had been bright now that she was thinking about it. Still, it wasn¡¯t until she swam deep enough into the sky that the clouds had passed her by and the moon was in full view that she even started to understand the problem.


    On every other trip into the sky, she¡¯d traveled toward a bright full moon that, except for a few craters and scars of ancient celestial battles, was a pure ivory orb hanging there in the sky. That was no longer the case.


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    Where once the moon had been covered by endless plains, now its shadowy surface seemed to be dominated by mountains. It was only when Oroza got close enough that she could just make out Lunaris¡¯ palace that she understood those were not mountains at all. Instead, they were some kind of ugly venous growth that reminded her of cancer more than anything. It was a new feature, and a particularly evil-looking one that couldn¡¯t be ignored as the tattered river dragon swam ever closer to the moon¡¯s surface.


    When did this happen? What could have done it? Oroza wondered. She wouldn¡¯t have to wonder for too long, though. If the Moon goddess was still alive, then Oroza could ask her again and soon.


    It turned out that Lunaris was, in fact, where she often sat in the albino gardens of her miniature palace. The terrible monstrosity that was devouring the moon had undermined and collapsed the coliseum that Oroza had visited several times before, but it had not reached this place or disturbed its peace.


    ¡°So you¡¯ve come at last then,¡± the pale woman said with a wan smile as Oroza entered her field of view. She had seen better days. She looked as thin and frail as Oroza had been before she swam out to see to die.


    ¡°My lady¡­ what happened to you?¡± Oroza asked. The only response she received, though, was for Oroza to pat a spot on the white grass beside her.


    ¡°Mortality comes for us all,¡± the Mood Goddess said cryptically. ¡°It is only the immortals that it surprises. You should know. You¡¯ve died rather recently yourself.¡±


    ¡°It was my time,¡± Oroza said, surprised to find she felt at peace with it. ¡°But you¡­ without Siddrim, the world needs you more than ever. How could this have happened?¡±


    ¡°A glancing blow that digs deeper every day,¡± Lunaris sighed. ¡°The darkness poisons everything it touches. That is all you need to know. Do not worry for me, child. I have already picked a successor, and when the time comes and the moon finally crumbles to dust, something new will rise in its place.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡± Oroza protested.


    ¡°It is just not my time yet,¡± the Moon Goddess said dismissively. ¡°I have things I must do yet, like guard against the outer darkness and give your blade the last of my light.¡±


    ¡°Lunaris, please,¡± the River Goddess said, casting the oilcloth bundle aside. ¡°You must save your strength.¡±


    The older woman smiled, gesturing broadly at the dark sky. ¡°I cannot save what I do not have. My strength has been spent long ago. Now, all I can do is hold on a little longer.¡±


    Oroza looked up. This wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d beheld the stars from such a distance. Here, she could see the web of warding lines that stretched between each star in a given constellation. From the ground far below, the stars appeared to twinkle, but here she could see that they were writhing or perhaps fighting. The lights were vaguely inhuman shapes, but with the moon so dim, for the first time, it was possible to see what it was they were fighting against.


    The River Goddess¡¯s mind balked for a moment as she tried to take it all in. Past the invisible lines of magic that held the stars in their places, defending the world, there was a writhing and undifferentiated mass of shadowy forms. It was somewhere between an army at the gates and an aquatic organism attempting to devour the stars.


    It was something Lunaris had known for a long time, though she¡¯d never really given it much thought until the rise of the Lich. The Lord of Light existed to purge the evil that developed in the world, but Lunaris¡¯s place had never been to protect them from the night, at least not against mundane threats. It had been to protect the world from the night. From the endless mass of darkness that existed everywhere, the flames of Siddrim¡¯s horses did not touch. There was no way she could do Siddrim¡¯s job as well as her own.


    Oroza¡¯s thoughts were interrupted when Lunaris put her hand on the River Goddess¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Do you know why there are fewer stars than there used to be?¡± the Moon Goddess asked.


    ¡°I¡­ didn''t realize there were,¡± Oroza said truthfully, making Lunaris nod sadly.


    ¡°It¡¯s because of Siddrim¡¯s jealousy and vanity,¡± the Moon Goddess said with a shake of her head. ¡°He would brook no rivals. Not for the last century, at least, since he purged the last of the dark gods. Before that time, though. Heroes¡­ rare heroes at least would have souls that burned with light, and when they died¡­ well, instead of descending into the underworld to be reborn, I¡¯d place them where they would do the most good so they could fight on.¡±


    ¡°And Siddrim didn¡¯t like that?¡± Oroza asked, confused. She had no idea why the Lord of Light wouldn¡¯t want more lights in the sky.


    ¡°He would not release those souls. Instead, he devoured them to burn ever brighter,¡± Lunaris explained. ¡°But now that he is gone, those sparks are mine again, at least, to do what I will with them.¡±


    As the Moon Goddess spoke, a ball of light materialized in her hand. ¡°This one was called Farbaer, and he was a very brave young man. Given a bit of time, he might have become the next Lord of Light himself, but no mortal can stand against the Lich.¡±


    ¡°Lunaris, please,¡± Oroza said, not caring about whom the light was or his history. The name meant nothing to her. ¡°You need that. Use it to purge your own darkness, or¡ª¡±


    She ignored Oroza and instead reached for the blade, leaving the light to flicker in midair like a stranded will-o-wisp. When she opened the seal, unwrapped the blade, and drew it from the scabbard, the thing gleamed like a mirror, but that was only for a moment. Once that was done, the light darted to it, and the whole thing glowed with a brilliant white light that faded after a moment, leaving only the runes behind to glow dully.


    ¡°Do you know what this is?¡± the Moon Goddess asked finally.


    ¡°A weapon to use against the darkness?¡± Oroza guessed.


    ¡°No,¡± Lunaris answered with a shake of her head. ¡°It is destiny, sharpened to a fine point. Whatever evil is pierced by this shall be struck down and shall never rise again.¡±

 Ch. 172 - The Ashes of Civilization

    Krulm¡¯venor could no longer remember how many fortresses, mining settlements, and cities he¡¯d sacked. However, the fact that he now traveled as a small band of himself most of the time instead of as a singular entity was enough to make him at least as much goblin as dwarf. That made thinking harder, but even if it hadn¡¯t, he¡¯d been down here so long that all of those conquests made everything blur together after a while.


    Not thinking was preferable to the alternative, though. Krulm¡¯venor had not been able to drink a good dark ale or a bright golden wheat beer in ages. The closest he¡¯d come was the smell of them burning as he and his many copies had burned down countless taverns and breweries. Still, the faint fuzziness as his mind started to slip away from being divided so many times was the most comparable sensation he¡¯d yet discovered.


    The fire godling had figured out many months ago that if he simply existed as five or six of himself all the time, his cares and suffering would be just far enough away that they wouldn¡¯t bother him too much. The Lich had not yet figured that out, but it no doubt would one day. Until then, even if he had to deal with the random mutterings and outbursts of his copies, it was worth it. After all, drinking was nothing if not the excuse to feel like this while you were surrounded by idiots anyway.


    So, he and the shards of himself walked ever on, almost at random, in the depths, looking for new things to destroy. The Lich had released any number of wraiths down here to map the tunnels and find everything worth snuffing out or burning alive, so Krulm would receive frequent messages in the form of whispered words from the dark, but he had no talent for the arcane or the necromantic, so it wasn¡¯t always possible to determine what it was the things were trying to tell him.


    Still, as long as he kept moving, the cursed bones that bound him slumbered, and the Lich largely left him, and all his other copies, alone to suffer in the dark. It had bigger issues to worry about, not that it had conquered half the world.


    If Krulm¡¯venor was braver, then he would have asked the Lich why it even needed to keep fighting this war so far from anywhere. Dwarves were never a numerous people, even before the fighting had started. These days, he purged more goblin caves and kobold lairs than dwarven outposts.


    The fire godling said nothing, though. He knew the answer already. Inside every dwarven settlement were things the Lich craved, even beyond the blood of the living and bodies capable of being reanimated. The monster that owned it body and soul was forever in need of more gold, silver, and steel to create new abominations. Even more, it forced Krulm¡¯venor to sack every tomb and shrine in search of more mithril and adamantine.


    Even the bones of the honored dead were not safe. He did not know what the Lich planned to do with them, but he was sure it was nothing good. Krulm¡¯venor regretted giving those up to his master wherever they were found, even more than murdering a city full of dwarves trying to live their lives. New families could be created, but a hero of old was a work of singular life well lived, and once the Lich stole it away through its dark portals, it was gone forever.


    Today, it wasn¡¯t a shrine they were moving toward, at least. Today, they were too shallow for that. By his reckoning, they were only a couple hundred feet below the surface. He and his noisy copies had spent the last few days burning out goblin warren after goblin warren.


    Yesterday, they''d found a luminescent mushroom forest that might have been a dwarvish plantation before it had gone wild. They¡¯d left all of those caves as nothing but ashes, of course, but the trend was toward civilization. When they found the vent shafts for the coal mine, he was only surprised that dwarves were still working on them.


    ¡°Feed us!¡± the spirits clamored in his soul, but Krulm¡¯venor suppressed them.


    In fact, he pulled all of his duplicates back together. That wasn¡¯t for the clarity, though. It was because if he was careful, he could destroy the place without killing many besides perhaps himself.


    Krulm¡¯venor was always on the lookout for two things: ways to keep his master happy and ways to end his miserable existence in a way that didn¡¯t trigger the agonies that the Lich had layered throughout his body to ensure his obedience.


    Last year, most of his copies had gotten caught in an underground landslide, but enough had survived for him to be reconstituted, and more vessels for his guttering soul had been built. Several months later, he¡¯d been swallowed whole by a giant purple boring worm. Krulm had hoped that the thing¡¯s acids would have been enough to melt down its body for scrap and release his suffering soul. Instead, its flames had eventually killed the creature, and he¡¯d ripped his way out of its belly to find his metal skeleton polished to a fine silvered sheen.


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    Nothing, it would seem, was enough to defeat the Lich¡¯s craftsmanship, which had only grown better now that it harvest the souls of dwarves to work its forges instead of random drudges. If anything was going to do it, though, a mine shaft that led to a warren of mines following a coal seam might be enough to do the trick. He hoped it would, at least, because short of finding the All-Father or one of his sacred champions and being smote from existence by a blessed forge hammer, he was unlikely to ever find an end to this awful existence.


    That didn¡¯t stop Krulm¡¯venor from leaping into the hole and bursting into flames as he fell toward the unsuspecting miners thirty feet below him. They barely had time to look up before he and the wall of fire trailing behind him reached them. They¡¯d done everything right. They¡¯d watered the walls to avoid explosions, and they were using bronze picks and shovels to prevent sparks. No amount of safety precautions could do much to stop a burning skeleton, though.


    Despite his sudden appearance, the fire godling was surprised that some of the dwarves managed to escape the death trap it created. It wouldn¡¯t chase them, though.l Even if they were shouting in alarm, trying to warn their fellows now, their lungs would be cooking from the hor air soon enough.


    Instead, Krulm¡¯venor watched the orange flames that had started this show gutter and fade as the blue flames replaced them. These weren¡¯t the blue flames of its unfire, but they did look very similar. They were the oxygen-starved methane flames leaking off the coal as all the air was sucked out of the room.


    That wouldn¡¯t last long, of course. Even how it could feel the increasing wind as the chimney effect took hold. Soon this whole mine would be a blast furnace, desperately sucking in air, only to convert that air into more fire, repeating the vicious cycle.


    He walked slowly, ignoring both the growing heat as well as the gibbering voices in his mind begging to release. Instead, he focused on the destruction all around him as he walked as slowly as possible toward the entrance.


    Along the way, the fire godling found a few charred bodies and other dwarves who had given in to smoke inhalation but had not yet burst into flames. He ignored all of those and continued on. The flames had long since outrun him, and though more than anything, he wanted to stay standing where he was, the smoldering timbers were just enough for the angry spirits that were always watching him to demand he keep moving.


    He did, but as he did so, he felt something he hadn¡¯t felt in a long time, at least as a single entity. During the razing of every city, he felt the terrible, primitive joy of a goblin tribe running roughshod over their enemies, but it wasn¡¯t the same as this.


    It took him some time to figure out just what it was, but it wasn¡¯t enough until he could see the exit and the small stone town that lay in the cavern beyond that he finally understood. It was the fire.


    It had been a long time since Krulm¡¯venor had experienced enough heat to make him feel true exaltation, and even at the height of his powers, he¡¯d never experienced a fire like this. The mine had become exactly the blast furnace that he hoped it would be. The air roared into the mouth of the cave, sending waves of orange fires along the walls and ceiling. They almost reached him, too, before turning the blue color that saturated the rest of the mine.


    It was so much heat that it was reaching through the cold steel barrier that the Lich had bound him in. For the first time in years and years, that heat actually reached him and warmed his soul. It wasn¡¯t hard to see why. His entire skeletal body had taken on a dull red glow. He was so warm that his body¡¯s temper was damaged; if any dwarf could withstand such terrible conditions, they might even be able to strike him down in this weakened state.


    The tribe of nearly a hundred copies of himself squired and writhed inside of him, demanding to be free, but he ignored them. Instead, he basked in the warm glow of a sensation that had been gone so long he¡¯d forgotten what it felt like.


    As he stood there like this, it was almost enough that he could believe he was still back there in Fallravea, feasting on the goblin slaughter, or even before that, feeling the power of the forges as the dwarves hammer steel beneath his¡­


    The sound of the collapse somewhere behind him wasn¡¯t enough to shake the godling free of his reverie. Neither was the tumbling stone. However, the stone blocked the smooth flow of the air, instantly killing the blast furnace he was enjoying so much and reducing the entire thing to an ordinary inferno.


    It was disappointing, but no good thing could last forever, certainly not in his torturous existence. Even though the fire godling was still hundreds of degrees, it could already feel itself glowing colder as the ephemeral heat left it as what had been for so long: a dead soul trapped in a lantern of unflame shaped like a skull.


    This sad thought was enough to finally make him feel real self-pity, and as he walked out of the coal mine and passed the large stacks of coal that had no doubt been meant for export to some nearby city, he began to unleash the horde inside him.


    As Krulm¡¯venor reflected on how none of this would ever reach its destination, he started to fission, becoming two, then four, then eight twisted metal skeletons instead of the one that was there only a moment before. He wasn¡¯t looking to let all the demons out. He didn¡¯t want to cease to exist, as his doppelg?ngers began to rush toward the frightened townspeople who were clustered under glow stones under the far end of the street, trying to understand what had happened. He just wanted to take the edge off, and for that, a little slaughter was exactly what the doctor ordered.

 Ch. 173 - Waiting Forever

    The city they found after the coal mine was called Nel-Bartov, and though Krulm¡¯venor had never been there in life, he had heard of it, even from so far away. It had been famed for the river of crystal that cut the city in half like a cracked geode on a truly massive scale.


    It had been described as a work of art or a sort of natural cathedral, and dwarves had labored for lifetimes to cut and polish those giant crystals so that every ray of light that touched them rebounded through a dozen rainbows before fading away.


    As a whole, the sight was said to be quite lovely and one of the true wonders of the dwarven world. Now, it was just a slaughterhouse, and that crystal channel was nothing but a colossal gutter for the blood of so many dead dwarves in the aftermath of his brutal assault.


    That city wasn¡¯t the only one either, of course, it was just the one that happened to be next. Cities were getting larger and closer together in this area. Krulm¡¯venor knew why, of course, though he never said so out loud. It was because he was getting close to the capital of the entire underrealm: Forgeholm.


    The fire godling wasn¡¯t quite sure whether he was attempting to shield the place by hoping they didn¡¯t find it or hoping that he would stumble across it before the Lich had a chance to prepare an appropriate stratagem and be crushed into so much smoldering scrap by the Iron City and their formidable armies.


    It was the armies he discovered first, quite by accident. They first found a squad of red helmed defenders in the byway of Grigen-dol. It was nowhere special. It was just three dozen buildings carved along the wide part of a tunnel where two important paths of the underway met.


    Krulm¡¯venor had confused them for being the town watch, but he quickly learned his mistake. They fought much too fiercely and in a well-coordinated fashion for that. Even when he became forty and then eighty to outnumber them, they did not break or even show real fear. Instead, the thirty dwarves fought to the last with their shields held high and their banners raised, even as he set them alight.


    That battle, fierce as it was, wasn¡¯t enough to attract the Lich¡¯s baleful eye. It took more and more to do that these days. Instead, it did not press itself into Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s mind until he found a unit of more than fifty dwarves out on patrol. Though that might happen anywhere in the under ways, he knew that it was really only likely near a city as large as Forgeholm.


    The group marched in formation, five dwarves wide and at least ten ranks deep. It would be a formidable foe to face, even with fire and ferocity on his side. He could see the design of their tower shields and the way they were built to lock together. That wasn¡¯t enough to deter Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s attack, though. At least not until he felt the Lich¡¯s chill spread through him.


    ¡°What is it you¡¯ve stumbled upon now?¡± the Lich asked in the cold, dry voice that the godling had learned to hate and dread.


    ¡°A small army out on patrol,¡± the dwarf answered honestly. ¡°It is likely from a larger city.¡±


    ¡°The Iron City?¡± the Lich asked, penetrating directly to the core of the matter. For a moment, Krulm¡¯venor wasn¡¯t sure how it had done that, but then it realized that with all the dwarven souls it had devoured at this point, there was very little that the monster probably didn¡¯t know.


    ¡°It¡¯s very likely,¡± Krulm¡¯venor admitted, ¡°Though I have heard no word nor seen a sign, it is supposed to lay somewhere in this direction.¡±


    ¡°Then find it, but do not engage,¡± the Lich commanded. ¡°Such a place will be impossible for a lowly worm like you to crack alone.¡±


    ¡°You are sending me reinforcements then?¡± the fire godling asked, disgusted at what new horror it might have to put up with.


    It had seen the Devourer and other inhuman monstrosities that the Lich had created in recent years, and being close to something like that would be even worse than dealing with the hundreds of goblins that had already burrowed their way into his soul. As foul as they were, at least they were creatures that dwelled in the natural world.


    ¡°No, not immediately, at any rate,¡± the Lich said, studying the distant dwarves marching through the far cavern through his dead, flickering eyes. ¡°Plans are already in motion, and until they are ready, they are nothing you need to concern yourself with. Simply learn what you can and stay out of sight until all is readiness. Only then can you strike the deathblow against the empire below.¡±


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    Krulm¡¯venor didn¡¯t like the sound of that, but he also had no desire to ask any further questions. Instead, he simply nodded, and then, the Lich faded from his mind, leaving him with the sound of distant tromping boots and rattling plate mail echoing through the caverns ahead.


    The Lich might have intended to be harsh, but it dawned on Krulm¡¯venor as he stood there that he felt something he hadn¡¯t felt in almost as long as he hadn¡¯t felt real warmth. He no longer felt the need to march and kill in an endless spiral to stay one step ahead of the vengeful spirits that dwelled where his bone marrow should have been.


    It wasn¡¯t quiet peace, thanks to the tribe of green skins in his soul, but it was something, and he stood there long after the patrol had left, glorying in his ability to do nothing at all. It was only when the darkness and silence were once more absolute that he continued on.


    This time, the skeletal fire godling moved forward, looking to avoid trouble instead of causing it. It was a strange sensation. Until now, for years, since long before the siege of Rahkin, or even before that when he¡¯d sacked Hugelden or Siddrimar, he¡¯d constantly acted with a spear against his back. ¡®Move forward or face the consequences.¡¯


    It wasn¡¯t even an unsaid threat. His very bones were itching to torture him.


    Now, suddenly, he could do what he wanted as long as he could ignore the gibbering voices of the creatures that lived in his head. Now, he could walk slower and appreciate the subtle signs of dwarven society, from the well-trod stone paths to the subtle graffiti he spied along the most common thoroughfares as he got closer to the city.


    Of course, the closer he got, the harder it was to stay hidden. There were smaller outlying communities and, along some routes, significant traffic. There were more guards than usual, too, but that was his fault. He¡¯d spent years down here ravaging the world in every direction, and since there were never any witnesses left behind, it was impossible to say what the dwarves believed was happening.


    Krulm¡¯venor found it unlikely the All-Father didn¡¯t know, but then, he¡¯d never been a religious scholar. Perhaps that was why the Lich no longer wanted him to kill where it could be avoided. Perhaps that was how the god might catch his scent if he wasn''t careful.


    In the end, it didn¡¯t matter. If he moved slowly and carefully, there was almost always a way to avoid killing the dwarves that crossed his path. Even when they caught a glimpse of the blue fire burning in his eyes, he could simply move deeper into the darkness and wait for the dwarves to move on.


    There was only one case in the weeks that followed where he was forced to kill anyone at all. He¡¯d come around the corner at the same time as an older dwarf leading a long mule train. Thinking quickly, before the man could scream, Krulm¡¯venor snapped his neck, letting him fall dead on the ground. He could have simply left the graybeard there.


    It would have been a strange death, but nothing that pointed to him directly. In the end, he decided to let the howling mob within him out to rip both the corpse and his pack animals to shreds, though. This was both because it would be viewed less suspiciously as a random goblin attack, which the metal jaws of his minions would perfectly replicate, and because they¡¯d been caged in his mind for so long that they were howling out of control at that one death, and he no longer felt like fighting them.


    He couldn¡¯t. This was who he was now.


    He didn¡¯t join them, though. Even as half a dozen metal goblin skeletons killed and screamed in delight like any tribe of goblins would, he picked through the wreckage that had once been this peddler''s life, examining artifacts that reminded Krulm¡¯venor of a home so far away that he no longer remembered it.


    He examined the man¡¯s short sword, which was oiled heavily enough that he was sure it hadn¡¯t been used in quite some time but sharpened down enough that it had obviously seen hard use over the course of its life. All the man¡¯s possessions told a similar tale. The cloak had been expensive once but was now threadbare, the boots had been resoled more than once, and the buttons, well¡­


    Krulm¡¯venor had spent what felt like half a lifetime shredding and burning dwarven cities as punishment for all of his failures as a god and man, but during those activities, he was a force of nature, and when he was done, there was nothing left behind but ashes. Here, though, right now, as he sat there amidst the blood at the gore that his doppelg?ngers were causing, all he could do was study that small brass button, admiring the details and its perfect symmetry.


    It wasn¡¯t particularly fancy, and though it was stamped with the crest of a dwarven clan, he didn¡¯t recognize it. That didn¡¯t matter, though. What mattered was that it had done its job. It might have done it for decades or even centuries. There was really no way to know. It was polished, though, and clean save for a single drop of blood. It was what he should have been before he walked down the long, dark road that led him here.


    Krulm¡¯venor mourned what could have been and held that button tightly even as he disbanded his tribe and started walking away again. He still had to figure out exactly where the Iron City was and where its gates and defenses were located specifically. After that, he could lie low and do what he wanted with his own time for once.


    He could spend his time planning the best way to attack or trying to figure out what it was that his dark master was up to. He could even sit there and listen to the voices in his head babble until he went completely insane. What he couldn¡¯t do, though, was let go of that damn button or stop thinking about all that it symbolized in his savage, miserable life.

 Ch. 174 - Return to Nature

    She spread like a noxious weed once the Lich released her from the dark garden in that dead city. She hadn¡¯t wanted to. Not initially, but now the Queen of Thorns gloried in what she was doing as she spread her blight in an ever larger radius.


    Part of her might hate herself for it, but that small, sad voice could only be heard when she was at peace. That was almost never anymore, though, since she lived two lives now.


    By day, she was a blight. And she spread across the world an acre at a time. One day, she would wipe out a farmer¡¯s field with molds and rusts that made wheat stalks droop so low that their heavy grain dragged on the ground. The next, an ill wind might sweep through a forest, and parasitic vines that had never been seen there before would climb old-growth trunks and begin to suck out vitality.


    Her goal was not to despoil the entire world, at least not immediately. Instead, she was probing for the presence of small gods and nature spirits. She was looking for the children of the forest and their sweet blood by forcing those prideful beings to defend their turf. Once they did so, well, all she had to do was wait for the sun to set.


    Because of all the changes the Lich had inflicted on her, she could really only emerge into the world once it was fully dark. It was then the hunt would begin. Sometimes, she was a six-armed woman with weapons of wood and magic and other times, she was an eight-legged hunting cat made of twining vines. In either form, she was forever bleeding dark red sap from the thorns that pierced her skin.


    Once she found her prey, it would not escape her. If it was a spirit, she would devour it whole and add its domain to her ever-growing dominion over the world. Ironically, though, if it was something closer to mortal, then she had to be more careful. She had been punished before for ruining valuable corpses of the rare specimens that she hunted down.


    The Lich could not harvest their souls or build something new and abominable from their parts if she tore them to shreds. So, instead, she lapped up the fresh blood of mythological creatures and the elder blood of the forest children while it was still warm, then planted herself near the piles of bodies she gathered and feasted on the spilled blood that stained the earth until her master sent drudges to collect the necromantic treasure trove.


    It often asked her questions like, ¡°Who are the Children of the Forest? Where do they come from? Where do they flee to?¡±


    The Queen of Thrones couldn¡¯t answer those questions, though. If she¡¯d ever known, then those answers had been lost in the course of being remade. That wouldn¡¯t surprise her. She¡¯d lost so much to get what she had now, but she didn¡¯t regret it.


    ¡°Ask the souls yourselves!¡± she growled, but apparently, they didn¡¯t have the answers that it sought either. They were too fine a structure and fell apart at the smallest amount of coercion or torment, like a sculpture of spun glass.


    The most she could do was describe the moonlit portals that small fae beings opened and repeat the words they told each other before they sensed her presence. They were not her focus, though; the elder beings were just a delicious treat that she sometimes found. Her real priority was the spirits that were so like the women she¡¯d once been, and every time she ate one of them, she got stronger.


    At this point, it was hard to imagine being the Goddess of one pine forest or a single valley. She was not yet strong enough to compete with Niama, the Goddess of the natural world, but she would be. She knew that with a certainty. She would face off against her old mistress someday soon, no matter how many of her sisters she had to feast on between here and there.


    Of course, even devouring an acre a day made this a very slow process. The world was a huge place, and there were a thousand tiny places for the light to hide among the darkening world, and so little of it was held by communities loyal enough to the Lich that she was forced to leave them in peace. Those she had to take time out of her hunt to bless, and ensure that their crops thrived against the darkness and the rot. Those duties always chafed at her.


    Even in this new, mutilated form, she had no love for humanity and the idea that she must make the fields of the loyal blossom even while other fields had to wither annoyed her. So, the Queen of Thorns was very pleased when she found a tiny community that had been missed by all the other armies and abominations that had rampaged through the area.


    It wasn¡¯t the first human she¡¯d found to feast on, of course. Even after all the Lich¡¯s efforts, the world was not yet the dead place it desired for it to be. There were still mountain men tucked away, checking their traps and keeping their heads down, and hunters who stayed alive by always being on the move. Occasionally, one of them got it into their heads to do something heroic, like try to sack one of the Lich¡¯s many dungeons or scavenge through the ruins of some city or temple in search of treasure that no longer had meaning.


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    The first time she¡¯d come across one of these increasingly endangered loners, she¡¯d asked the Lich what she should do since she had such clear orders regarding beasts she¡¯d probably never find and spirits with very difficult-to-decipher descriptions. The answer she received was an intense jolt of pain that echoed through her limbs and the words, ¡°Do not waste my time with such trivialities. Expunge those mortals and then focus on your true purpose!¡±


    The Lich was only kind to her when she brought down some new creature it had never seen before, so when it came to everything else, she no longer even mentioned it to the Lich. Instead, she toyed with it, like a cat hunting a mouse.


    She sent those rare hunters in circles for days, never able to escape from a fog-shrouded forest as they slowly ran out of hope and supplies. It was an enjoyable game that she never tired of. She would let them go slowly mad and fully give into despair before she would personally hunt them down and rip them to bloody shreds.


    An entire hamlet, though, would have to be handled differently. The queen of Thorns gave it a lot of thought as she lurked into weedy groves nearby before she decided that the right way to go was to make the children go missing first. They often played near the edges of the forest when they weren¡¯t needed for chores, and after seeing just how thin and scrawny they were, the dark Goddess decided it was the easiest thing in the world to lure them in with glimpses of sweet red berries that started at the edge of the tree line, with more easily visible further on.


    The kids flocked to bushes to gorge themselves on the fruits, and it was only when they¡¯d eaten their fill of the rare treat that they started to gather them. The Queen of Thorns could have poisoned them, of course, but that wouldn¡¯t have been nearly cruel enough. Instead, she gave them all they wanted and more. Soon, the band of almost a dozen boys and girls was arguing about what to do next.


    ¡°Well, of course, we have to get the rest of them!¡± one boy announced boldly. ¡°What we don¡¯t pick will just be taken by the birds anyway.¡±


    ¡°But Mama says we ain¡¯t supposed to go in there,¡± one of the girls said staunchly, even as some of the braver kids started to move toward bushes deeper in. ¡°There are wild animals and monsters and¡ª¡±


    ¡°There ain¡¯t no monsters,¡± the first boy laughed. ¡°If you¡¯re scared, then you don¡¯t have to come. We¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    ¡°But the rules,¡± she pouted, stomping her foot. ¡°We have to¡­¡±


    Other children laughed at that, which tipped the balance. No one wanted to be called scared, after all. Where once most of the kids had been content to stand at the edge of the forest and follow the rules, now most of them crossed that imaginary line that separated safety from danger.


    It was a lie, though. That had been erased as soon as the Queen of Thorns had found this sheltered enclave, eking out its quiet existence. Still, the meadow that the few remaining children would be enough to save them for now. Slowly, though, a few minutes at a time, each child decided to throw caution to the wind and give in to the peer pressure. In the end, there was only one ten-year-old girl left, pouting and fuming as she held her dolly, waiting for everyone to come back.


    They¡¯d never be back, though. The lone little girl waited, calling the names of her friends, but they ventured deeper and deeper down the primrose path that The Queen of Thorns had created to tempt them. By the time she went back home shortly before sunset to tell her parents what had happened, she¡¯d long since lost sight of them completely, and had been left alone for hours.


    Of course, a search party was formed, but they¡¯d only ever find pieces of those that had wandered off, and the red stains on the trail they followed hadn¡¯t been caused by crushed berries alone. Few of the men that ventured into the woods that night made it back, and the ones that did were dark-eyed and broken.


    She devoured all of the strong warriors herself and left only the weaker sort who could spread fear to their neighbors free. They had seen what such a goddess could do to defenseless young children, and though most would not speak of it, they didn¡¯t have to. The horror of such things had poisoned their souls, and all too soon, that poison would sink into the soil of the fields that sustained them.


    Calves sickened, and insects flourished that spring, but there was nothing for it. These people had avoided the troubles of the wider world in a tiny farming community that the forest had hidden away, but the forest was hers now, and even if there was someplace to flee to, there was no way that any of them would find a safe path through her darkening domain.


    All they could do was try to pretend that everything was normal as the trees encroached and unfamiliar blight worsened. It wouldn¡¯t last. Day by day, things got worse, and good people died or went mad from the strain of trying to pretend their own tiny corner of the world wasn¡¯t about to end.


    Though the dark nature Goddess couldn¡¯t linger here for too long, lest she draw the wrath of her master for other reasons, she would still make the time for this. In a few weeks, it would be like the place never existed. Trees would sprout in cultivated fields, weeds would overwhelm homes, and those that weren¡¯t hunted down by her terrible cat form that hunted the woods each night would die of starvation and leave their bones to bleach in the sun.


    The Queen of Thorns realized that the Lich would probably want to be told of this place if only to harvest the bodies, but she didn¡¯t plan to do anything of the sort. It had made its position very clear, and she had no wish to taint the memory of the fun she¡¯d had unwinding the threads of family and community with a rebuke.


    If it had wanted to be informed of places like this, then it should have been more clear, she thought to herself as she drifted on in search of other prey.

 Ch. 175 - Prepared for Anything

    Tenebroum spent more and more time in the well of darkness that had been Blackwater. Now that Abenend had fallen, there was little point in being anywhere else. At night, it would still leave briefly or take to the eyes of its watchers, which were nothing more than zombified owls that had been given extra eyes so they could see even more clearly in the darkness. This was so that it could gaze upon the moon and bask in the certainty that one day, the entirety of her fine white surface would grow dark.


    What would happen after that? It wasn¡¯t sure.


    Would the thing vanish or die? Would it have to strangle whatever foul creature was born from her corpse in its crib lest it become a rival? The Lich could not say, but even if the method of assassination birthed new challenges, Tenebroum would still be happy to see her go.


    The Moon Goddess was even more slippery and elusive than Oroza, and it had learned more about her from the souls of the mages it had devoured than everywhere else combined. A minority of those very souls seemed to think that magic might cease to exist when she did, but most of them thought that it would simply grow more dangerous for mortals to use without her purifying light.


    The Lich was very skeptical that anything could snuff magic out in a single day. It was a natural force that permeated everything, but even so, it had begun to stock extra essence in its dread ring just in case things should go awry.


    Still, these tiny excursions were no different than the way a farmer might sit on his porch and watch the sunset or a noble would stand at his window and watch his serfs toiling away. They were a reward for a hard day¡¯s work, and the Lich was toiling now night and day.


    Well, at least its servants were. The dead city of Constantinal, on the far side of the Wyrmspire mountains to the north, might be slaving away to build an endless tide of war zombies for all the battles to come. The desert kingdoms had fallen without much fighting, but initial reports suggested that would not be the case even further to the north.


    All that had done, however, was free up the fleshcrafters and the forgeweights of Blackwater to do other things. Those other things, at least since the fall of Rahkin, had been to make sure that it never faced humiliation on the battlefield again.


    The Lich loathed being forced to take the field at all. It was demeaning that it should ever have to do so, but the only way to prevent that in the future would be to make more powerful servants. As much as it loathed the idea of being forced to take weapons into its own hands and fight its enemies, it hated the idea of giving any of its minions enough power to rival a god even more, for obvious reasons.


    So, day after day and week after week, its most clever creators hammered rare metals and stitched together alchemically treated leathers to create new forms that were optimized for all future scenarios that it could imagine. This was something it had worked on long before now, even before its first god-slayer form had been finalized. Still, most of these had not made the cut.


    Even a few years ago, it had only a few different corpses it could wear on the field of battle should the need arise. In addition to its preferred form, there were a few larger versions of similar designs. One had been built like a six-legged centaur to favor speed as much as anything else; it had been given four arms so it could fire poison arrows from two different long bows simultaneously, but the Lich had never gotten used to the gait. There were a few flying forms, but all of them were too fragile for its liking, and it doubted it would ever find the need to wear them.


    Of all its early forms, only the chorus had stood out as truly unique. It, too, was terribly fragile, but the ability to sing in the voices of a dozen dead casters wearing a body clothed in the faces of the dead was a terribly powerful thing. Sorcery, as the humans preferred to use it in the heat of battle, involved one man chanting ancient words, but the Lich found that too stifling.


    It generally preferred to show up on the battlefield with every arcane contrivance it expected to need already enchanted into objects and weapons, ready to be used. Though this option was less flexible, the results were generally much more powerful. Indeed, these triumphs of darkness had become so commonplace now that frost blades were regularly handed out to its most powerful death knights to make them even more fearsome.


    This did have the disadvantage of leaving it unprepared for certain situations, though. A chorus of bound mages could summon a twister or two or even rain fire or disease down on its enemies before their vocal cords frayed or their minds gave out.


    That was why, thanks to Brother Verdenin¡¯s inspiration, it was having a staff that functioned on the principles of a pipe organ crafted. The priest had commissioned a large version of that strange instrument to be built in the inner sanctum, and over the last year after much effort it had finally been constructed. It was even larger than the one that had existed and Siddrimar, though all of the notes were tuned two octaves lower, and most of the hymns were played in minor scales with flat keys instead of the sharper ones that the Lord of Light¡¯s worshipers had preferred.


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    It still wasn¡¯t as beautiful as it should have been, but the sound of its terrible low notes could be heard and felt almost anywhere in the lair at this point, which the Lich found to be quite pleasing, especially when a choir filled with men and women who had each had their vocal cords surgically altered so that they could sing only a single note, sang in accompaniment to it.


    Brother Verdinan had vowed to rip out his eyes once the undertemple was complete, and the giant brass pipes were fully decorated and engraved with all the words of the scriptures of darkness, ¡°because after that, he never needed to gaze on anything less perfect again.¡±


    This pleased the Lich, too. It had already decided that when the man died, it would bind the high priest¡¯s soul to the organ so that it could sing the Lich¡¯s praises for the rest of time. That was the only fitting reward for a man who had spread his fervor to so many.


    Even more important than the man¡¯s devotion or the stream of missionaries he was sending north to preach the truth of the darkness to the benighted desert kingdoms and beyond, though, were the mechanics of how that musical instrument worked. It was one thing to have it playing soothing melodies at a volume that might deafen anyone who wandered too close to the main chapel on certain days, but it would be something else to use it as a weapon of war.


    The end result was a sort of music box hidden inside the golden skulls that topped the staff. There were five of them, each from a dead woman or child. They had all been gilded and fixed in such a way so that when the elemental fire and water that were hidden in the staff itself were mixed, the ensuing steam would boil up and force one or more of them to screech the words of a spell at a volume sufficient for the mages that were bound in the little devices to unleash havoc on demand.


    It still wasn¡¯t a perfect solution, but it was a flexible one, and it doubted that any enemy could anticipate such an odd new weapon that might be wielded by any of its bodies. However, other than checking on the Lunaris¡¯s failing health and making progress in the slow work of undermining the All-Father, all that Tenebroum did most days was swirl through the darkness of its own hive, inspecting the craftsmanship of the various vessels that were in production for imaginary fights, and nameless future enemies.


    It would be ready, no matter what it faced. Tenebroum had promised itself that.


    All of these abominations contained a golden core to hold as much of its grand, swirling soul as possible, but that was where the similarities ended. Past that, each one was unique. The most recent corpse to have been completed for it was built so that it could not be ambushed, and topping its seven-armed form of imperfect radial symmetry was a crown of eyes that looked in all directions at once.


    It was nothing special, though. Not when compared to the spidery body that could launch alchemical webbing that was as sticky as it was poisonous, or the aquatic body that it some day hoped to hunt down Oroza with. It was the evidence that he had not forgotten about her and that when the time was right, it would devour her whole so she could never escape again. Truthfully, her disobedience deserved much greater punishment than that, but it would be self-indulgent to enslave her to some menial task in perpetuity, just to risk her escape a second time so that it might make her suffering worse.


    All of these forms were just the tip of the iceberg, though. It had built a gilded skeleton that could be used just like Krulm¡¯venor¡¯s multiplying goblin form, though because it feared what a copy of itself might do if allowed to get free, it had never tested it before. Still, should the need arise, it could become a hundred-fold army all on its own, so it would never need to fear that another army might try to ambush it.


    Most of its forms were more practical than that, though. One had been made to be entirely fireproof for obvious reasons, while several were built to withstand ever-increasing amounts of light, corrosion, or force. By contrast, some were built to radiate heat, cold, or even disease. More than one was only a container and an anchor for the army of shadows that it could unleash to devastating effect.


    Each one was beautiful in its own terrible way. It even had some forms built solely for aesthetic reasons in case it ever wished to grace some mortal kingdom in person for diplomatic reasons. Those had been created long ago, though, and it thought that trying to cater to such lesser beings now would be embarrassing. Instead, it decided it might split the Voice of Reason¡¯s soul the same way it had done with the Dark Paragon upon her return and turn those bodies of gold and ivory to other purposes.


    That was why all but the largest bodies now decorated the undertemple and the area around it. In alcoves between mosaics and on plinths above, the parishioners below they stood there like humanity often did with saints. Each vessel was just another aspect of Tenebroum, though, which was entirely fitting given the character of the worship it demanded. It was a jealous god, and it would never accept another as ally or enemy.


    Only the largest bodies were stored elsewhere. To date, the largest one was a draconic form made in homage to the swamp dragon that had served it so faithfully and for so long. Its blackbirds had found the partial skeleton of another long-dead drake, and its workers had labored tirelessly to create a body using those magnificent parts. It still didn¡¯t fly, of course. Of all the magics out there, flight was the trickiest, and you had to give up so much to obtain it. Even so, each scale had been runed and warded, and in time, when it decided which terrible breath weapon to install, it would be a force to be reckoned with.


    Taken as a whole, the Lich was content. If it was ever forced to fight again, it would certainly have the right weapon for the job.

 Ch. 176 - Forever鈥檚 End

    Leo was fighting imaginary enemies on the cliffs that overlooked the beach when the mage approached him. He had seen the man looking down on them from his tower many times, but he¡¯d only ever seen him outside the tower before with Jordan. That would have been enough to mark the circumstance as odd, even if he wasn¡¯t strolling toward Leo like he didn¡¯t have a care in the world.


    He wasn¡¯t sure whether he would have felt the goosebumps of fear rising on his arms and neck if he couldn¡¯t see the black aura that the man possessed, but then he could scarcely turn his sight off now. So, he would never know.


    All mages had a touch of darkness in them, according to Brother Faerbar. Leo wasn¡¯t sure why that was true, but it certainly seemed to be the case in the only two that he¡¯d seen. It wasn¡¯t the same darkness that he¡¯d seen in the bad men who lived at Sedgim Manor, but it certainly wasn¡¯t light.


    Still, it was something that seemed to advance with age or perhaps with the casting of spells. He wasn¡¯t sure which. Jordan¡¯s soul had gotten much darker since they¡¯d come here.


    Compared to their host, though, Jordan¡¯s soul was almost as pure as his own. The tower mage, which was all the children called the man, was so dark that he bordered on being a black silhouette, and Leo had trouble seeing the details of the man even as he approached him.


    ¡°What do you train so hard for?¡± the Tower Mage asked when he finally got close enough to speak without raising his voice too much. ¡°The barrier protects us all. Your time would be better spent helping with the fields or¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not all evil can be kept away with trickery and magic,¡± the boy said, paraphrasing a psalm that actually read ¡®with planning¡¯ instead of magic. ¡°Sometimes a sword is required.¡±


    Leo didn¡¯t look at the mage, not after the initial glance. He found the swirling form that was more absence than man to be a little unnerving. Instead, he kept his eyes locked straight ahead as he swung his wooden sword in strikes that were as precise as they were repetitive.


    ¡°You think my magic will fail then?¡± the mage said in an amused tone.


    ¡°What I think doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Leo said, not sure what to say. He might not be the eleven-year-old he was stuck as anymore, but he had no idea how to handle a situation like this. He wasn¡¯t good at much else besides fighting. ¡°No matter what you do with your spells, the darkness is already in here with us.¡±


    That made the mage laugh out loud, and Leo had no idea if that was a good or a bad thing. ¡°All mages are full of darkness, is it? I should have known you¡¯d sound like a Sidrimite with that much light inside you.¡±


    ¡°No, all mages are full of darkness,¡± Leo corrected. ¡°Jordan only has a little, but you¡­¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you precocious,¡± the Tower Mage sighed. ¡°Well, how about I let you in on a little secret to ease your worries. This darkness¡­ it¡¯s not evil. Not like the undead that roam around, it¡¯s¡­ or has my apprentice told you this already.¡±


    ¡°Jordan?¡± Leo asked, finally stopping his strikes and resting his sword on the ground as he turned to face the strange man. ¡°He hasn¡¯t ever brought the darkness up. Not like this.¡±


    ¡°Well, that''s typical,¡± the tower mage nodded. ¡°No matter what Siddrim says, mages are not evil. It¡¯s just that the longer they serve Lunaris, the more light she takes to make new stars.¡±


    Leo nodded along like that made any sense, but truthfully, it sounded pretty dumb to him. If an evil soul let in darkness, and a good soul was one that was flooded with light, then giving away that light for magic would make you just as evil as any other reason, wouldn¡¯t it? He wasn¡¯t sure, but really it didn¡¯t matter.


    More than anything, the intensity of the man-made Leo felt like he needed to get the hell out of there. For once, he sorely regretted the way he spurred everyone else and their chores to focus on practicing alone.


    ¡°I¡­ uhmm, that¡¯s interesting,¡± he stammered, ¡°But actually, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re not going anywhere, I¡¯m afraid,¡± the mage said with a poison-laced voice. ¡°I¡¯ve been watching you, and I¡¯ve decided you¡¯re the perfect person to help me with my new experiment.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know much about magic, I¡¯m afraid,¡± he answered as he started to back away slowly. ¡°But I promise that when I find Jordan, I¡¯ll let him know.¡±


    ¡°Oh, my apprentice can¡¯t help me with this one, I¡¯m afraid,¡± the mage said dismissively as Leo turned. He planned to bolt, but no sooner had he taken a step toward town than a pair of ghostly soldiers appeared in front of him with swords drawn. ¡°This is an experiment that only someone overflowing with light like you can help me with, my dear boy.¡±


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    A shiver went down Leo¡¯s spine as he took in those words. As jarring as they were, though, they weren¡¯t enough to stop him from studying his opponents.


    No, they aren¡¯t ghosts, he decided. Ghosts would have had black streamers and taint that tried to leach the color from the surrounding air. Whatever they were, these things weren¡¯t dead. Instead, they were magical constructs that glimmered with iridescent cyan light.


    Maybe they¡¯re illusions, he thought more, hopefully.


    That was possible, and for a moment, Leo almost tried to walk right through them, but the way they held their swords as he moved closer was enough to convince him an attack was imminent, so he lifted his own sword into a guard, not certain what wood would do against magic, but unwilling to go quietly.


    ¡°Nothing you do will make me help you,¡± Leo spat. ¡°And if you hurt me, then Jordan will¡ª¡±


    ¡°There is nothing that my apprentice can do to me that I cannot stop with a wave of my hand,¡± the shadowy mage said in a tone of utter assurance. ¡°Even if I were to train him for a century or more, he¡¯d never be more than a middling hedge mage. Now come along quietly, and I won¡¯t have to hurt you¡­ much.¡±


    Leo charged the closest enemy and roared a battle cry as loud as he could while he lashed out with his sword. If this maniac didn¡¯t want to hurt him, then that was his only advantage. Maybe he would hesitate, and Leo could fight free. Then he could¡­


    His plan of action fell apart as he brought his wooden blade down hard on the first guard, making him shatter into a million glittering pieces like he¡¯d been a stained-glass window and not a soldier at all. The other one brought his translucent sword down on Leo, even as he brought his wooden one up in a smooth overhand block. The result was just as spectacular, and the second illusion shattered as well.


    For a moment, he felt excellent. Intellectually, he knew he couldn¡¯t beat a mage, but part of him wondered if maybe the man was a fraud. That moment of confidence faded as soon as he realized that the pieces weren''t going to vanish. Instead, they swirled around him like a constellation of broken glass.


    ¡°Just remember, I did offer to do this the easy way,¡± the dark mage said in a sardonic tone.


    Leo had only an instant to process those words before the twinkling bits of magic closed in around him on all sides like a swarm of bees. He didn¡¯t panic or try to fight them, though. He knew that would be hopeless. Instead, he lunged at the mage¡¯s inky form. If he could just hit him, then perhaps he might distract him enough to ruin the spell.


    Leo never made it that far. Instead, the magic overwhelmed him in a storm of stinging. He tried to fight them off, but everywhere they struck him, they stuck to him like tar. Bit by bit, he slowed, but he was practically paralyzed after a few seconds as what had been fragile as gossamer before hardened to become harder than wood.


    Once that was done, it started to expand again. He was in a cage of sorts now, but it was a cage in the shape of a body, like one of the guards he¡¯d just shattered. This time, though, it didn¡¯t break; it started moving, walking back to the tower, one plodding step at a time.


    ¡°Let me out of here!¡± Leo raged, but it was useless. His hands and feet were stuck inside this weird thing, and even if he had enough air to breathe inside the thing¡¯s hollow body, it practically muted him. He knew that no matter how loud he shouted, no one would hear him.


    ¡°Syraliam¡¯s Shapable Servants is an awkward spell, but for moments like this¡­ well, think of it as a way that I can bring you to my tower that doesn¡¯t involve maiming or any other permanent damage. For someone else I might just bend their mind, but the light doesn¡¯t take kindly to such tricks,¡± the mage explained as he started walking alongside his prisoner as if he cared about any of this.


    All Leo wanted while the man talked was to break free and rip out his throat. However, like everything else in life, he simply wasn¡¯t strong enough.


    Still, as the minutes passed while they walked to the tower, that rage started to wane, slowly souring into despair. He wasn¡¯t ready to give up or anything, but if things continued that way, then he might have. Then, as they approached the door to the tower, he saw his friends running toward him.


    Some of them had wooden tools, others had farm equipment. It was clear that someone had heard his battle cry earlier, and the world had passed through sanctuary. Even a few of the villagers were coming to see what all the commotion was.


    Jordan was not among them, he realized. Instead, he was standing in front of the door to the tower, barring the way like he''d known this was going to happen all along.


    ¡°Thank you all for coming to investigate the source of the trouble,¡± the mage said, addressing the growing crowd, ¡°But I assure you I have it all well in hand.¡± The mage¡¯s voice was calm, which, more than anything, told Leo just how little of a threat the small mob was to a man like him. ¡°I just¡ª¡±


    ¡°Get your hands off Leo!¡± Reggie yelled. His words were the leading edge of a chorus, and Leo quickly realized that almost everyone had shown up.


    In the initial moments, he hadn¡¯t noticed, but now that they¡¯d stopped as the mage attempted to reason with the crowd, he could count almost a dozen pairs of glowing eyes looking back at him from the mob. Everyone was there. Well, everyone except for Cynara.


    Where was she, he wondered, even as he hoped she was sneaking up behind them.


    The mage ignored all of them, though, and instead turned to face Jordan, who stood there holding that book he carried everywhere now. ¡°Don¡¯t look at me,¡± Jordan said with a shrug, ¡°I didn¡¯t tell them. This is always the way it was going to happen once you decided you could use other people like pawns.¡±


    ¡°And who¡¯s going to stop me?¡± the dark mage scoffed. ¡°You?

 Ch. 177 - Forever鈥檚 End (part 2)

    ¡°We both know I can do nothing to stop you,¡± Jordan said with a shake of his head. Leo¡¯s heart sank at those words before the man continued. ¡°But your weakness doesn¡¯t involve you, does it, Tazuranth.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had centuries to plan for every eventuality,¡± the mage boasted. ¡°I was an Archmage before your grandparents were born, and the spells that power sanctuary are flawless. You can do nothing to stop me from harvesting this light, but even if you could, you wouldn¡¯t because you know how badly the night sky needs more stars.¡±


    ¡°You might find some twisted words that explain to me why we need to sacrifice one child to save the world,¡± Jordan agreed, ¡°but certainly not 12 of them, and certainly not Leo. I personally picked him off of a cursed battlefield. He didn¡¯t survive that ordeal just so you could¡ª¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± Tazuranth spat. ¡°Lunaris is on her deathbed, and I must prepare for what comes next. Move aside, and I won¡¯t strike you down.¡±


    Jordan only smiled at that because that was what caused the rest of the children to charge the Archmage. Of course, that probably wouldn¡¯t do any more than Jordan¡¯s words, but it still warmed his heart to see the boys and girls he¡¯d fought and played with for so long besides trying to save him from certain doom.


    Then, with a wave of his hand and a few words, the Archmage produced a faint, hazy cloud that wafted over the crowd, instantly dropping most of them to the patchy crabgrass where they¡¯d been running.


    Toman held his breath and ran the farthest, which made Leo smile a bit. Despite everything else that was happening, he was getting stronger, and Leo could respect that. Still, moments later, when everyone was asleep or dead on the grass, all Leo could do was struggle at his bonds and glare at the mage. ¡°If you¡¯ve hurt them, I¡¯ll¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll what,¡± the mage laughed, ¡°I might have to deal with my misguided apprentice before he damages something. But the rest of you¡­ After I¡¯m done siphoning the light from you, I¡¯ll repeat the same with your friends, and if you survive the experience, well, maybe we can do it over again and¡­¡±


    The mage¡¯s words trailed off as an arrow suddenly arced through the air over the heads of all of them.


    ¡°No!¡± the mage yelled as he suddenly understood Jordan¡¯s threat, even if Leo still didn¡¯t. He had no idea what would happen next, but at least now he knew where Cynaria had been.


    She¡¯d been at the archery butt more than she¡¯d been at the beach lately, getting better and better with her short bow. She¡¯d said it was to give other people a chance at winning, but that rang hollow to him. He didn¡¯t know what it was she was aiming at, but whatever it was, the first arrow must have missed because she fired a second.


    This time, he and the Archmage both saw her. ¡°Little brat,¡± he growled as he pulled out a wand from his robes and aimed it at the sky, causing the wispy afternoon clouds that dotted the blue sky above them to begin to darken and rumble.


    Leo knew with certainty that he was going to strike her down. He was going to call fire or lightning down from the heavens and annihilate her in a single blow, and there was nothing he could do to stop the man, no matter how hard he struggled against his illusionary bonds.


    Then, there was the sound of breaking glass somewhere in the distance. Leo didn¡¯t have a chance to wonder what it was, though, because his full attention was taken up by the ripples that traveled across the sky. The shield¡­ the dome that had hidden them from the world for so long¡­ it was fading. No, worse, it was collapsing.


    Leo had seen that magic for a long time now. It was a familiar sight that was always in the background of everything they did, and now it was vanishing. That could only mean one thing. He reluctantly tore his eyes from the ripples and looked to the Archmage.


    Now that the barrier he¡¯d built so long ago was gone, time was flowing in, and the mage was drowning in it. It was hard to see the details exactly because he was so covered in shadows, but Leo could see him drop the wand even as he clutched his chest and fell over.


    The transformation was clearer in the other residents of Sanctuary. Each of them aged decades in seconds, and by the time they fell to the ground, they were already shriveled corpses. Those graying, shrinking corpses didn¡¯t stop aging when they died. Instead, they continued to rapidly decay until they were only skeletons wearing the clothes of the living.


    It was an impossible thing, and he doubted that everyone else would believe it when they woke up, but he¡¯d seen it, and he could not doubt what his eyes showed him. Really, they should be grateful that they hadn¡¯t had to watch, he thought as he watched the last of the dust that had once been the Archmage blow away, leaving behind none of the darkness that had poisoned the man¡¯s soul.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Even as he saw Cynaria running toward him from across the field, part of him expected the tower to collapse, but whatever strange magics the Archmage Tazuranth had women seemed only to affect the living, and they were all gone now. Well, all of those that had been sheltered by time for more than a few years, anyway.


    ¡°By the gods, Leo, you¡¯re safe. He didn¡¯t get you!¡± she said as she hugged him so tightly he thought she might crush his ribs.


    It was only when Cynara reached him and hugged him tightly that he realized he was not unaffected either. He was taller than her now. Only by a few inches, but still, that was all the height in the world for someone who had been waiting for years not to be the shortest of his group.


    At that moment, Leo felt ashamed for the selfish joy that he felt, but he couldn¡¯t stop himself from feeling it just the same. He¡¯d finally gotten something he¡¯d wanted, but at what cost?


    ¡°How did you know?¡± he asked finally. ¡°To shoot, I mean? Did Jordan tell you?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± she said, stepping back self-consciously. It was easy to see that she¡¯d grown up, too, but it was even easier to look away and pretend she hadn¡¯t. ¡°One day last year, I asked him about this spell, and he¡­ well, he pointed to that little crystal right on top of the spiral and said that it powered the whole thing and that if anything ever went wrong, all someone would have to do was break it, and the tower mage would lose all his power over us.¡±


    She looked around at all the skeletons, and until that moment, he wasn¡¯t sure that she understood that she¡¯d done that, but when she began to cry, it was obvious that she knew. ¡°But I didn¡¯t know¡­ I didn¡¯t think¡­¡± she sobbed, embracing him a second time as she cried into his shoulder.


    Leo had no idea what to do with a crying girl, especially not one that had suddenly become so pretty. So, he just held her as he took in the scene, not sure what else to do.


    With the mage gone and his magic failing, everyone started to stir once more. However, the mood was one of confusion, not celebration, and it wasn¡¯t until Jordan woke up and started to explain things that they made any sense.


    ¡°He¡¯d been planning to use all of you for some time,¡± Jordan said, ¡°I wish I could have taken you far away from here to prevent this, but it was much too dangerous before now outside of the protection of his spell.¡±


    ¡°But aren¡¯t we all outside the protection of that horrible man¡¯s magic now?¡± Jenna asked. ¡°It¡¯s gone, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Jordan agreed. ¡°And the world is a lot more dangerous than what it was the last time we were out there. That¡¯s true, too. But we¡¯ll do whatever we have to do next, it will be okay.¡±


    ¡°Okay?¡± Cynara practically shouted as they all gathered together among the corpses. ¡°Okay?! How can you say that? I killed everyone. The townsfolk didn¡¯t deserve this. How¡­ why would you want me to do this?¡±


    She was in control of her tears now, but only because of her anger. They were all getting used to these strange changes. No one looked the same as they had before, and everyone¡¯s clothes had gotten too small and tight as they¡¯d each aged almost 4 years in a few seconds.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t kill anyone,¡± Jordan said calmly. ¡°You saved Leo. Everything that happened to make that happen is Archmage Tazuranth¡¯s fault. If you hadn¡¯t stopped him, then once he was done with Leo, he would have come for the rest of you, one at a time, until you were the corpses that decorated the ground.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡± she started.


    ¡°No buts,¡± he chided her. ¡°This is how it had to happen. There was simply no other way forward from here. Everything will move much quicker from now on, and you must be ready for it.¡±


    ¡°But the harvest,¡± Sam protested. ¡°Surely we must¡­¡±


    ¡°We will pick what we can, and then we will move before the Lich can find us,¡± Jordan answered. ¡°It is overwhelmingly powerful, but it is not omniscient, and a moving target is much harder to surround and prepare for.¡±


    The conversation continued on for a long while after that. It was like the mage thought this would be the last time they talked or something. Jordan was often very patient with them, but today he was especially so, and he talked until the sun set before they decided it was time for dinner, even though the conversation mostly went in circles as different children asked him the same questions in different ways.


    How could they not, though? People were dead, and everyone was changed. Leo had been the shortest for years and years, and now, in a single afternoon, everyone was changed, and the playing field that they¡¯d all known for so long was equalized and distorted.


    At that moment, more than anything, Leo wanted to battle so they could all test themselves and learn what their older bodies were capable of. Instead, as everyone went back to the barn that had become their home all this time, he walked to the cliffs and looked out at the nighttime sky and tried to make sense of it all.


    With the spell of Sanctuary shattered, the weather had gotten worse almost immediately, and it was chillier now than it should have been for this time of the year. The miasma of the outside world had also started to leak in, but he couldn¡¯t do anything about that. All he could do was look out over the ocean with its barely visible white caps and listen to the sound of the waves. Then, just as he went to go back and join everyone else, he saw something.


    Even from the cliff, he could see something glimmering down there in the nighttime seas, not so far from shore. If the moon had been out, he would have thought it was nothing more than a reflection. As it was, though. The night was pitch black, and it was only his glowing eyes that let him see as he started to pick his path down to the shore to investigate.


    Leo had no idea what it was they were supposed to do next. He did know one thing, though. He knew that he was never going to leave an unanswered question behind again.

 Ch. 178 - New Moon

    The moon was black now, but thanks to Taz¡¯s endless conversations about celestial objects, and tables of solar and lunar motion, Jordan still knew that it was time for it to rise. It was nothing but a shadow in the sky now as it rose, but even if his eyes worked as well as they used to, he doubted very much that he¡¯d be able to find it, even with Taz¡¯s telescope.


    More than that, though, even beyond the knowledge of where it would be in the sky, and when, he could feel it calling to him. All through his long talk with the children, and even during dinner, he could feel it like a pressure on the back of his mind. Even if he knew it was related to the moon, though, he did not know why. Was she angry with him for murdering her chosen champion?


    Eventually, that pressure became impossible to ignore, so he stepped out into the cold night air. He wasn¡¯t sure if he would make the long walk to the tower and try to find it with the telescope, or what, be he felt the need to be outside that throbbed in time with his heart. It turned out that it wasn¡¯t the fresh air, he required, though. It was the solitude.


    As soon as he got far enough from the light eyed children that he could no longer hear their talking and chatter, though, he could hear something closer to a whisper or a buzz, from somewhere far away. This confused Jordan, but even if he wanted to resist it, he couldn¡¯t have. It was practically a compulsion. So, he followed it, ever deeper into the unharvested fields of Sanctuary, where the darkness and the distant sounds of the ocean combined to create something deeper than silence. It was there he heard the words clearly for the first time.


    ¡°Come to me, Jordan. There¡¯s not much time left,¡± the voice whispered.


    ¡°Come to you?¡± he asked, confused. ¡°Where? How?¡±


    ¡°Jump,¡± the whispery voice breathed, so close that it tickled his ear and made him turn around to find no one there. ¡°Take a leap of faith, as you did so long ago¡­¡±


    Jordan¡¯s blood ran cold as he suddenly understood who it was that was speaking to him, and what it was she was asking him to do. His first urge was to ask where he was supposed to go, but he suppressed that too, because he already knew the answer, and it was simply too absurd to hear aloud.


    The moon. She wants me to teleport to the thrice-damned moon! He thought, as he stood there, gazing half blind into the night sky.


    Jordan sighed at the impossibility of the request. No one had ever teleported half so far and lived to tell the tale, but somehow, she wanted him to cast a spell that he hadn¡¯t used in years, and reach a place so far away that no mortal had ever trod upon in all of recorded history?


    Perhaps it¡¯s not Lunaris, he thought in a moment of self-doubt. Perhaps it''s merely some wraith trying to trick me into destroying myself.


    That was practically a joke of course. If something was watching him there were easier ways to strike down an out of practice apprentice like him than using self-doubt. Still, he clung to that delusion for a moment in an attempt to ignore the memory of his last and only brush with the Goddess so long ago.


    Of course, it was impossible to forget moments like that. He still had nightmares about the moment he felt the world freezing into place, locking him beyond time in space so he could bitterly regret his miscalculation until his mind disintegrated from madness.


    In his nightmares, though, there was no Goddess to pull him free. Of course. He was just trapped there in the dark with nothing but Brother Faerbar¡¯s eyes glowing in accusation forever.


    Jordan took a few deep breaths to calm down, as he started to run the incantations through his mind that would let him step between worlds. He probably still trusted himself to jump across the several hundred yards that stood between him and the tower. In the daytime, at least. Jordan knew every inch of Sanctuary, and of that tower, still, further that that seemed like a death sentence, and the moon was a lot further away than the top of Taz¡¯s now empty tower.


    Jordan searched the horizon, looking for the place without a single blurry star, and when he finally found it, he wondered if such a thing is even possible. ¡°Are you really going to do whatever a voice in your head tells you to?¡± Jordan asked himself, as he tried to talk himself out of this. He already knew the answer, though.


    Suicide or not, he had been called, and he was going. His only regret was that he hadn¡¯t told one of the children. They would wonder where it was he¡¯d gone. They would feel like he¡¯d abandoned them, but he¡¯d taken care of them for as long as he could, and he could not resist the way the Moon Goddess¡¯s plea tugged at his soul.


    Then, without even so much as a backward glance at the house, he took a deep breath and started to chant. Despite its risks, teleportation was a relatively straightforward spell, when used as intended. This, though, was longer and more complicated. It took time to gather this much power. One could not hope to cross vast distances without proper preparation.


    So, even though he knew that it was impossible, he let the essence build inside of him for several minutes. He continued until his body started to hum with barely suppressed power, and the air around him started to twinkle with motes of essence. Only then, when he could handle no more did he release the spell.


    The world jerked hard immediately. The sensation of motion was so violent that the battered old copy of the Book of Ways that he¡¯d been holding fell into the field as a spasm of shock wracked his body. He couldn¡¯t worry about that, though. Instead, he could only focus on the destination.


    When a mage teleported, technically he didn¡¯t move. It was the world that moved around him. Still, that knowledge wasn¡¯t enough to stop him from feeling like he was soaring into the night sky. He was flying skyward in a journey that could not end well, but that did not stop him from moving forward like an arrow from Cynara¡¯s bow.


    Eventually, though, just like an arrow, he slowly lost speed, and hovered there, lost in the darkness between heaven and earth. Unlike the proverbial arrow, though, he would never return to earth and dash himself to pieces against the ground far below. Instead, he would simply be lost between places. At least, he would be, if not for a lifeline from the Goddess.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    When last they¡¯d met in the inbetween he was in the darkness beneath the ground, and though her hand glowed so brightly it was hard to appreciate her beauty, it was smooth to the touch. This time though, it was the hand of a mother, or a grandmother, care worn with age, and the pull he felt as she grabbed his hand and pulled him forward was weaker than it had been before.


    Weaker was a relative word, though. After a few seconds he was soaring almost as fast as he¡¯d been at the start, and the distant, blurring stars were soaring by him like a swarm of myopic fireflies. Still, he kept going further and further away.


    Honestly, he never dreamed the moon was this far away. He¡¯d expected that his leap into the void would have gotten him most of the way there, but it did not. Instead, for minute after minutes he was dragged skyward, until the dark of the moon blotted out everything, and he was in the void once more.


    Then, just as quickly as his journey started, it stopped, and he was standing there amongst the ruins of some giant work of cyclopian architecture, with only Lunaris¡¯s fading light to hold back whatever it was lurking in the squirming shadows. And he was holding her hand. He was holding the Goddess¡¯s hand while she regarded him with faint amusement.


    He pulled his hand away like he¡¯d been scalded, and bowed as low as he could. ¡°My lady,¡± he said, not sure how one addressed a divinity. ¡°I¡­ your, uhmm¡ª¡±


    She dismissed him. ¡°Please,¡± she said. ¡°There¡¯s no time for that. There are more important things right now than stuffy formalities.¡±


    ¡°Tell me what you need then,¡± Jordan said, rising.


    ¡°I need you to kill me,¡± she said, producing a silvery knife from seemingly nowhere. ¡°Before it wins.¡±


    As she spoke the word ¡®it¡¯, she nodded to the dark, to where the squirming shadows lay. For just a moment, her light flared bright enough that even his failing vision gave him a pretty good idea of the throbbing, serpentine nightmares that lay beyond her dim ring of light.


    ¡°Kill you?¡± he repeatedly, dumbly, as he took the knife and looked at it. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because sometimes, that is the way that my divinity is passed, from person to person, in a chain that goes back to the very beginning of these terrible cycles,¡± she answered with a wan smile. ¡°and if the Lich¡¯s cancerous servant is the one to strike me down¡­ well, there is no telling what darkness it will unleash. It will snuff out the stars and open the floodgates, which will almost certainly wash the world away.¡±


    As she spoke, he gazed up into the night sky and saw an orb that was much like the moon used to be, only it was colored in greens and blues. Is that the world? He wondered. Is that where I was? It looked so tiny and distant.


    He didn¡¯t ask about that, though. Instead, noticing that the ring on light that the two of them stood in had gotten slightly smaller he asked, ¡°Why me? I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m not even a full mage. It should have been Taz. I¡ª¡±


    ¡°That man was a monster as you well know,¡± she chided him. ¡°I only held out as long as I did because I knew that the oath I swore so long ago to keep him from making more mischief would be absolved by his death. No, Jordan Sedgim, you are not much as a mage, it¡¯s true. I wasn¡¯t either, though, when I was chosen. You are a good man, though, and you saved those children even though no one forced you to. That is all that matters to me. You¡¯ll figure everything else, in time.¡±


    Her words made sense, but they did nothing to address the real concern. That concern was overridden by the darkness that was crawling every closer. He couldn¡¯t make out the details, but he could see the surface of the moon bubbling beneath their feet as something grew there, or perhaps attempted to burrow to the surface.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± she said, trying her best to smile. ¡°The boy already has his blade, and the shadows grow overconfident. You will see everything when the moon is whole once more. It is all falling into place¡±


    In the end, Jordan lacked the steel to plunge the knife into the dying woman¡¯s heart. He simply couldn¡¯t do it. All he could manage to do was hold the blade steady while she stepped forward and did it herself, spilling red blood all over her fine white dress.


    Jordan suppressed the urge to apologize. Whether he was apologizing for what he was doing or wasn¡¯t doing, though, he wasn¡¯t sure. In that tense silence, though, he could see the shapes in the dark start to wither and die, and he could feel a terrible power flowing from the blade that held the knife into him.


    It started slowly, but as Lunaris¡¯s eyes closed, and she began to fade away like a ghost, that trickle became a flood. Soon it was a dozen times more overwhelming than the essence he¡¯d gathered for his most recent teleportation spell. It wasn¡¯t overflowing, though. It was consuming him. He was on fire, and as he started screaming in agony, he knew that it was his humanity that was burning away.


    Knowing didn¡¯t stop him from blazing white brightly enough that it drove back the things that lurked in the darkness. No, it¡¯s not driving them back, he realized. It¡¯s erasing them.


    Unmaking them was probably a better word, but it only occurred to him after he watched the toppled stones of the coliseum fade away, to be replaced by a structure that was probably what it looked like before the collapse. Once he looked beyond himself, though, he found it hard to return to his burning body. Instead, his view spiraled further and further out.


    The moon itself was being reborn, and though the stars themselves were not brightening, their patterns were becoming clearer to him by the minute. So were the horrible things that they were holding back, in the darkness beyond that vast and complicated net. Jordan turned away from all of that, and looked instead back to the world he¡¯d left behind. He didn¡¯t understand any of what was happening. Taz might have been a monster, but he was a monster that had trained for lifetimes to be ready for this. Jordan was just the third son of a minor house that knew enough to cast a few spells.


    I was a man, he corrected himself.


    He definitely didn¡¯t suffer from that limitation anymore. That was the reason he could look down on the world beneath him with such clarity that he could see the children out with lanterns now looking for him, and why he could see Leo standing in the surf talking with a ghostly dragon while he held a gleaming sword in his hand.


    It was all too much to take in, and as soon as he tried to study the blurry vision in more detail a wave of dizziness took him and he pulled back showing him the wider view, and the way that the entire region was polluted by darkness so badly, that not even his bright, clear moonlight could do much to penetrate the fog.


    That¡¯s because the moon is not the sun, he reminded himself with something he¡¯d never heard before, as if it was something he¡¯d known forever. The Sun¡¯s job is to burn away the dark, and mine is to hold back the night.


    With some reluctance, he turned away from the world and back toward the net of constellations that kept the monsters of the beyond at bay. He needed to figure all of this out, and that was the first place he needed to start.


    In the end, the only evidence that anyone would find when they looked for him outside later that night was the book of ways lying in the dirt where he¡¯d dropped it. That, and a bright full moon hanging in the sky where the dark and battered one had been earlier that evening. Lunaris was dead, and for now at least, Jordan would reign in her place.


    I¡¯m going to need to come up with a better name before I get any priests or whatever, he thought in embarrassment. Who ever heard of a God named Jordan?