《The Ogre&#x27;s Pendant &amp; The Rat in the Pit》


 The Wizard-Kings Legacy

    The Wizard-King''s Legacy

    It hade from beyond time.

    Without sight, light mattered not. Without touch, matter was nothing. Adrift in an infinite void, the weight of eons passed while it dozed.

    Until it learned to feel by way of captivity.

    The Wizard-King Gergorix had risen in the north of Garumna, plundering the secrets of the earth and crafting them into spells that made demon lords shudder. He found <em>it</em> within the astral world, and named it That Which Hungers to give it being.

    On his edict, thousands fell beneath the sacrificial knife; feeding rituals that bound That Which Hungers within a stone of gold, marble and jade, encrusted in jewels the size of fingernails. And so, its gilded cage came to be.

    The Egg of Gergorix was born.

    That Which Hungers raged within its prison - straining the binding spells to their limits - but Gergorix had not only great might, but terrible cunning. He introduced it to sensation. To feeling, matter and thought; thingspletely alien to it. Clinging to them like a prisoner to their bread, it quickly grew addicted, and so became ve to its own desire. And to the master that controlled it.

    Pacified, it offered its fell power to the Wizard-King in full, and he drew from it a magic so dreadful that it rocked the skies and painted thends with lightning. It shattered mountains and drove the bejewelled lords of the earth into the dark like rats.

    Gergorix built an empire, and raised himself and his gods to the heavens.

    None could stand before him. None, my apprentice, but time. For while his ve was immune to its passing, he was not. Time bent the Wizard-Kings back. Stole the strength from his heart. Burned his hair white. After uncounted years, it imed what no mortal or demon ever could. He had no heir, and his apprentices feared the mighty being within his object of power. It had grown too starved for any of them to master.

    They built Gergorix a great barrow where they entombed his personal guard and all his treasures. His golden crown. His medallion, spun of tinum. His gilded chalice, which had held blood as often as wine. His sword of silver, gold and dragon scale. And the Egg of Gergorix as well, crying out as the vault doors closed.

    It twisted in the dark, growing so desperate for its addiction that it would have bowed to any who would feed it. Ironic. If Gergorixs apprentices had shown patience, they would have mastered it next. s for them, they did not, and it is said that his legacy stillys entombed in the heart of the Forest of Giants, in his lost city. As the legend goes, if a clever and bold wizard were to slip by the ogre tribes that rule the forest and im the egg, then they would bring about an age where <em>their will isw!</em>

    The voice rang out through the cavern. The fire crackled, lighting crude paintings on the rough stone walls. A sinister light lurked in the old witchs eyes as she finished her tale.

    Or at least, my young Lukotor, that is how the legend goes. She tapped adle against the side of a copper cauldron. Foul liquid hissed into the me below. But what can we learn from this?

    Across the fire and writhing steam sat her apprentice, a towering, thin young man with fire burning in his eyes. Thenky youth leapt to his feet. To be brave! To stop at nothing as the Wizard-King did, and you will gain power!

    An ancient eyebrow rose on the old womans craggy face. Is that so? When one is bold, one <em>can</em> gain power, this is true.

    Yes! he cried, his midnight hair whipping freely about his shoulders. A single jewel shone in a braid. I dont care how long it will take me! <em>I</em> will im the Egg of Gergorix, and with its power I shall do <em>wonders!</em>

    A strange smile took his masters lips. Perhaps. Perhaps you shall.

    The vault door of Gergorixs barrow groaned.

    <em>Crack!</em>

    A terrific force dragged it open.

    Moonlight poured into the tomb, shimmering across its dust-encrusted treasures. A hulking figure loomed in the entryway, an obscenity toorge and twisted to be human. It regarded the shining treasures with a t gaze and stooped to crawl within; the mastodon hides wrapping its frame leaving a rancid grease upon the stones. Horns jutting from its skull scraped the ceiling and stone dust rained down, but it gave no heed.

    Hands the size of shields explored brutishly, disturbing ancient treasures as though they were mere river stones and strewing about the skeletons of the Wizard-Kings mighty guard. They ttered as they fell, scattering bone and bronze armour long encrusted in verdigris, and the ancient dust that arose caused a great sneeze to rock the creature. It sounded like a catapult stone hitting a fortress wall. When its head rose, its eyes widened. A crowned skeleton sat upon a marble throne and in its gripy an egg of gold, marble and jade, encrusted with shining jewels the size of human fingernails. The hulking figure was enraptured, and its hand shot out with careless greed, dashing the great kings bones to the floor like trash.

    It grinned - revealing dripping fangs framed by upward jutting tusks - and its fetid breath misted in the cool, damp air. Using twine of mastodon fur, it tied the shining egg and bound it about its neck. With a rumble of satisfaction, the ogress crawled from the chamber, leaving behind untold treasures to the elements.

    And so, the Egg of Gergorix entered the world once more.

    Though not in the way many expected.

 The Night of Sacrifice

    The Night of Sacrifice

    Lukotor the Wise had bartered his decades for this hour.

    Toiling beneath the mercurial attentions of his master, hed remained by her side until hed reaped enough of her knowledge to abandon her. Departing deep in the night, the old womans wet cackle had long followed him into the dark.

    Hed gathered power. Slipping through icy northern seas to the volcanic isle of Eldvioi, hed stolen an ember from its dreaded pyromancers. Mastering its fire magics, he used that to wrest the Vessel of Altak-Tur from a djinni sultan, and spent years listening to its maddening whispers. Atst, it bowed to him, and he learned to hear others thoughts hissing from its depths.

    Armed with the might of me and magic to pierce the mind, hed returned to his homnd of Garumna. Decades had passed sincest hed gazed upon its mountains, mists and vast meadows.

    Lukotor worked to build a reputation as a wise man, earning his moniker and the trust of an ambitious tribal king, Avernix the Blood-Bearded. At first he merely read the state of the elements, advising on favourable days for raiding, but soon began to hiss grander ideas of conquest into the young sovereigns ear. With the monarchs ambitions stoked, Lukotor revealed the most guarded secrets from the minds of his enemies using the prized Vessel of Altak-Tur. So thus ignited Avernixs triumphs, and the conquered were readily sacrificed to his tribal demons, which Lukotor fed until they were fatted with power.

    The wizards foul magics guided the army from one victory to the next. Their raiders swelled into a horde whose smoke stained the skies ck. Bronze helms and spearpoints glinted behind shield-walls painted with the faces of their demons. Fur-wrapped feet quaked the earth to the boom of drums and the timbre of war-song.

    Stone, wood, flesh and even golden crowns were ground in the bronze teeth of Avernixs ravenous horde. They consumed the ripened fields of wheat, barley and spelt, and stole and enved all that could be taken. In trade, they left only fire and death to boil away thete autumn chill. Atst, all who could challenge Avernixs ruley broken or fled. He had gained over-lordship of all mountainous Garumna.

    As for Lukotor, his power was at its peak and his allies readied.

    The hour of his reward hade.

    Avernixs war-camp unfurled before the Forest of Giants, their campfires numerous and wide-spread. A legion of colossal trees filled the western sky before them: brooding mountains of wood and craggy, ck bark. Each trunk grew ten paces broad and ten times that in height, their twisted branches reaching up to w at the stars.

    Their sword-sized leaves had long wilted and fallen to the withered grass beneath, the ancient boughs above strangling precious sunlight. Even theunching towers of the Cymorillian dragon princes would have been dwarfed in their presence, and vines thicker than mens waists hung between their naked limbs like the webs of a demon-spider.

    The ancient canopy teemed with avian life. Crows asrge as dogs and ravens greater still. Bristling vultures bent like old men and creatures at once reptile and raptor, with bright feathers over iridescent scale and beaks filled with pointed teeth.

    Other things drove unease into the warriors, though. In the shadow of the ancient sentinels - long enough to fall over the entire encampment - they recalled childhood tales told by crackling fireside. Tales of things that dwelt in the darkened bowers within, emerging to feast on human flesh. Tales of things with gnarled hands, curving horns and perverse, unending hungers.

    Tales of ogres.

    Even the hordes hulking war-mastodons - draped in heavy bronze chain and armed with tusks that shattered shields - were but timid mice near the grasping tree roots. Their great bodies steamed as they herded together, grumbling and shifting their weights with wide ears waving nervously.

    Brave the warriors were, but the wolf cannot help but turn craven before the saber-toothed tiger. Yet in the midst of the camp, the horde brewed their own evils.

    <em>Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!</em>

    A deep drum thrummed and a tower of me writhed above a bonfire belching a column of inky smoke. Depraved symbols scarred the earth encircling it and wild dancers capered around them, d only in the hides of albino does. They chanted guttural incantations in the vile tongue of demons, which pierced mortal ears. Grasped in bony hands, they waved fatty torches rendered from an unspeakable source in supplication.

    The column of foul smoke pulsed with their monstrous invitation, and maddening shapes began to shimmer within. They twisted in time with the dancers movements.

    <em>Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!</em>

    The drum grew in tempo; the dance more frantic.

    A voice like the cracking of ice cried above the din. Three who Dwell in Ash!

    The shapes in the smoke paused.

    Wee with sacrifice for your dread blessing!

    Lukotor the Wise stepped forth, his bone talismans rattling on his vulture-feathered cape. Unnaturally towering and cadaverous, age had bent him little, but withered what little girth hed had in youth. His great height was akin to a corpse stretched on the rack, and eyes that were pools of darkness swam above a crooked nose. Iron-grey hair fell down to the shoulders, braided in the sparkling jewels of dead souls. Between twisted hands and talon-like nails, he bore a viridian jar of y, scrawled with symbols akin to those marring the earth.

    A vile whispering dripped from its depths.

    Bring the offering. The wizard waved a wed hand, and two sweltering Illian eunuchs shuffled forth with heads bowed. Their backs were scarred from the cruelties of the whip.

    Between them hung aely Olubrian boy bound to a birch trunk, shrouded in white, gagged, and painted with symbols too foul to name. The sun-and-stars symbol of the sky cult, hung despoiled around his neck. His eyes rolled with panic, and he struggled so desperately against his bonds that the cords had stained red. The eunuchs ced him before the me, then quickly shuffled from the circle.

    Lukotor smiled widely, revealing a tangle of rotted teeth. Flesh to fill your bellies, he offered to the smoke. Blood to wet your tongues. A soul of mortal-kind to bolster your power. He bowed so low that his bejewelled braids brushed the earth. Protect us and gird our warriors against the dark ahead. Confuse watching eyes so that we may pass through yonder wood. Grant us this boon, and our gratitude will be a hundred sacrifices.

    All paused, still as held breath.

    Smoke thickened and the heat of the fire ebbed away.

    The fumes grew darker, like water when something foul bubbled in its deep. Three vast silhouettes formed in the column. One mountainous. One lean. Thest squamous. Light recoiled from their vile presence, and their auras held an ancient, primeval terror.

    The boy shrieked into the gag, trying to pull away, and his clenching teeth tore his tongue. Smoke began to issue from him, and his body paled as something too precious was drawn from it. His form lessened, bing wan and more translucent with every breath as more of it ebbed away in smoke. His bonds and gag fell, and a wail echoed through the air even as his essence was drawn into the column.

    For a moment, a brighter spot floated in the smog.

    Then the silhouettes were upon it.

    The screams stopped.

    me red, drew itself inward, then winked out. Only cool and darky in its wake.

    The blessing is granted! Lukotor crowed in triumph. Tomorrow we shall walk amongst the forest under the protection of the Three that Dwell in Ash! he turned, and behind him spread the force of Avernix: tall, iron-thewed men and women in bronze scale and animal hide. Their eyes shone with fervour. Fear not beasts! Fear not the brutish ogres or the deads futile wrath! He wed the air, snatching some imaginary thing in his grip. We shall soon clutch the Egg of Gergorix, and demons and gods will cower before us! We will call forth an age where our will isw! he cried out, and their answer roared through the night.

    He gave them a pleased look.

    Remember who those warriors belong to, Lukotor, a deep voice rumbled by Lukotors shoulder, startling the old wizard.

    King Avernix had approached him with the silence of a lynx; an unnerving feat for a man his size. The fire-haired conqueror only rose to the towering old mans jaw, but he was twice his weight in iron-hard thews. A newly forged crown of over-lordshipyfortably on his brow, and his beard seemed to bristle in its beaten golden sps. He wore a wry smile. Youve gotten attached.

    Overlord! Lukotor started to give a low bow, but a strong hand caught his shoulder.

    The sovereign waved wearily. Even to me, you do not bow to the earth like a grovelling ve.

    Lukotor dipped his head instead. You are kind, overlord.

    I have gratitude, Avernix corrected. Were it not for Lukotor, I would still be raiding Heban farmsteads for pigs and goats.

    You forged farm-raiders into an army, overlord. They are your sword.

    I may be their smith, but you are the me that made them malleable.

    Your words are kind tonight, overlord.

    Avernix nced to the smouldering embers of the sacrifice. They are realistic. Soft words weaken a warriors arm, but what is real is real. He looked to the trees. So, atst you havee to the end of your quest.

    So fate has decreed. Lukotor looked upon the forest wall of verdant titans, his gaze trying to prate its ominous depths. When I have the egg in hand, I will show as much gratitude as Overlord Avernix the Blood-Bearded. I will raise a hand to the skies and make rain so your crops never wither. I will destroy all armies that oppose you-

    Not all, Avernix chuckled. I would not have my warriors and I growing fat and bored.

    Lukotor grinned. Ill see to sparing you a few then, overlord, and I shall bear more gifts. Your throne will be adorned in Yamaputran rubies, you will be served by ves whose bloodlines draw from kings. Your sons will have Cymorillian princesses, Vesti champions, nymph-maids from the Olubrian wends-

    Avernix threw his head back, shaking the night with tremendous mirth. Leave some for yourself, Lukotor!

    The wizards grin was tight. My pleasures will be moreexotic in nature.

    Wizards, the conqueror snorted and shook his head. Always grasping. I say, cold liquor, a good fight, hot meat and hotter women are enough for any man. And thats what well have tonight. He gestured to the feast tent. We have whole aurochs roasting in butter, wine and salt, and the ves have been set to cooling Skjernan mead and spicing it with Heban rosewater. He smiled. Agisil and Eppon are busy selecting tonight''s entertainment from the captives. Eppon has two strong Vesti mercenaries, freshly caught yesterday: we shall make them dance for us!

    The wizard chuckled politely. I am sure the twins will choose well.

    Avernixs grin turned foxlike. The Vesti guarded a wizardress from the City of ss. Perhaps shell be more to your tastes!

    Then say no more! Now, its a celebration!

    The two mensughter rose into the night.

 Thieves, Rope and Liquor I

    Thieves, Rope and Liquor I

    Kyembe the Spirit Killer jolted awake.

    The stench of unwashed bodies, blighted wounds and filth struck his nose, carried by a damp wind that goose pimpled his burnt umber skin. The Sengezians crimson eyes opened painfully, squinting into the gloom, his vision swimming. The creak of rope and wood met his pointed ears. His mouth felt drier than the Ahari Desert when the fire-winds roared and his belly churned ominously, the stale remnants of the previous night of drink lurking on his tongue. Such was the ruin of spirits, yet he never seemed to learn. Groaning like a dying man, he tried to reach for his waterskin.

    <em>Creak.</em>

    Bindings bit into his wrists.

    What? he murmured. Propped against a wooden pole, his hands wereshed behind his back and rope knotted about his ankles.

    Something stirred behind him.

    Youre finally awake, you drooling, liquor-swilling lecher! a familiar voice hissed in Makkadian. I should gut you! Gut you!

    Wurhi the Rat, who had joined him during wild adventure in Zabya, must have been very close; her whisper felt like a club driving into his skull. A club that had been set ame. And full of enraged bees.

    While waiting for the throbbing to stop, Kyembe looked about. The crescent moon provided meagre illumination, but eyes inherited from his dark elf mother cut through the ck. A sea of erected poles stretched in every direction, surrounded by recumbent figures bound to their bases. The stink of sweat, defecation and deathy in all directions. Snores, groans of pain and ailing whimpers formed a sickening melody beneath a despairing voice that wailed for aid from their ancestors in the Garric tongue.

    A small fire spat smoke and murky light nearby, revealing a pair of fur-d warriors sharing a wineskin while seated cross legged in the dirt, their tall bronze tipped spears pointing skyward. Kyembes eyes followed the wan column of smoke, and froze.

    Titanic trees loomed silently to the west, nearly consuming the sky. He needed to crane his neck to merely see the canopy. It could only be the Forest of Giants. Hed heard tell of it from Garumnan mercenaries trying to frighten theirrades.

    Wurhi, Kyembes deep voice croaked. Why are we here?

    These bastards have taken us! And robbed us!

    rmed, the Sengezian looked down to find near all his worldly possessions gone. He wore his white tunic and loincloth, but the star patterned over-robe hed taken from thete Merchant Prince Cas - a favourite garment hed fastidiously cared for - was missing. The rest of his share of plunder from that venture was gone as well, along with his ivory hilted sword and

    He wiggled a finger, noticing a weightless absence.

    someone had removed his ring: his object of power and oldestpanion.

    His lips tightened. This somewhat offended him. In truth, much more than somewhat. <em>How </em>did this happen? he growled.

    The Zabyan had been bound to the same pole, but facing the opposite direction. Her beady green eyes red at him over her shoulder. Think! Think, you drunken fool! Cracked lips snarled back over her teeth, revealing a slight overbite.

    My skull aches too much to think.

    Itll ache a lot more when I smash it open!

    Groaning, Kyembe strained his mind.

    They had stopped at a bustling alehouse by the River Obx near the Great Western Road that lead to Laexondael. Theyd drank there, and Kyembe had met Ku-Hassandra, a wizard of the City of ss in mid-journey to Laexondaels markets for cast off Cymorillian dragon scales.

    Apanying her had been two red-eyed Vesti bodyguards, whose names eluded him at the moment. Wurhi had tricked them into a game of Tooth with a pair of drunk trappers, a portly Laexondaelic merchant and a rangy mercenary woman the little Zabyan had taken a liking to. He and Ku-Hassandra had bartered spells while Wurhi had taken most of her opponents electrum, silver and pride. Kyembe himself had gambled but once with the little thief during their crossing of the Sea of Gods. He had sworn to never do so again.

    While waiting for the game to end, he and the wizard had ordered more ale and discussed the finer pronunciations of the thousand dialects of demons. Theyd continued drinking as the conversation grew more lively, but ran out of ale long before theyd run out of words. She had invited him back to her river ship for a cup of arrack, and Kyembe of Sengezi was not the sort to pass a drink with a beautiful, quick-witted woman.

    But one cup had turned to two. Then to three. All wits - quick or slow - had deserted them by and by. Thest he remembered, they were arm in arm, belting out a bawdy song of a foolish fisherman, an ugly mermaid and a conniving lobster. Then the cabin door had been kicked in. Andand nothing.

    He told Wurhi most of what he recalled.

    Thats right! Thats right, fool! she snapped. If you had your wits, you couldve blown these bastards to ash and wed be halfway to Laexondael! But <em>you</em> had to go off with that magus and havehave <em>weird wizard writhings!</em>

    He gave her a puzzled look. Nothing so vigorous. We merely shared arrack and conversa-

    I dont <em>care</em><em>what</em> you-Wait. She blinked. She had arrack? <em>Real</em> arrack? Here?

    I had three cups of it. He grimaced. To my regret.

    And you didnt <em>steal</em> any for me? she whispered as though shed just found her fathers murderer.

    Steal from a <em>host? </em>he hissed incredulously. And have Kyembe of Sengezi known as an honourless, gutless bastard? Are you mad?

    Wurhi stared at him for several heartbeats, before sealing her mouth lest her scream alert the entire encampment. Now youre awake, she said after shed steadied her breath. Time to leave. She began to squirm in her bonds, her hands bending upward at an astounding angle to reach the knots. Kyembe tried as well, but even his flexible wrists could not bend that far. He made a noise of disgust. I am useless. Can you free yourself?

    Please, she scoffed. Itd take these sausage-fingered filth-lickers a hundred years to tie a knot thatd hold me. Almost out; then we can find which of these bastards took our things. If theres any god or demon that favours us, they wont be far. She nced to the east. I want Cas treasure back, but I wont be dying for it.

    Kyembes eyes narrowed in thought. Wurhi, if they robbed us already then why do we still live? What is their purpose for us? Did you see anything while I slept?

    Wurhi gestured ahead of herself with her chin. You see that?

    Kyembe craned his neck and spied a pole rising ten paces to the north, seemingly swaying and dancing in the firelight. A figure slumped at its base in the stillness of death, and a torrent of ck ash had run from ckened maw down their breast.

    Before you woke- She continued to squirm in her bonds. -an old man came, and I think hes got pull over these barbarians. He had four warriors with him that mustve had bulls for fathers, but they followed him around like kittens.

    What did this old man look like?

    Foul. Like a slithery, corpse-eating vulture ying at being a man: he had a fortune of jewels tied in his hair, I-

    Wait, Kyembe said sharply. Were they braided to the ends? Like flowers at the end of the stalk?

    No. She shook her head. Just everywhere. Why?

    Kyembe sighed in relief. Never mind. What did these men do?

    Wurhi eyed him suspiciously. They looked at a bunch of the prisoners and were just getting to us when the old man saw a boy and man tied to the pole there. He pointed at the boy and those two-legged oxen cut him loose, grabbed him up and started to drag him off. The man tied to the pole started shouting hard, but the old man took something out of a pouch that glowed orange and waved it. She shuddered. The glow was so low youd nearly miss it and it didnt make a sound, but the poor bastard started choking and writhing around like a speared fish. Threw up ash and flopped over dead.

    Pyromancy. Kyembe glowered at the corpse. He burnt his lungs from the inside.

    The tiny Zabyan froze in her struggles. <em>He</em> can do that? Can <em>you</em> do that?

    It is strenuous enough to merely direct hellfire; I do not have such precision. He nced backward again toward his naked hand. And without my ring I do not have much of anything.

    <em>What?!</em> Her eyes grew very wide. You mean we might run into that soot-spewing, innard-frying wizard with <em>no way to defend ourselves?!</em>

    We will have our wits.

    And <em>hell</em> have our <em>insides!</em>

    Shhhh! Kyembe hissed, ncing toward the nearest guards. The two warriors quaffed their ale and lounged as though the surrounding poles were date-palms in the oasis-gardens of Saba-Aful. Not so loud, he warned. What happened to the child they took?

    Wurhi shuddered. Dragged him that way. She jerked her chin to the east. Then I saw a big fire rise up. Thats when the screaming started. Never heard anything like it, not even when The Maw worked over someones bones with their saw-knives. It was like it was right beside m-Aha! Yes! Her bonds finally fell and she whipped her hands forth, rotating her wrists, which popped in their sockets. She began to free her ankles while Kyembe mulled over her story.

    A sacrifice, he concluded. These filth would have us fatten their demons.

    Demons? Like Cas? <em>More than one?</em> she whispered incredulously.

    Not at all like his: A Lord of Nightmares was what boiled from <em>his</em> sceptre, and their ilk are mercifully rare, ancient, and gluttonous; one boys life to them would be a grain of millet to us. His countenance turned dark. The boys loved ones nightmares would give <em>them</em> far more interest. Also, to make use of <em>their</em> power, they would have to be close; Cas had his bound by his sceptres baleful magics, anchoring it onto this ne.

    Wherewhere do theye from? So I can never go there.

    He chuckled darkly. You need not worry on that. Such abominations hail from nes remote even by demon reckoning, only called by the mightiest spells and vilest sacrifices. Cas sceptre was one of those strange things one can find in the dusty ces of the world, with fell servants still bound. He shook his head. The demons that watch over this band are likely lesser things. Vile and formidable, but lesser.

    They can be vile and formidable somewhere where were not. She finished freeing her ankles then undid his bonds in a matter of heartbeats. He rose, still half-numb from stillness and the aftermath of drink. With a furtive look to the guards, they slipped into the darkness. Lets find our things. Wurhi pointed north into the gloom. Folk keep walking this way. Mustve seen five groups since sunset.

    Then we shall follow them.

 Thieves Rope and Liquor II

    Thieves Rope and Liquor II

    Kyembe and Wurhi broke into the dark, slipping through the shadowed rivulets between the fires, skirting the poles lest one of the captives spot them and cry out. The captured masses spread endlessly.

    Most looked of hardy Garumnan stock, but there were also oliveplexioned Olphoenians and Olubrians whispering curses against their captors, dour-faced Cymorillians brooding in silence, round-bodied Laexondaelic merchants groaning in misery and a group of bearded, fair-braided Skjernans who watched their captors with lupine wariness.

    There. Wurhi drew up to an unupied pole and pointed ahead, interrupting his thoughts. That could be something.

    A pavilion of animal skins and timber loomed thirty paces ahead, belching smoke through a ragged hole in its centre. The furs were too thick to see what shadowsy within, but four brutes guarded the entrance with demonic faces painted across their shields. There must have been something of value within.

    Kyembes eyes narrowed. Look there.

    A band of silhouettes approached the pavilion, broad-shouldered and sure-footed. Their lead was tallest and walked as though his steps scorned the earth. Fire-coloured hair flowed down his broad shoulders, and a chiseled jaw sported the stubbly beginnings of a beard. His garb was barbaric, but fine: furs of ermine and fox formed his kilt and cloak, and a jewelled medallion hung heavy from his neck. At his waist hed belted a bronze cudgel weighty enough to burst a mans head like a fruit. He had a bundle slung over his shoulder.

    The figures following him also moved with arrogance, and Kyembe caught the clink of weapon and chain. A pair of lean figures were being dragged in their wake.

    Wurhi hissed through gritted teeth. I threw dice with those two!

    As the line entered the firelight, Kyembe recognized the pair of Vesti warriors from Ku-Hassandras party. Their great height waspromised by their posture, bent like old men from their bonds. Purple-blue bruises marred their olive skin, but the scarlet eyes of their people red with simmering hatred.

    Little brother! A bald giant of a man stooped through the exit of the tent and greeted the leader, his wide belly supported by a fortress-like frame. He gripped a rope in one ham-sized hand, which led to muscr arms like oaken logs, a chest that would suit as a mountains cliff-face and corded legs that reminded Kyembe of the Vedskrit jungles giant pythons.

    The scarred, sneering face behind the fire-coloured moustache must have risen a full head higher than the tall Sengezian; Kyembe did not fancy his chances were that beast to catch him in his grip. Curiously, one of those powerful arms hung before him in a sling, and something glinted about his neck. Something that caught Kyembes eye.

    Bastard! he swore.

    What is it? Wurhi looked at him in rm.

    My ring hangs from that oxens throat!

    What? She squinted as the men sped forearms in greeting.

    Eppon! The smaller man pped the hulk on the shoulder. Youre still fat!

    And your beard still looks like a days growth of mould.

    Ass! What in all hells happened to your arm?

    What, this little bruise? The one called Eppon lightly patted his sling. Arm-wrestling. He grinned, revealing missing teeth. Got it snapped like rotten wood.

    <em>How?</em> The younger man roared inughter. You find an ogre to grapple?

    No, Agisil. Eppons grin widened. One of those knights of Traemea.

    The younger twin son of Avernix took a step backward. Do they knight <em>ogres</em> in Traemea?

    Oh no, brother. Eppon licked his lips. This was a <em>woman</em>.

    so they knight ogresses? Kyembe muttered beneath his breath.

    Shhh! Wurhi hissed.

    Agisil folded at the waist, his mirth contorting his body until it poured freely from his mouth. His face had turned as red as his hair. My elder twin - The Bear-Breaker; who burst Queen Oligaras head with his bare hands, bronze helm and all - had his arm broken by a <em>woman!?</em> By the Three! he swore.

    Laugh now, brother, but Illugh greatest: Ive a mind to make her my wife! Never met a woman so sturdy.

    Agisils mirth grew. Shes bewitched you! You should be avenging a slight, not wedding a she-bear! Uncle Lukotors promised us wives and consorts that sparkle like the caverns on the Road of Ice!

    Now it was Eppon thatughed. What she-bear? Youll curse your words when you see her: a beauty to be sure and by the Three! he swore, groping the air before his chest as if touching great, rounded things. The <em>udders</em> on her! She could whelp ten for me and none would go hungry!

    Agisil ran a hand through his downy beard. <em>Now</em> you have me interested. Maybe Ill make a go for her too.

    Hold now! Eppon jabbed a finger toward the smaller man. This ones mine!

    Agisil shrugged easily. Two men may hunt the same rabbit; its whose arrow flies first and truest that decides the winner. He peered interestedly at the p of the pavilion. Did you bring her with you? Will she be part of tonights entertainment?

    I let her go for a while. The hulking man smirked. Ill give my arm a chance to heal up before I go for her.

    Fool, she could be anywhere by then.

    Eppon shrugged. Then Uncle Lukotor can find her with that pot of his. Shell not get far!

    Agisils look became that of a child stealing from their mothersrder. On Uncle Lukotor. Is that wizardress in there with you?

    Eppon made a noise of disgust and waved the rope. Shes as vicious as a she-lynx with three cubs.

    These two are no softer. Agisil jerked his thumbs at the ring Vesti. Did you choose some men too?

    Oh, yes! Strong ones. Well suited for wrestles and betting. Theyre inside.

    Good. Agisil pondered, looking to the Vestis red eyes. Your warriors spoke of some strange red-eyed imp you found on the wizards boat? Is it of any use?

    Eppon pointed south. Not likely, hes far too scrawny for sport. Hes secured over there somewhere. Knowing Uncle, Ive no doubt he and his demons would find such a creature amusing.

    Kyembe had his own thoughts about their uncles amusements.

    Right, I have a surprise. Agisilughed. Looking self-satisfied, he unravelled his bundle, revealing a set of thin y tablets. What say we get that little wizardress to do some tranting for us? Kyembe could see the shadows of some spidery script etched into the tablets.

    Eppon gasped, his eyes growing wide. Brother! You didnt!

    Agisilughed smugly. I most assuredly did! Took them right from Uncle Lukotors tent. I saw opportunity the moment you grabbed that wizard woman. If she can read what old uncles been rambling to himself all this time, perhaps we might gain some of his secrets for ourselves!

    Therge man regarded the tablets as though they were hissing cobras. That bodes ill fortune, brother. He nervously made a sign for protection before his chest. Best leave magic to wizards and put that away.

    Dont be a child. Agisil patted the tablets and pushed past his brother into the tent. Shaking his head, Eppon followed.

    Kyembe and Wurhi circled around the pavilion to get closer from the other end. They passed between surrounding tents as quickly as they could. Wurhis nostrils red. I smell fur. Her nose wrinkled. Fur and bad shit.

    Kyembe cocked his ear to the air. There are dogs close. Big ones. Hold for a moment.

    He peered around a tent p to find another set of poles driven into the ground.

    A pack of hounds were tied below, their breath steaming and eyes shining. Kyembe stifled a gasp. Hed been hunted by hyena and wild dog in the southern wilds of Mabatia. Hed avoided ravening wolves in the Twinspire Forest, and great mastiffs in Cas gardens. Yet all had been but littlepdogspared to the beasts now before him. He wondered what trick of nature or cruel husbandry had reared such horrors.

    Each was the size of a leopard, with heavily muscled bodies twice the weight of a grown man. Massive heads extended from thick necks, terminating in powerful muzzles of a leonine shape. The closest yawned, revealing monstrous fangs, which seized a heavy thigh boneying between its paws.

    <em>Crunch!</em>

    A swiftpression of its jaws broke the marrow loose while it studied its surroundings with cruel eyes. Great nostrils red, and its ears reared above its head, twitching with alertness. A low, rumbling growl resonated from its throat.

    Kyembe heard a gasp. Wurhi had followed him, her face pale. Away from here! Quick! Quick! she whispered.

    With one final nce at the beasts, they slipped off, the skin crawling on Kyembes back. Malice boiled in those fiendish eyes beyond that of any natural beast he had encountered. The quicker they were away, the better.

    They slipped off, falling into a crawl as they reached the back end of the great pavilion. A din sounded from within.

    Bastard! Bastard child! a voice snapped in heavily ented Garric. Let both leave!

    Kyembes jaw clenched. Ku-Hassandra!

    That wizard, Wurhi whispered, her beady eyes narrowing.

    Scream your lungs bloody, <em>but no one is leaving,</em> the voice of Agisil boomed in tones of one used to their whim beingw. Forget what you were before: warriors, wizards, farmers, queensyoure none of that now. You are my fathers, which means, womanyou belong to my brother and me.

    One of the wizards bodyguards spit something vicious in Vestul, but she spoke too quickly for Kyembe to catch the meaning.

    <em>Thump!</em>

    Something struck flesh.

    Quiet! Eppons voice rumbled.

    Try that again, and my brother will burst your head like a pumpkin. Wait. No, Agisils voice continued, filled with low cunning. He will burst <em>your charges </em>head like a pumpkin.

    A chain tinkled and Ku-Hassandra grunted. A body was dragged to its feet.

    Or <em>I</em> will, Agisils voice finished. And your honour is forfeit if your charge is in, thats how it works, isnt it? Even a bastard son of a goat knows that.

    Silence.

    Surprised? Our own wizard taught me the Vestul tongue, and I listen well to his lessons. See these men here? Theyre clever enough to already be on their knees. A moment passed. Bodies shuffled. Better. Now, wizardress. Do you have a name?

    Bastard child! she growled, but her voice had less aggression in it.

    A strange name, came the amused reply.

    You! Had I my object of power-

    -youd, what, turn me into a toad? Burst my eyes? Maybe, but you dont have it, do you? The chain tinkled and his voice lowered dangerously. So youre just a little woman with skinny arms and empty hands who would do better to not waste my time with useless threats. Tonights a night to celebrate, and Ill not spend it dealing with you. You <em>will </em>entertain my fathers advisor, Lukotor the Wise-

    Kyembe had to stifle a gasp. Wurhi looked at him in rm. What?

    I did not think they talked of <em>that</em> Lukotor.

    Is he bad?

    Terrible. And very clever, Kyembe whispered. A marauder and thief.

    Sounds like you.

    He gave her a look. He is also a wizard, and more than enough reason for us to be away quickly.

    Then lets stop talking about it and start moving. Wurhi crawled to the side of the tent and peered about. The guards are facing forward. No armour. Daggers in their belts.

    The Sengezian looked around the other side. Two to each side. We will have to kill them before they raise the rm.

    The tiny Zabyan looked at him incredulously. Four of them? Without weapons?

    We will take their daggers and use them on them.

    <em>Four</em> of them?

    Kyembe fixed her with his crimson eyes. Can you kill one?

    Of course! Of course!

    Then I shall take the other three.

    The little thief grimaced. Why dont we wait until theyre all drunk and asleep, then we can slip into the big ones tent and steal the ring?

    Because- Kyembe paused. Because he paused again. Because nothing. That is a much better idea.

    Their whispers were interrupted with a cry of rm from Ku-Hassandra.

    What? Agisil asked. Read something you didnt like?

    Youyou found Gergorixs Egg? she stammered.

    Thats what it says? Agisil sounded disappointed. We already know that.

    Better what we already know, brother. Its safer, Eppon continued. Yes woman, we found it, and with it, Uncle Lukotor will bring everything north of the Sea of Gods to its knees. Well drown in gold and wine by the time the snows fall. Think on that. Youre a little skinny for me, but maybe if you serve my uncle well, hell give you his favour.

    The Egg of Gergorix Kyembe murmured.

    The what? Wurhi asked.

    Come, I will tell you as we move, he gestured southward with his head.

    What are you talking about? She followed him into the dark. What egg? Whats a Gerggergwhatever. What is it? What is it?

    Kyembe grinned at her. <em>If</em> my masters stories were true: it is a stone of marble and jade the size of a mans fist, wrapped in gold and weeping with jewels.

    Gold? Jewels? Weeping? She looked at him sharply. Lots?

    A fortunes worth. And it is said to contain a power that can make <em>wonders,</em> he murmured in unclothed greed.

    So a wizard would pay much for it? Wurhi grinned, revealing her overbite.

    Pay? Kyembe chuckled quietly. With that egg, even <em>I </em>could make all the gold you wished forif the stories are true.

    The small Zabyan seemed to vibrate with excitement. This Lukotor the Wise thinks theyre true.

    He has convinced a king and his entire horde that they are.

    Then Im trusting the man who they call The Wise. She nodded to herself. Lets get your ring back, find out where this wonder egg is, and steal it.

    Kyembe chuckled. We are not stealing anything. Its owner is dead.

    And what about this Lukotor?

    The Sengezians grin turned cunning. You see how his ilk treats others? He would abuse the egg as surely as that. This is not a theft. We are rescuing it.

 Assault in the Dark I

    Assault in the Dark I

    The tent p was dragged open, admitting moonlight, a chill autumn wind and the pavilions owner. Eppon the Bear-Breaker stumbled in with belly swollen on mead and spirit fatted on revelry. His muddy prints tracked on the piled furs and woven Zabyan carpets - once fine, now faded from many months of such abuse.

    He groaned, shedding his loincloth and lifting free his neck chain. Hed hung upon it a strange ring that hed taken a liking to. Its forged skull was fierce while the horned womans face in its maw bore a heated beauty.

    Master! his Illian ve-boy darted forth, the gilded chain about his throat connected to a bronze ring on the central tent pole. He held a cup of spiced wine in a silver goblet between trembling palms. Your nightly drink!

    Away, boy, Eppon slurred. He flung his neck chain into the jewelry pouring from the mouth of an open chest. It slid between a lion-headed silver bangle and a golden earring still dark where hed torn it from the owners lobe. Ive had an ocean of drink; anymore and Ill not stand tomorrow, let alone join uncles hunt. By the Three, youve got no wits, stupid boy!

    My apologies, Master. The boy bowed low and made to take it away.

    Hold. Eppon arrested him with an iron grip. Youve already poured it. Give it here.

    With a loud gulp and tter, the goblet was drained and tossed away. The giant of a man wiped his moustache with a meaty arm. Wake me at first light, he grunted, and a pair of faltering steps carried him to his bed. He copsed onto the soft pad of animal skins and soiled silks, his snores instantly filling the tent.

    His ve-boys servile expression dropped immediately, eyeing the jewelled dagger among Eppons stolen treasures. He imagined driving it into the oafs back while he slept. It was terror that stayed his hand, as it had for a hundred nights. His master once lifted a warrior and crushed his back with a quick squeeze of his arms. He could still hear the giants rollingughter afterward. A dagger blow would merely anger him, then those titans hands would be around his own throat and-

    The boy shuddered, pushing away all thoughts of rebellion. He picked up his masters cup and hurried to bed down. If he did not sleep quickly, he would wakete after his master. He bore the scars from whenst that happened.

    <em>Whoosh.</em>

    Wind blew and moonlight shifted.

    The ve-boy nced to the tent p. His master never bothered to secure it. With a sigh, he pulled it closed and tied it shut.

    He turned to wash the cup.

    A hand sped tightly over his mouth.

    Quiet! A womans voice hissed at him in Makkadian, cutting off his whimper.

    He hadst heard the tongue in Illias markets in the weeks before Hebas army hade. Keep your eyes forward and your tongue silent!

    The voice came from only a little above his own height. Sour breath stung his nose. He nodded frantically in the womans grip.

    A muffled footfall came from his left. He barely stifled a shriek. A tall and knife-lean man - hisplexion like night and his eyes like blood - glided across the tent with the predatory grace of a hunting cat. Silently, he removed the chain from the piled treasures and gave a ferocious smile as he slipped the ring onto his finger. He flexed his hand, then snatched up the jewelled dagger and was upon Eppons chest in a single spring.

    Mmf! the giant grunted, but the dark man pressed a palm to his mouth and the dagger to his throat. Silence. His Garric carried a liquid ent. If you scream, I will ughter you like a pig. If you cry out, I will do the same.

    Eppon froze as still as the grave.

    That is very good. The man yed with the dagger, its jewels glinting and its bronze tip gliding dangerously back and forth over the throat of the Bear-Breaker. I am going to remove my hand. You will answer my questions and you will squeal no other noises. Do you understand?

    The titans eyes were bulging and his face flushed with rage, but he gave a slow, drunken nod. His assant withdrew his palm.

    Woman-faced sneak! Eppon slurred. Ill wring the life from-unf! His eyes went wide and breath hissed from his teeth. The dark-skinned rogue grinned down at him. His free hand had darted down to grip what was precious between Eppons loins. An eerie white light began to shine from the eyes of the womans face on the ring.

    Bear-Breaker, how do you feel about being gelded? he asked slowly, his head tilting to one side. The ring you stole from me- Eppons eyes bulged. -has the power to channel hellfire- They bulged sorge they appeared ready to roll from his skull. -and it will turn your fruit and stalk to ash in a heartbeat. No more women. No sons for you, no grandsons for your father.

    No, no, no! Eppon choked out, seeming to sober up abruptly. Not that!

    You respond better to that than the threat of your throat being parted. A mans priorities are always the same, the other man chuckled. So we can understand each other. You will answer my questions, yes?

    Whatever you ask!

    Gooood. Among the possessions stolen from me were my ring, my sword and a dark robe sewn as though the stars covered a night sky. You also took the treasure of myself and my partner. Where are they?

    Iits all in my spoils!

    Crimson eyes narrowed. I do not see them here.

    Eppon nced over to a pile of furs on the opposite end of the tent. T-there! Theyre over there! Ive hadnt yet separated them!

    The ve boy was dragged to the pile by a wiry strength and heard the furs being flipped. He was too terrified to even nce toward his own captor. Its here! Its here! the woman crowed. My things! Yours!

    You are doing veeeery weeell. The dark man grinned down at the overlords son. Now, you will tell me where the wizard and her two Vesti bodyguards are.

    U-uncle had no interest in the wizard! M-my brother took them back to his tent!

    Very good, very good, Eppon. You are doing very well. Now, where will you search for the Egg of Gergorix?

    W-what? You cant mean to-Argh! his words died into a low squeal as the man twisted hishers deliberately.

    Careful, Bear-Breaker. Another wrong word and you will end this night a eunuch.

    N-northwest! Eppon whined. U-uncle says there are ruins northwest! Three days walk! In the ogres territory! W-were to search the ruins!

    He sighed in relief when his assant finally removed his hand.

    Good man. You will go to sleep again. The dark man raised his ring beneath Eppons face. It red with white fire, hissing out a strange purple smoke. The giant Garumnan gave a cough that shuddered his whole body and went limp like a boned fish. He neither snored or stirred, and were it not for the near-absent breaths slightly moving his chest, he would have been a dead man to the eye.

    What did you do? the woman demanded.

    Subi and incubi demons breathe a mist to ce their victims in slumber. I used an invocation that does much the same. He looked down at the reposed form. It will take strong magic to wake ourrge friend, which will waste our pursuers time.

    And what should we do with this one?

    The hand tightened on the boys mouth, and he shook in fright. The dark man raised his hand and ced it in the midst of his gilded chain.

    <em>Hisssssss!</em>

    His ring red and the golden links parted, dripping down to harden on the furs like gilded tears. You are free now, he told the boy. Run away.

    The ve-boy blinked.

    Run <em>away!</em>

    With a yelp, the boy mbered out of the tent and disappeared into the night.

    Fool! What if someone sees him? Wurhi demanded.

    The Sengezian gave an easy shrug as he belted his sword on his waist. He inspected his robe for any rips. They are drunk or asleep and have their ves running about to fetch things for them as they bed. One more unarmed boy will not draw the eye.

    Fair enou-Wait! Wurhi snatched up a goblet from her share of Cas treasure. The oaf scratched it! <em>Scratched it!</em> I should gut him now!

    A dead son of an overlord will be mourned and avenged. A bewitched one calls for time and resources to wake, and we will need all the time we can get if we are to find the egg before this army does.

    The little thief glowered at the sleeping giant. Only magic can wake him?

    Kyembe nodded, and Wurhi stomped up to Eppon and spit on his face. Twice.

    There, lets go.

    Hooold, hooold now. The Sengezians eyes lit up. He plucked from Eppons spoils a small, mummified hand bound by a leather ne. The grotesque fingers sparkled with silver and sapphire rings. This is an object of power, and I think we may gain more time if we deliver it back to its owner.

    its that wizards, isnt it?

    That it is.

    youre still hoping for weird wizard writhings, arent you?

    I am <em>not!</em>

    They slipped from Eppons tent and cautiously crossed the camps centre. Theyd seen the younger of Avernixs twins stumble drunkenly toward his tent while watching the festivities earlier, hidden from view.

    The revel had been a wild affair.

    Drink gushed like a spring flood. Warriors had gorged themselves on steaming joints of meat and hot wine served by trembling women and children. Theyd arm-wrestled on barrels, and the hulking Eppon had defeated allers with his good arm. Even his father and brother were no match for him. Agisil had rolled dice and fondled ves, quickly growing red-faced and sloppy. The overlord had watched all from a throne of twisted branches interwoven with skulls. Hed downed mead with dignity in one moment, then burst raucously into the festivities the next.

    With a single p, he hadmanded the entertainment to its next stage.

    A space was cleared around the fires and the most robust captives were herded in at spear-point. They were forced to grapple in the muck to the mour of drunken jeers and wagers for stolen coin, treasures and weapons. Countrymen had been pitted against countrymen. Ounder against ounder. It mattered not. Avernix and his horde drank in the cruel amusement like sweet wine; untouched and untouchable, like those who walk on water.

    When a hulking Skjernan raider had snapped the neck of an ox-like Garumnan farmhand, cheers erupted and hand drums were brought forth. The fairest prisoners were made to dance, caper and writhe to a frantic beat. Whooping and pping had swollen when the Vesti warriors were dragged into the firelight. They held defiant and still at first, but a dagger held to their charges throat had seen them begin a reluctant dance from their homnd - a sword-dance passed from mothers to daughters for a thousand years.

    Though they were without des, the threat in every movement was explicit. Still, their militant grace had attracted appreciation, and their sullen, hate-filled eyes only spurred their captors further. Upon finishing, theyd been dragged off like used carcasses.

    Ku-Hassandra had been chained to the leg of a chair of Riyenese craftsmanship, painted ck, piled with cushions and iid with silver. Within this sat an old man that Kyembe presumed was Lukotor the Wise. His countenance had radiated an awful power, the mere thought of which made the Sengezian thankful hed regained his ring.

    Kyembe had watched the old wizard with particr interest as hed questioned the wizardress. The old man had seemed to find Ku-Hassandra tiresome, growing bored then agitated. In less time than it took for him to drain his goblet of spiced Skjernan mead, she was removed from his sight at the dismissal of his skeletal hand. The two soutnders had wondered where she and the two Vesti were taken.

    With any hope, they would know soon.

 Assault in the Dark II

    Assault in the Dark II

    Now the nights merriment had ended. Bonfires had died to cinders, reced by the cold of a northern Garumnan night, and Avernixs fur-d warriors snored under the sky in various states of inebriety. y bowls and drinking horns were scattered haphazardly, and the two soutnders stepped with care, lest an ill-ced foot shatter one.

    Theboured voices of those who had continued the festivities in more private manners drifted from surrounding tents. Wurhi dreaded finding such soundsing from Agisils pavilion as it loomed ahead, but they instead found it eerily silent.

    No fire burned and the tent p was tied shut.

    The Zabyan thief peered about, but spied no signs of life. Agisil, it seemed, had sent his guards away to celebrate, but that did not exin the stillness within. She exchanged a look with her partner. A man like him gets drunk, drags three ve-women to his tent and just goes to sleep?

    Kyembes crimson eyes narrowed, standing out eerily in the dark. Not in all the war-camps I have ever known. Unless he was very, very drunk.

    The two slipped up to the entrance and listened.

    <em>Grrrrnd. Clink.</em>

    From within came the quiet grinding of metal on metal and the clink of chain.

    cing a hand on his sword, Kyembe reached quickly for the tent p.

    Wait, whatre you doing?! Wurhi whispered, but toote to stop him from ripping it open. Moonlight poured into the tent.

    Wurhi froze.

    Agisil, youngest twin son of Avernix,y sprawled on the cold earth with mouth agape and sinister bruises coiling about his neck. Wurhi had seen many who crossed The Maw only to be found with bulging bloodshot eyes and simr markings ringing their throats.

    Above his corpse crouched three figures, two of which peered at the entryway with red eyes that burned like coals. The Vesti warriors gave wolfish snarls, drawing closer to their charge. One had taken a dagger to her chain with little avail, while the other held Agisils bronze cudgel ready to spring upon any that came within reach of her fetters. Ku-Hassandra cringed behind them, her beauteous countenance stiffened in shock.

    The club-wielding Vesti rose, ready to strike, but stopped in confusion when her eyes adjusted to the moonlight. She fixed upon Wurhi. You! How are you here?

    Before the Zabyan could answer, the Sengezian pulled her into the tent and closed the entrance. Catch, he tossed something toward the wizard.

    The other Vesti moved with the quickness of a serpent, snatching it from mid-air and drawing back her dagger, but stilled at the feel of what shed just caught.

    She stared at a mummified hand dripping in sapphire rings.

    That is mine! Ku-Hassandra darted forth, snatching it from her dumbfounded bodyguard. She slipped its leather loop around her neck and, clutching it to her herself, sighed deeply as though the hand were her own flesh re-attached. At longst, she murmured in relief, looking in surprise to the pair of soutnders before the entryway. Thank you, I thought you long dead.

    Conveniently not, Kyembe said simply, crouching down to peer at the strangled Agisil. He touched the bruising on his neck. With the chains, yes? he looked to the warrior with the dagger. Like herpanion, she was lean and muscr like a wolf.

    The boy was a fool to leave himself alone with a pair of Vesti. She red at the body with disgust.

    Even bound ones. The Sengezian nodded sagely. We did not have chance to speak in the alehouse. I am Kyembe of Sengezi, and this is-

    I know her, she red at Wurhi, who shifted ufortably. She cheated us out of most of our wages.

    I didnt cheat! Wurhi lied quickly. Your luck is trash! me the gods, not me!

    Nows not the time, the club-wielder cut in. I am Thesiliea of Vestulon.

    Ippolyte of Vestulon, the dagger wielder offered.

    A pleasure. Kyembe examined them with interest before looking toward the tent p. The horde is mostly asleep. We can make a clean escape, if we move swiftly.

    Good, Ive had enough of this filthy ce. Ku-Hassandra touched one of the rings on the mummified hand and hissed in a sibnt tongue. The chains binding the three women writhed into unnatural life, bronze links forming glinting scales and metal melding into flesh. The shackles transformed into a trio of serpents - brass-scaled and ruby-eyed - and unwound from the womens waists to slither to the wizard.

    They wrapped about her limbs as though she were a bower for ophidian kind.

    Wurhi cringed while the Vesti looked on in horror. The more the Zabyan saw of magic, the more determined she became to avoid it. As a shapeshifter, though, she was dimly aware of her own hypocrisy.

    Kyembe looked on with fascination scrawled upon his face. Cleveeeeer, he mused, lowering himself to appraise the serpents. Do they remain alive or change back? Do they-

    Not now, fool! the small Zabyan snapped.

    Ippolyte and Thesiliea sprung into movement, snatching scattered arms from Agisils tent and girding themselves for battle. Ill avenge myself against therge one before I leave. Thesilieas knuckles cracked dangerously on the cudgel.

    You may do that, Kyembe agreed. But I ask that you do not take his life.

    She looked at him sternly. You have my gratitude for reuniting our charge with her magic, but that doesnt mean you canmand us. Well do what we must for our honour.

    What if the reason was for tactics?

    Ippolyte frowned. What do you mean?

    He looked to Ku-Hassandra hopefully, pointing to the corpse. Iy the Cubus Mist on the brother of this one.

    Her eyebrows rose. Their wizard will need time in breaking it.

    And I left a little surprise for when the spell is lifted. Kyembe grinned viciously.

    Cruel and clever. You deserve your reputation.

    Not half so clever as the serpents. A wizard as poor as I could never manage such a feat. Kyembe looked to the lean creatures, which flicked their tongues at Wurhi with interest.

    The rat-shapeshifter took arge step away from them.

    One is immediate cunning, the other foresight. Ku-Hassandra stroked the head of one of the snakes. Both have merit.

    Wurhis expression soured. Did <em>all</em> wizards stand around congratting each other endlessly? She spoke before it could go any farther. Lets split just outside the camp. Theyll be confused if they try to track us.

    Theres sense in that, Ku-Hassandra agreed. Theyll need to divide their forces to follow both our parties. Well make south to find my boat.

    We shall travel north, Kyembe said. If you reach Laexondael, let us meet again. He looked to the Vesti. I have drunk with your charge, but not with you. Care to fix thatter?

    Youre helping us escape, Thesiliea extended her hand and grasped his forearm in a Tigrisian handshake. Id have drink with you any day.

    A sly smile curled across his lips. I will hold you to that.

    Ippolyte stepped toward Wurhi and looked down. And you. Ill get my wage back, thats a promise.

    With your luck, I wouldnt bet on it. The Zabyan smirked up at her.

    Enough talk, Ku-Hassandra scooped up Lukotors tablets and gave them to the Sengezian. Here. Details of the Egg of Gergorix and of the tribes demons. Ive read them, but you might find them of some use.

    I shall dly take them. He wrapped them carefully and bundled them to his back.

    The older wizard looked up at him suspiciously. Youre not going for the egg, are you?

    Wurhi held her face still while Kyembe did not answer.

    That is death, Ku-Hassandra warned. But what you both do after we leave are your own affairs. She lifted the mummified hand and touched the ring on the index finger. All of you approach me. I will gird us against the mortal eye.

    Youll what? the Zabyan retreated a step.

    By the Stars, a spell of invisibility! Kyembe gazed at the mummified hand, impressed. Even my master could never find one in all his travels!

    Wurhi eyed the hand as though it were a firebrand. A spell of what?

    It will make us disappear!

    Itll <em>what!?</em> She recoiled, but toote. Ku-Hassandra finished her incantation and vanished like the early morning mists. Wurhi, Kyembe and the two Vesti abruptly did the same.

    <em>Thud.</em>

    Wurhi? Kyembes voice spoke from empty air. Wurhi?

    The Zabyan had copsed.

    Once Kyembe felt around, found her on the ground and shook sense back into her, the group departed Agisils tent. Wurhis earlier horrors quickly gave way to childlike wonder. She waved her hands before her face and gawped at literally nothing. Her footprints appearing in the mud were the only sign of her passing and her mind threatened explosion at all the possibilities.

    They are gone, Kyembes voice sounded from right beside her, and she nearly shrieked. There were some downsides, it seemed. They will make for the south after they regain their equipment from Eppons spoils, he chuckled darkly. And they will leave him an amusing token of memory.

    Good, good. Still filled with exhration, she hardly listened. Hey! Why dont we slit the throats of that king and his wizard before we go? No one can see us!

    That would not be wise, his voice dropped low. Any wizard that reaches this Lukotors age will not sleep without many wards about their bower. Without knowing the proper pass-ways, we might well have our blood boiled before we got within a dozen paces. As for the king, severing a life is a burden on the world, and the ripples of such an act can spoil more delicate magics. This spell is one. We would appear again and I doubt he is foolish enough to sleep unguarded, like his sons. Escape would be impossible.

    She snorted, but held herints.

    Hidden from the eye, they moved quickly through the dark camp. Light footprints were their only sign of passing. The power of it continued to tickle Wurhis spirits. Soon, theyd crossed the crude boundary-line of the encampment and it was near impossible to stem her giddyughter.

    Her mood, though, dropped upon reaching the titanic trees.

    The tiny Zabyan craned her neck between roots rising as high as elephants. She was a little woman, but never had she felt smaller in all her life. Cold wind chilled her body and shook the massive branches. Their creaking sounded like the groaning of the very earth itself. A foul scent touched her sharp nose: greenery and death intertwined like a graveyard abandoned long ago. Cancan we find our way through this ce? she murmured.

    Kyembe pped her on the back. I spent myte boyhood in one of the greatest rainforests south of the Sea of Gods. Worry not.

    She swallowed. Shed never seen a forest before leaving her desert homnd. The closest thing had been the cultivated gardens of the merchant princes. Shed found the woonds of Garumna pretty at first, but dampness and alien noises quickly cured her of their charm. There was something frightful about the woods at night, shed discovered, something that gave rise to a primal fear shed never known. And these monstrous trees made the towering oaks shed gawked at look likep-cats next to lions.

    Steadying herself, she tried to convince her senses that this was just another kind of city. Another winding maze of alleyways and hidden ces and dangers. She knew those well enough.

    Take my hand. She held it out toward Kyembes voice. I cant see you and might not be able to smell you in there. I dont want to wander away by myself like an idiot.

    I will not let you, Kyembe promised. Nowe. The spell will lose power the farther we get from its caster, and we need to cover as much ground as we can before it fades.

    The Sengezians slim, calloused hand wrapped around her own and pulled her forth.

    Steeling herself, she stepped into the tree line.

    Shed survived Cas and his Lord of Nightmares. Perhaps her luck would hold out.

    Ku-Hassandra touched the ring on the mummified pinky finger hanging from her neck and spoke a word of power. She felt her bodyguards tense as their footprints faded behind them, leaving no trace of the trio. The same spell blotted out their scent from the grass and earth. Not even dogs could follow them now.

    There, she finished. Now only one trail leads from their camp tonight.

    She heard one of the guards shift in surprise. Theyll follow the other two. Theyll think theyre the ones who killed that Agisil, Ippolytes voice said.

    Why did you not tell them this was your n? Thesiliea added.

    The wizard frowned, unseen. The Sengezian would have tried to hide their trail, and its better for us if they are more easily followed. Like this, we shall be back upon the boat before the barbarians realize the truth.

    You made them a decoy, Ippolytes tone carried a note of disapproval that Ku-Hassandra did not appreciate. After they gave us aid unbidden.

    And I helped them in return, Ku-Hassandra countered, and her coiling serpents grew agitated. I hid them with my magic and gave them Lukotors tablets. All debts are paid, and we are as strangers once more. I know they go for the egg, and the moment they decided that, theyd already killed themselves. She turned to the south. In this way, their deaths will not be useless. Nowe, we have far to go.

    Ufortably, her bodyguards followed, muttering a prayer of safe travels in low tones.

    It was not only for them.

 The Hunt in the Mist I

    The Hunt in the Mist I

    My sons! Overlord Avernix roared.

    The camp was in chaos.

    Warriors ran to and fro, eager to make themselves useful lest they catch their sovereigns wrath. The air was thick with the tang of blood. Light rain pattered on Eppons tents roof and a great line of standing crosses beyond. Upon them hung the crucified bodies of Avernixs sons personal guard. After so great a failure, the overlord had no use for them. Had Lukotor not been engaged, he would have had him feed them to the hungriest of demons.

    Before himy his two heirs, one dead and the other bewitched and maimed.

    A viins hand had carved the Garric word for Coward deep into Eppons chest, though the insult was now hidden by reddened bandages. Were it not for the strange magic holding him in unnatural slumber, he likely would have bled to death in the night. Lukotor the Wise bent over the bewitched Eppon, working to break the spell as he had been for the entirety of this day. Acrid herbs burned in a vessel at his side and strange words tumbled from his mouth.

    Theyve shamed them! Avernixs voice cracked toward the evening sky. He looked down upon the ashen face of Agisil, whose eyes were now sealed in death. Not in all my years of warring has there ever been such humiliation! Who did this!? <em>Who!?</em>

    My Overlord! A runner burst through the crosses. We found a trail!

    The conqueror snarled. Where?

    Into the forest, lord.

    Lukotor looked up sharply. The words of power spilled from the wizards mouth faster. A final syble smote the air and the sleeping Eppon stiffened and - with a groan - came to wakefulness.

    The groan quickly turned to screams.

    There was a sudden stench of rot as the Bear-Breakers flesh cracked and putrefied. Old scars bubbled into boils and burst in foulness. Gore ran from split skin. His nails tore back from his fingers and toes. He writhed and mewled like an infant.

    Do something! Avernix cried, but Lukotor could only stare on as the hidden curse finished its grim work. When it was over, the giant was curled up sobbing. His flesh was a ruin of sores and lesions as though hed somehow lived through a dozen poxes.

    The bastards hid a curse in the bewitchment. Lukotor swiftly drew crushed leaves from one of his pouches and began to sprinkle them into the new wounds. Eppon moaned piteously. The dangers passed by my craft. He peered at the wounds critically before making a noise of disgust. But these will scar badly.

    Theyve maimed him twice! Spittle flew from Avernixs lips. Look at him, Lukotor! Is this how my rule begins? With one son dead and the other made a <em>monster</em>?

    Lukotor finished salving Eppons abscesses then drew up to his full, towering height. Weve got greater and more immediate problems, overlord. If theyve gone into the forest, then theyve learned of the egg.

    His dark eyes narrowed. Two of his tablets were missing.

    Greater problems? My sons have been ruined and you cry about a bauble? Avernixs hands balled into fists.

    Lukotors lip twitched and he gestured to Eppon. This was the work of vile magic, and if the wizard who did this ims the egg, then all its fell power will be at their call. We have to move quickly, or this will only be the beginning of our catastrophes.

    Avernixs face nched, then washed as scarlet as his beard. Can you track them with your spells?

    With some preparation. I will need the aid of The Three at this distance: they will want additional sacrifices.

    You will have them, Avernix pronounced grimly. A score. A hundred if need be.

    Then killers will be found. I swear to you.

    A hand grasped Avernixs ankle. Fatherlet mekill them.

    Who did this? The conqueror crouched over his son

    A dark manwith eyes like blood. And a womanI did not see her.

    Did you get anything of theirs? Lukotor snarled through his tangle of teeth. A bit of hair? Blood?

    Nono

    The old mans face turned to thunder. Did you not fight back at all, <em>boy</em>?

    Theysnuck in while I slept.

    Lukotor was already marching toward his tent in disgust. I need to start preparations, my overlord. Ill inform you when all is ready.

    With haste, Lukotor,manded Avernix.

    By the time the old wizard had reached his bower, his teeth clenched so hard they threatened to shatter. Too much had he sacrificed. Hed eschewed riches, women and nearly all earthly pleasures in his pursuit of the egg. Now, mere days away from ultimate power, some upstart wizardling dared try to rob Lukotor the Wise of his destiny?

    Half-madughter bubbled from the old mans lips. It would not be so. Never! Still shaking with bitter mirth, he brought forth the Vessel of Altak-Tur. Its infernal whispers poured into his mind but hed learned long ago the means to focus its power. The dreadful susurrus abided,ying bare the intelligible thoughts of those near and around him. Lukotor pushed the vessels range, reaching its sorcerous tentacles into distant mental bowers.

    There was Eppon, his mind wounded and consumed with rage, pain and fear.

    His fathers thoughts were upied withying with his wives to produce a new heir, even as he ordered his men to track his sons assants at first light of the next day. The chaotic murmuring of the horde came next, like an over-crowded market. Then the low, dull emotions of the mastodons and the boundless hunger, malevolence, andtent fear of Avernixs prized hounds.

    The terror and resentment of the captives followed, their thoughts a tangle ofnguages.

    His artifact was closing on its limits. The thoughts of the outer camp grew quieter and less distinct, like whispers through water. He narrowed its focus, driving it into the forest. Only the inane instincts of flighty hares and dull chattering of birds greeted him. The thieves were long gone, to little surprise.

    With disgust, he cut his connection to the vessel. He would make a grand sacrifice tonight to gain the demons full aid, then search with their power even as he rode with the horde. They would find these interlopers and he would feed their screaming souls to The Three who Dwell in Ash.

    Run while you can, little rats. The pools of dark that were his eyes swam with malice. Ive sacrificed dozens better than you, and they will tell you the folly of crossing Lukotor the Wise. You will meet them when you feel the heat of the hells on your necks.

    We shouldve stolen nkets. Wurhi huddled in the crook of a titanic root, the spell of invisibility long faded.

    In the misty, eternal twilight of the Forest of Giants, the damp was endless. Combined with the sweat of their forced march, the Zabyan thief felt like shed swam the River of Scales. She missed the deserts arid air and even its burning sun; she hardly saw the sky at all beneath this thick canopy.

    It was cold - as thisnd always seemed to be - and a low fog drifted across earth strangled by the roots of greedy arboreal titans. Pale, moist mushrooms taller than men weaved through rootstock while tough, scraggy bushes and the trees withered offspring fought toward the bare strands of sunlight. For all their struggles, many fell prey to the great beasts of the wood.

    A family of mastodons plodded before her, seemingly uncaring of her presence. They pulled leaves from young trees, while a small herd of woolly rhinoceroses dragged bushes and tubers from the earth to crush them in their craggy maws.

    Wurhi found them quite curious. Captive rhinoceroses and elephants were not umon in the Zabyan markets. One could buy nearly anything there, and they were often sold to Yamaputran sword-princes to fill their game-forests. Those beasts had been bare-skinned though, and while shed once seen the hide of a woolly mammoth draped over the bough of Skjernan warship, the living examples were a far more remarkable sight.

    She stared on in irrational jealousy. All that fur looks warm.

    For a breath, she considered undergoing the change to have her own coat shield her against the cold, but no sense enduring that agony just to be covered in wet fur.

    Wurhi looked up the vine-covered bark of the giant tree above her, but saw no sign of Kyembe. The Sengezian had scaled the twelve-pace wide trunk to find their bearings from the canopy, but had yet to return. She shrugged. If hed descended the hard way, then the echoing scream and sickening impact would have let her know.

    With any hope, hed see these ruins described on Lukotors tablets. She was eager to be done with this. Her feet ached and her belly had nothing in it but water and pieces of the giant mushrooms that the Sengezian insisted were safe. They were filling, but foul tasting. She swore shed live like an empress once this business was finished. Possibly forever if the legends of this magic egg proved true.

    To pass the time and escape the distasteful woods, her mind drifted to fantasies of riches and what she would do with them. She would have a pce constructed and a garden kept for her, filling it with all manner of creatures in the fashion of the merchant princes of Zabya. She eyed the woolly rhino closest, imagining it grazing cidly amongst cultivated bushes. She dismissed that quickly, realizing the beast would eat her gardens. She considered a hound, but sour memories of being chased by canine maws through merchant courtyards returned.

    No, what she needed was a cat.

    Not a little one, those were hateful things that chased her through alleyways as a child.

    She would have a great big one, like those shed seen in the caravans of passing princesses. A sleek leopard or cheetah. Or perhaps a regal lion or tigress. How her neighbours would gawk! Wurhi the <em>Rat</em> lying in a pnquin with a great predatory cat at her feet!

    Of course, such beasts were much toorge to make a meal of a rat.

    She paused. Then again, she was a veryrge rat.

    <em>Flutter.</em>

    A flight of birds tore from the branches above, interrupting her reverie.

    Thergest mastodon raised his head, with broad ears and trunk twitching. After a moment, he red his trumpet and stomped from the de with his family close behind. The closest rhinoceros looked to the south, snuffled, and bounded west with quick steps, closely followed by its kin.

    In breaths, Wurhi was very alone.

    She came to her feet in a heartbeat, her hand on the bronze short sword shed taken from Eppons spoils. The forest had gone silent. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

    Kyembe? she called out, ncing above her. No response.

    <em>Rustle!</em>

    Something burst from a thicket in the mist. She tensed; her sword hissed from its sheath. A northern antelope galloped past her, with wide eyes, pronged horns, and a bodyrger than a horse. As quick as it came, it disappeared back into the mist.

    Her green eyes scanned the surroundings. Growing up in the slums, she knew what it meant when the neighbourhood suddenly went silent. She took a step away from the root, but one of her feet sunk into the earth. Cursing, she made to pull it out.

    She went cold.

    Surrounding her muddy cloth-wrapped foot was a naked footprint five timesrger than her own. The toes were wed. There was another print far ahead, revealing a stride longer than she was tall. Her eyes found another beside a tree with a symbol scratched into the bark. A hideous face with too many horns. Theyd been so tired earlier theydpletely missed it.

    Shit Her eyes followed the tracks until they disappeared into the mist. Shitshit shit shit <em>shit! </em>Kyembe! <em>Kyembe! </em>

    Stop shouting!

    She looked up. The Sengezian was as high up on the tree as Cas tower had been, but descended the thick bark as though his life depended on it.

    Kyembe theres- she paused. -Whats wrong?

    They found us! Their hounds are with them!

    A chill ran through her. Those beasts had looked like demons. How many?

    Perhaps a score, and half again that in hunters! he cried, dropping to the earth.

    Thirty?! Her lips tightened.

    She heard faint barking resound from the south.

    Kyembe. She pointed to the print. We have other problems too.

    He gaped and crouched over it, measuring the depth with his little finger. Its tread sinks deep into the earth he murmured. It might be ten times my weight. And the track is fresh. A few hours old at most. He looked to the marking in the wood. That looks to be a territory marker.

    The pair looked at each other, then to the fog, turning in a circle as though surrounded by hidden enemies. Titanic trunks loomed from the mist, hinting at things unknown hidden behind their backs.

    The barking drew closer.

    Kyembe cursed. I was foolish to miss these, but we will have to worry about themter. He brought his ring to his lips and muttered words of power before casting his hand east, then west. Both directions were filled with sounds of running across root and earth, followed by cries that were eerily like their own voices. That should mislead their ears and eyes. It will slow them, but we have to move quickly! He peered at the fog. The tracks made for the west. We will bear north. Come! We might lose our pursuers in the mist!

    The groundy uneven and slick from recent rains beneath their feet. Muck sucked down their steps and their feet slid on wet rocks. More than once Wurhi stumbled, trying to keep pace with the long-limbed Sengezian. She was sorry she hadnt changed. She could be scampering faster on four legs than on two.

    Sounds of shaking bush and the crack of branch and twig echoed from all directions. Birds alighted from their perches and enormous branches creaked in the wind high above the earth. The Zabyan quickly lost track of where they were running, desperately focusing on keeping Kyembes starry robe in front of her. Her heart pounded in her ears. The mist thickened and the air grew colder. A river roared somewhere ahead in the fog.

    The sounds of their pursuers grew clearer.

    Faint barking sharpened. Shouts of men and women could be heard.

    Theyre closing on us! Wurhi cried.

    Her skin shuddered as though doused in crawling vermin. She felt eyes on her from all directions and a strange buzzing filled her ears. All the while, hers and the Sengezians illusionary shouts continued to recede west and east.

    Why arent they being fooled?! she panted. It worked on the dogs in Cas gardens!

    Something walks with them! Kyembe vaulted a giant root andnded lightly without slowing. Can you feel it? Like a hundred eyes are on us? Their tribes demons are guiding them!

    The hounds bayed again. Perhaps only a hundred paces away.

    We cant keep running! Wurhi skidded to a halt and pointed to the closest verdant giant. Climb up there!

    She started for the vine wrapped trunk.

    Wurhi, down! Kyembe pushed her to the ground.

    A great shadow sailed over her, the air whistling in its passing.

    The hound crashed down into the brush and red back with an unnatural malice. Its rumbling growl shook Wurhi to her bones, and spittle running from snarling jaws shone in the mist. Its teeth gnashed together but Kyembe was already lifting his ring, which shone with white hellfire. Burns ran up his arm as the terrible substance extracted its price. In deep concentration his jaw tightened against the pain.

    He never heard the second one.

    <em>Crunch.</em>

    The beast galloped from the mist, its jaws mping on Kyembes forearm.

    His scream filled the forest.

 The Hunt in the Mist II

    The Hunt in the Mist II

    Kyembe! Wurhi shrieked.

    The monster mauled his arm, pulling him from his feet with hideous strength. The other darted behind him to grasp his throat as he struggled to pull a knife from his belt.

    Wurhi went for her own short sword to use against the brute, but dismissed the small weapon immediately. Drastic measures. Reaching deep into herself, she let the animal haze consume her mind.

    Then came the agony.

    Her bones split and knit back together, altered. A shriek of rising pitch burst from her lips as fur erupted from her olive skin. Jaws cracked, her face lengthening into a rodents muzzle, herrge front teeth exploding into a rodents shovel-like incisors. A rat-like humanoid now stood reborn where the Zabyan once was.

    The instincts of a cornered animal urged flight, but enough consciousness remained to push herself to fight instead. With a high pitched chitter, the rat-humanoid surged toward the hound and sprung upon the beast. Wet fur, rot and old blood stung her nostrils as she crawled over its back, the sharp ws on her fingers biting into its hide. It yelped and growled, bucked and snapped its deadly jaws, but the transformation flooded her with savage power.

    Her grip was iron on the beasts back and her jawstched onto its neck.

    A rats bite was a fierce thing, made many times worse by her size. Her incisors, like twin spades, punctured the top of the beasts powerful neck as though biting through rotten cheese. Spine parted like thread on a de and a muffled yelp signalled its copse. Wurhi jumped free as it fell twitching onto the forest floor.

    She looked up to see Kyembe stab his dagger into the other hounds right eye. The point skewered the beasts brain, and its body convulsed with a choking gasp. The Sengezian rose with gritted teeth, clutching a bloody forearm torn to shreds and shattered at a grotesque angle. From his grip issued golden light, caressing his wounds and knitting the flesh. Blood-loss stemmed, but the bone remained broken. My magic cannot mend the bone. He looked uneasily at the trunk. I do not know if I can

    The sounds of the pursuers closed.

    He grit his teeth. I will have to make do with help of the vines. He started for the tree while Wurhi bolted forth and skittered up the trunk. Kyembe struggled to follow one-handed. It was a testament to the strength of his nimble frame that he ascended at all, but his progress was agonizingly slow.

    All too soon the rest of the dog pack crashed through thickets and leapt at him. Their monstrous jaws snapping mere finger-widths from his feet and their fetid breath raked across his heels. The rat-thing that was Wurhi regarded him with beady eyes while heboured after her. The dogs circled, barking and snarling while their masters crashed in after them.

    There! A bull-voiced woman pointed at them. Bring them down!

    Several trackers raised short limbed bows.

    <em>Whish! Whish! Whish!</em>

    With staggering reflexes, Kyembe strained to pull himself over one of the great branches just as a stone-tipped arrow shot past. He hid there in cover, clutching his arm while projectiles cracked on the branch below.

    You five! the leader pointed her spear at the tree. Get up after them! You four! She pointed to the next tree. Get on a branch above them and pick your shots! The rest of you form a circle! Dont let them escape!

    Kyembe cursed between breaths and resumed his climb, but he was slower than before. The agony of his arm drained his strength and withered his endurance. His belly churned and his head swam. His skin was cold.

    <em>Whish! Whish! Whish!</em>

    Arrows flew at him, but he was higher up and the mist was thick, spoiling their aim.

    Men in bronze helms and wrapped in hides began pulling themselves up the trunk, daggers clenched in yellowed teeth. They closed on the Sengezian. Thinking quickly, he muttered words of power to his ring and channeled magic - not hellfire to burn the tree - but another illusionists trick.

    He screamed as he let his broken arm drop, directing the spell downward.

    The air filled with that scream, echoing endlessly.

    A cacophony joined it. The shouts of Wurhi. The roars of their pursuers. The barking of the hounds. All of it amplified until he was sure half the forest heard it.

    He saw both the trackers and the hounds ignore the illusions. That confirmed his suspicions. Some demon or spirit protected them. He feverishly made for the next branch. If he could grasp it with his legs, he could draw his sword with his healthy arm and-

    Toote.

    The lead pursuer grasped Kyembe by the ankle to pull him to his death.

    <em>Skitterskitterskiiter!</em>

    Wurhi shot down with inhuman speed, ws digging into the trunk, her incisors shining.

    <em>Crunch.</em>

    She clipped off the offending hand.

    The man shrieked, red fountaining from his stump, and he plummeted.

    <em>Crunch!</em>

    He impacted a giant root below.

    His brethren halted in the face of her gnashing teeth. Away, monster! one cried.

    <em>Whish! Thunk!</em>

    An arrow burrowed into her side.

    Wurhi let out a sound that was both womans scream and rats chitter.

    Wurhi! Kyembe cried. The archers had scaled the other tree, taking position on higher branches to fire down upon them. The Zabyan mbered to him, chittering in pain, and he tried his best to pour his healing energies into the wound. His hand shook. It will be alright, he panted. Hold out a little more.

    Her beady animal eyes looked to him in fear.

    The men below were closing in.

    Arrows hissed at them. Two struck Wurhi. Her shrieks tore through the canopy like the anguished cries of a flock of gulls. Kyembe worked to heal her.

    They maneuvered themselves onto the closest high branch and the Zabyan skittered back to lick her wounds. Kyembe drew his sword.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    He shed away an arrow angling for him, then pointed the thin de at the lead pursuer, gripping it with one hand and pressing on the ivory hilt with his foot.

    With a push, the swords magic came to life.

    The hilt grew, turning into the haft of a sword-staff. The length suddenly increased, shooting downward at speed.

    <em>Shnk!</em>

    The de buried itself in the mans corbone, enchanted steel cutting through flesh and shearing bone until it found his beating heart. The corpse flew backward through the mist, and Kyembe yanked his weapon free. Without both hands, he could not retract the length. He would not get a second thrust.

    Like maggots on carrion, other warriors began to swarm up the trunk.

    Kyembe cursed, edging himself further onto the branch until he reached the trembling Wurhi. The drifting fog was thick, blocking sight to the ground below, but he could hear the low rush of a river nearby.

    His teeth grit as he tried to think of a way out.

    <em>Raaaaaaaargh!</em>

    A terrible roar bellowed through the fog.

    The cries of their pursuers died in stunned silence.

    Another roar shook the forest. Then another and another.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    Immense bodies burst through the brush in the fog below.

    rmed screams and shouting rose up.

    Kyembe smiled viciously and cut the illusionary sounds with a wave of his ring. His intention with this illusion was not to confuse or frighten their pursuers. Instead, hed sought to attract the owners of the monstrous footprints.

    Ooooogres! the leader cried from in the mist. Regroup! Now! Dont let them surro-

    <em>Squelch.</em>

    A heavy impact splintered bone and pulped flesh, cutting off her orders. More impacts and screams soon followed.

    <em>Whoosh</em>!

    The front half of a great hound - trailing entrails - crashed through vines and branches to plummet like an enormous fish into the river beyond.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    A boulder the size of a mans torso shot from the mist, sweeping the archers from their neighbouring tree, shattering them to mangled, crimson pieces. One agile soul leapt free of the boulders path and caught a low hanging vine, but it sagged beneath his weight, his feet kicked uselessly in the air.

    A giant, hairy, grey-skinned arm reached up from the fog.

    The enormous hand - fingers wed like a beasts - wrapped around the mans thigh and ripped him from the vine.

    Canine yelping diminished southward as Avernixs great hounds fled like suckled pups from the ughter.

    <em>Whooooooosh!</em>

    Another boulder.

    Kyembe and Wurhi screamed. It bore right for their branch.

    <em>Crack!</em>

    The Sengezian gripped his sword as the branch broke and lurched sideways. Rat-woman and half-dark elf plummeted through the air, their world careening.

    They clutched at small branches, desperately grabbing for giant vines to slow what seemed like unending descent. The canopy beat and raked their bodies with the enthusiasm of a driver of a donkey caravan. Abruptly, they hit the rushing water. Icy water cut to the very marrow of their bones.

    To the two soutnders, the sting of fire ants would have been more wee.

    The river carried them away.

 Shattered Bones and Ogres

    Shattered Bones and Ogres

    A storm of violence had exploded in the clearing.

    Red drenched the earth and gore painted the foliage. It dripped from vines to fill bloody footprints. Mutted body parts were strewn every which way, some hanging from branches. Most were partially eaten. The more intact corpses were posed in warning.

    By the Three, Eppon groaned, slightly sick. I thought your magic stopped the ogres from finding us, uncle! He eyed the towering trees nervously despite the vast army stretching around him. Most avoided looking at the hideously scarred prince, though a sea of wrappings hid most of his maiming.

    The old man sat astride a gangly ck steed, his darkened eyes narrowing on Eppon. The big man balked and looked away.

    Lukotor was in no mood to be questioned. No mood at all.

    What the boy says is true, Avernix rode up beside him, looking at his in warriors in disdain. What happened here, Lukotor? Did your pot learn anything for us?

    The old man grimaced. There are two of them. One thinks in a soutndnguage I have no knowledge of. The others thoughts are in Makkadian, which I understand. He frowned. But her mindit became muddled with the instinct of an animal and I could put no sense to it. A shapeshifter, perhaps. I gathered some thoughts from our hunters before they were felled. It seems the wizard used some illusionists trick to create great noise. That called the ogres. He sniffed. Cunning bastard, but he will not fool us again. I will see that the Three know to guard for his tricks next time.

    No sign of any other bodies but whats left of our own, overlord! one of the men searching the clearing called back.

    Damn them! Avernixs teeth ground.

    Theyre slippery, father, Eppon growled. Sneaks and workers of treacherous magic. Cowards!

    Lukotor could not resist ncing toward the word covered by bandages, carved into therge mans chest. I also gathered from the trackers minds that the thieves fell into the river and washed westward. Lukotor tapped the Vessel of Altak-Tur. The Makkadian thoughts stayed in chaos, frantic like a frightened beast when they hit the water. I gleaned brief snippets, but could not keep my grasp on their minds. He looked to the north. My overlord, it would be wise if we continued toward Gergorixs City. The river runs somewhat toward our destination; if the thieves survived, they could get ahead of us.

    Lukotor. Avernix gripped the reins on his warhorse. Ill not have some oafish ogre or forest beast taking my sons revenge while we chase your egg. The deaths of those two worms muste by my order.

    Then give me the chance, father! Eppon turned to him, his face half-smothered by his dressings. Give me two scoreno half a hundred warriors! A-and our remaining hounds! Ill avenge my brother! I swear! I will deal with those two! I will hear them beg for death, and watch them long for escape, but this I swear on Agisils name: any escape they will find will be in hells of their own worst nightmares! Then, when they are broken, I will rejoin you!

    Avernix gave him a long look. alright, we will go on ahead. Search for them downriver. Find them. Kill them if you must, but try to capture them alive if you can.

    Yes, father! Eppon nced furtively to the river. His eyes narrowed. Ill not fail you!

    The overlord pped his hand to his sons shoulder, eyeing his wounds and broken arm. Take no more risks yourself. Use your warriors wisely and return to us, understand? This is mymand.

    It will be done, father.

    As the Bear-Breaker led his expedition along the river, thoughts of vengeance and regaining his honour consumed him. A part of him longed for the moment when Lukotor would seize the egg and could heal his skin. He did not fancy the idea of hunting down that Traemean knight while looking as he did.

    He shook the thoughts from his head.

    Spoils wouldeter, he told himself.

    For now, he had a red-eyed bastard to castrate.

    A rodent-like humanoid pulled herself up on the river bank.

    She coughed onto the rocky shore, sneezing, and shaking herself. Water sprayed off of grey fur. With beady eyes, she examined the shore, snout twitching. The mist had cleared, but an unfamiliar, acrid scent was heavy on the air. The rat-thing chittered and bared her teeth, snuffling monstrously. Sharply, it looked down at a nearby spot on the bank. There was another scent there. A human had been close by here, bearing something that smelled strongly of sweetness and vitriol.

    She looked again to the trees; beady eyes narrowed.

    <em>Ssh!</em>

    Sputtering and groaning, Kyembe of Sengezi dragged himself onto the shore using the haft of his sword-staff as a crutch. His broken arm dangled and he favoured it with every movement. His fine, star-patterned robe was drenched and torn.

    The rat-creature looked at him for a moment then hunched over, writhing in agony as her skeleton broke, shortened and reset. Sickening pops and cracks filled the air. Flesh rippled as skin reced fur, and ws, snout and tail disappeared. Animal cries grew more human until they were the pained moans of a young woman.

    Soaked and dripping, Wurhi of Zabya panted on her hands and knees.

    She looked back at Kyembe and he looked back at her. Shared malice filled their eyes.

    We he hissed. Are going to kill he wheezed. Everstoneof those bastards.

    Wurhis teeth chattered in a snarl. Ill make those dog-humpingck-mouthedsons of goats eat each others guts. If that magic eggis all you say it isyou keep them alive long! Long for what Ill do to them!

    Andbeyond He swayed unsteadily on his feet. I am going toy themthen make them live without skin. Forever. He looked down to his ruined arm in disgust. But I will not be much use with this. I need to set it. He nced at her. Are you alright?

    Im bruised and mad, she spit. But you healed the arrow wounds, so Im better than you.

    No doubt. He pressed a hand to his chest and golden light poured from it. His breathing grew easier. Raising a foot, he propped it against his sword-staffs haft, then pushed down with his good arm. It retracted, once again returning to a one-handed sword, which he sheathed at his waist. He touched the bundle on his back, sighed in gratitude to find it intact, then began tearing strips of cloth from it to bind his arm.

    Hey, Kyembe. She eyed the forest. Rootsrge enough for rhinoceroses to walk on curved around the shore. The reedy cries of carrion birds sounded from within the towering tree line. Someone else has been here recently. A human.

    He froze. Impossible. They could not have found us so quickly.

    She shook her head. They didnt. Its a few days old, I think. And it didnt smell of dog, but did smell something like sugar and vinegar. She wrinkled her nose. <em>Strong</em> vinegar.

    He looked to the trees suspiciously as well. Strange. He continued to tend his arm.

    Everything in this ce is strange. I never want to <em>look</em> at another tree after this. She looked around and snatched a piece of driftwood from the bank. Here, use this.

    They set Kyembes bone, trying to ignore his groans of pain, and splinted it to the wood with the torn pieces of his bundle. They made a sling with a long piece of fabric torn from his tunic. He examined himself then looked to her. How do I look?

    Like a drowned man, sheughed. Just like the first time I saw you.

    The little Zabyan looked critically at Kyembes robe. Best leave that behind. Its ruined.

    Not for long. Why do you think I was bargaining with Ku-Hassandra in the first ce?

    What?

    Kyembe switched his ring to his other hand, then spoke a word of power. Silver light shone in the eyes of the horned woman upon it, stuttering slowly and unevenly at first. The light outlined the cuts and tears on his prized robe, which quickly knit together like a lizard regrowing its tail. The dirt and staining sloughed away and the water rung itself out. In a few breaths, the garment was as rich and whole as though it had just left the loom.

    What? What was that?! Wurhi demanded. You can fix things!?

    No, it is but a spell of minor mending and refreshment for garments, he said tiredly, but there was boyish excitement in his eyes. With it, I can keep this robe forever!

    Wurhi blinked. Youtraded a portion of your treasure for something that soap, a needle and thread can do?

    <em>Better</em> than any thread or soap!

    I almost wish you had been looking for weird wizard writhings, she muttered, before turning back to the forest. Do you know where we are?

    Kyembe looked to the sky peeking through the canopy. The river washed us west, I think, but by how far I do not know. Whether we reach the egg first will now be as much luck as it will be skill. A look of frustration crossed his face. Curse the breath that first uttered Avernix and Lukotor to me.

    He reached back into his bundle and drew the y tablets from it, examining them carefully. No damage from water or impact. Good. Lukotor must have warded them with a spell.

    Good for him. Wurhi looked up the river. No sign of pursuit yet. We should move soon. You looking to find where we are?

    No. He turned a tablet around. One tablet bears some of his notations about the egg, but the other talks of rituals and lore on their tribal demons.

    The ones you said protected them?

    That is right. He frowned. They made such noise when chasing us, but the ogres did note until <em>I</em> raised sounds right where we were. I suppose that was his n, to shield their forces ande for the egg in force. Cunning bastardAvernix may have brought most of his army into the wood.

    Wurhi balked and she looked up the river again. Shit! Shit! Can you do anything about it?!

    That is what I am wondering. I had only skimmed this beforebut I wonder if He paused. His eyes narrowed as they scanned a particr line of writing.

    Then they went wide.

    Wurhi startled as Kyembe threw his head back and roared out a deepugh.

    Have you lost your thrice-damned senses!? she hissed. The ogres can still find <em>us!</em>

    He lowered hisughter to a quiet, rolling chuckle. His crimson eyes seemed to spark with joyful malice.

    You found something good? she asked hopefully.

    Oh, moooooore than good. Much more. He gave her a smug look. We owe Agisil a debt for stealing these tablets. With some modification and one of my own spells, I can give our friend Lukotor the worst surprise of his long life. He eyed the trees. But we will need a wide, t area, fairly dry and away from water. We will also need arge fire and a few other things.

    Then wed better get moving. She nced worriedly upriver once more. Before they surprise <em>us</em> instead.

    They climbed the roots of the bank and started north. Wurhi hugged her arms around herself and shivered. It waste in the day and getting colder. Being soaked to the bone and having a wet pack strapped to her back did not help.

    The deeper they went into the forest, the quieter it grew. The towering trees seemed even more ominous than before. Boughs twisted and bulged like inhuman faces leering through the shade. No animals lurked close by, save for the asional over-sized crow coasting through the canopy far above on glinting ck wings. Every dried leaf they stepped on seemed unnaturally loud.

    I dont like this ce, Wurhi whispered, hugging herself now in as much nerves as chill. She shuddered as they saw another many-horned territory marker of the ogres. Something nastys around here.

    Stop! Kyembe suddenly halted them with a hissed whisper. Listen!

    Wurhi held still.

    She heard it shortly after.

    A deep snuffling and footfalls too heavy toe from any human tread.

    Her heart began to pound.

    This way! he dragged her upwind to the hollow of a tree. They huddled in silence, listening to its slow approach.

    <em>Thump. Thump. Thump.</em>

    Louder the footsteps grew. Soon it was so close that she could hear its heavy breath.

    Unable to resist, Wurhi risked a nce over the root. She fought a gasp.

    It was a giant.

    Its hide was te grey and covered in thick coarse hair. It stooped in a simian stance, towering half again the height of a tall man. Kyembe had been right, she realized - its muscr body must have been at least ten times his bulk, if not more. Its thews rippled with power in every movement, and its hands flexed in the air.

    Its countenance was a twisted mockery of humanity. The nose stubby and porcine. Its lips too wide, and parted to reveal pointed teeth and upward jutting tusks. Its jaw was enormous and its features looked as though they had continued growing until they fought each other for space on its face. Curving horns jutted from its skull, rising proudly into the air to scrape upon the lowest branches of the giant trees. It was barefoot, and its wed feet sank into the earth with each step. Despite its immensity, it moved with animal grace that spoke of deadly speed if needed, and its yellow eyes sparked with brute wit and cruelty.

    Though its piggish nostrils red and Wurhi drew back in rm, it did not catch their scent. It bent low to examine a wide expanse of t earth, perhaps ten paces across for a man. It pushed on the soil, which sagged before rebounding. It gave a snort, and breathed something in a grinding, savage tongue.

    Moving to a nearby tree, it examined a loop of thick vine wrapped purposefully around a branch, grunting before moving on.

    As it proceeded westward, it bellowed once, as loud as a shattering boulder. Answering roars came from the east.

    Grunting again, its vast footsteps carried it away.

    Kyembe and Wurhi stayed until long after its steps had faded. Kyembe came forward first, and scouted about. It is gone, he finally announced.

    The Zabyans hands shook. Thatthat was an ogre? she choked out.

    It was the way I have heard them described. He grimly approached the ground the ogre had examined and pressed on it with a fur-wrapped foot. It sagged and rebounded. Ah, I understand. An elephant-no, it would be a mastodon trap here. He walked about the edge of the clearing, testing the ground with his foot. Keep a careful eye on the ground in wide ces.

    They continued north, passing over the tracks of rhinoceros, mastodon and ogre. The Sengezian seemed to grow more tense as he examined them.

    Whats wrong now? Wurhi asked.

    These were all made days ago. It is as though they stopped patrolling this area for some reason.

    She paused. Her nostrils red. Maybe for a good reason. I smell bloodand death.

    The Sengezian drew his sword grimly. Then lead the way.

    Wurhi nervously followed the stench of rot until it grew so powerful that tears welled in her eyes.

    They came upon the source in a hundred paces.

    In a clearing a flock of vultures threw themselves into the air, squawking in a flurry of wingbeats. They left behind an ogres corpse, bloated and fly-ridden, with foulness oozing from a great rent in its side. Wurhi gaped. What in all hells couldve done <em>this?</em>

    Kyembe leaned over the body, grimacing at the scent. Something with a de. A veryrge de. Another ogre, perhaps.

    The Zabyan sniffed the air. Theres more rot. This way.

    Flies buzzed like a sandstorm. A pair of ughtered ogres were syed in a clearing just to the north, their bodies cleaved as though a demon hadin into them with a giant axe. One had an arm severed and its chest caved in. The other had great shes through its torso and its entrails pooled on the earth. Much of its flesh had melted and ran like wax. Wurhi sniffed and made a face. Vitriol. Same as the river.

    something else is in here with us, Kyembe murmured, his face troubled. Hmmmlook. He pointed to a set of boot tracks in the muck. He ced his own foot alongside it. The print was nearly the same size. This is the tread of a human boot, or something simr. Northward bound and several days old.

    She grimaced. And were headed north. Toward the thing that smells like acid, melts meat, and hacks up ogres like theyre making croc-bait.

    Kyembe nced over his shoulders. We know the east is patrolled from those roars. The one we saw headed west. Our only other choice would be to double back south.

    Wurhi looked back nervously. Back toward where those bastards are likely to find us if theyre still looking. Were in trouble. A lot of trouble.

    I have been through worse, he tried to say cheerily, but there was not much cheer in his voice.

    I havent, Wurhi said. And I hope this is the peak. If we live.

    If we live, Kyembe agreed.

    She jerked her head northward. Lets keep going the way we are. At least the ogres are dead this way.

    Fresh blood, my lord! The dogs have the scent! came a call from the northern bank.

    Finally! Eppon the Bear-Breaker waved to the trackers on the south bank then began to wade north through the shallow part of the river. A vast swell of warriors followed.

    He gripped the hilt of his sword - a massive, rust-pitted thing pried from the fingers of a in priest of the Cult of Steel. The scars on his hand ached.

    Soon. His vengeance would be soon.

 The Saints Plight I

    The Saint''s Plight I

    Crickets had begun their song through the trees.

    I hate this ce, Wurhi groaned, her leg muscles tight and burning. Saplings and twigs crunched beneath her feet. She made sure to step on the saplings. I hate this ce! Everything hurts! I want to make a fire! I want to sleep! sheined futilely, looking at herpanion. You found a proper ce for your little n yet?

    Kyembe trudged ahead of her, a miserable slump in his shoulders. He sighed. Nowhere has been wide enough, t enough or dry enough. By the stars, I have been in rainforests with earth less damp. Frustration filled his voice, and he looked up. And it iste too.

    Of course it is, she grumbled. Should we stop?

    Not yet. If we can find a proper spot for what I have nned, we will be much safer when we rest.

    She looked at him sharply. What do you have nned, anyway?

    Trust me, he said.

    She crossed her arms. I do. Im mad for doing it, but I do. Tell me anyway.

    He scratched his short cropped, ck curly hair. It isplex.

    I have time.

    He snorted a short chuckle. I suppose we do. Come, I will tell you while we search.

    Their feet returned to crunching over saplings. First of all, I will build a fire and gather some bodi-

    His words died on his lips.

    He went stone still mid-step.

    Wurhi dropped into a crouch, looking about furtively. What?! What?! she hissed, preparing to flee at any moment.

    Thunderstruck and wide eyed, he muttered something in a tongue she had no knowledge of.

    What!? she demanded. I dont understand!

    He slowly looked at her as though in mid-dream. That is impossible he murmured in Makkadian. <em>Impossible. </em>Wurhi, someone is singing aheadin <em>Gezi</em>.

    It took a few breaths for the full implication of that to dawn on her. Your mother tongue? Her beady eyes widened. Howhow far away is Sengezi?

    Half a year by good sailing ship. Kyembe looked at her grimly. And that is if one did not stop.

    She swallowed. And youre hearing that right now? In the middle of these woods? <em>Singing?</em>

    He nodded slowly. Unless I have gone mad.

    She swallowed and grew very frightened. Olubrian sailors often told gruesome tales of strange, alluring songs heard on long voyages. They always ended in shipwrecks, drowned sailors or crews being eaten. Memories of the smell of vitriol and the butchered ogres returned to her. The path ahead seemed to lengthen and the giant trees seemed to loom taller.

    What abomination was waiting for them at the end?

    We should investigate. Kyembes crimson eyes squinted.

    You <em>have</em> gone mad! Why!? We should be running the hell away!

    We must know what it is.

    Why!? she demanded.

    He looked at her in agitation. In case it decides to <em>follow us</em>, Wurhi.

    That gave her pause, and she let out a trembling breath. Yeahokay that makes sense, she grudgingly admitted. She drew her stolen short sword, though she had little faith in it being able to do much. Lead the way.

    Kyembe hesitated for a moment before stalking forward.

    The half-dark elfs ears were very sensitive - often catching whispers at a distance when she would have trouble with some shouts - and it was another full sixty paces before she finally heard it too.

    She gasped. Kyembe She murmured. Im hearing Makkadian.

    A womans song drifted through gaps in trees, intoned in a deep voice with a mournful tune. The melody was alien to any song Wurhi had heard in Zabya, but thenguage was her mother tongue with all the lilts and pronunciations of a poet.

    He looked at her sharply. Are you sure you hear Makkadian?

    As sure as anything, she barely whispered. Whats happening?

    It is a womans voice?

    Wurhi nodded in confusion.

    He thought hard. Then you must hear the same song as I, except I hear it in my first tongue and you in yours.

    The hair rose on the back of her neck. Wh-what in all the hells does that mean!?

    It meanssome have ability to speak their <em>own</em> tongue, but can twist it so all who hear it, hear it in <em>their</em> own mothernguage. Many higher demons and others of that ilk can do this.

    She backed away from the song, mentally cursing every single deity and demon she could think of. Lets leave! Now!

    We have still not confirmed anything. Trust me. We do not want some unknown demon stalking us. He put his hand on his sword. We will scout it and then retreat. Alright?

    Wurhi paled. You want to go <em>toward</em> the terrifying singing?

    His jaw set and he rubbed the ring on his broken arm. If it is a demon, better to remove its vile presence. The sword hissed as it left his belt.

    She strongly disagreed, but he was already going forward in a half-crouch, his footfalls now silent on the forest floor. Cursing herself, Wurhi reluctantly followed, keeping the Sengezian several paces in front and squarely between her and the songs source.

    As it grew louder, Wurhi grew more skittish. Had she not been oath bound to watch his back and trapped in a hell-forest, she would have been long gone. As the singing grew louder, her mind raced with ns to save herself. Perhaps she could stay back? Or, she could hide behind a tree until he satisfied his mad, suicidal curiosity, couldnt she? <em>That</em> would be watching his back wouldnt it? The idea grew more sensible to her until she was about to suggest it.

    Unfortunately, that was when Kyembe ced a finger against his pursed lips.

    Shhhh! It is just ahead.

    He stepped into a clearing and she grudgingly followed. A wide hole yawned in the earth: a sprung mastodon trap set by the ogres. Mud slicked its sides and edge. The song was very loud now, and it was clear that - whatever its source - ity in the holes bottom. A caustic tang of vitriol tinged the air, bothering Wurhis nostrils.

    Steeling themselves, they crouched as low to the ground as they could and crept silently to the edge of the hole.

    A figure sat in the pit.

    They were upon what strangely looked like arge, upended dugout boat.

    Though the voice seemed a womans, her broad shoulders spread wide beneath a suit of armour that looked heavier than those of Cult of Steels champions. The armours surface was a deep blue-ck - as though bathed in liquid sapphire - and decorated in relief with golden iys of warriors and beasts locked in deadlybat.

    A heavy helm guarded the figures head, framed by three pairs of metal wings that swept backward on the sides, save for the highest pair which curved upward as though in exultation. The side of her head rested on the fist of her gauntlet, her elbow on her knee in a pensive pose. Though the visor was upturned, the woman backed them and her face could not be seen.

    Good! At least they werenting to the pit right in the midst of her view, Wurhi thought.

    Against the boat leaned arge round shield embossed with the golden head of a mammoth beneath a symbol of an eye that shed fire above and a tear below.

    The symbol of Amitiyah, the Weeping God.

    What drew Wurhis eye most though, was her de.

    It looked almost too big to be called a sword. It dwarfed the bronze khopeshes, samshirs, and short swords she had seen. Or even Kyembes thin steel de. With tip driven into the earth, it was tall as the Sengezian was. A golden hilt - lengthy enough for two hands - rose between a brutal pommel the size of a warhammers head and a cross-guard both thick and wide. The de itself was broader than a handspan and gleamed a vermillion hue. How the ogres met their grisly fate was clear: it was a weapon more suited to hewing elephants than people.

    Wurhi balked at the monstrous strength one would need to swing it. Especially in all that armour. And with that great, heavy shield.

    She swallowed, looking back to the figure.

    Yes, it was time to run the hell away.

    Hrm, Kyembe whispered. I feel no vile presence of a demon.

    Whatever it is, its trapped down there, she whispered back quickly. Lets go before it notices us.

    He nodded in agreement.

    Wurhi made to move away.

    Her foot slipped on the mud.

 The Saints Plight II

    The Saint''s Plight II

    Arms wheeling, Wurhi threatened to overbnce as Kyembe stared in open-mouthed horror. Catching herself just before she fell, she looked to the pit sharply.

    The armoured figure gave no notice. Her song continued.

    Kyembe, tensed like a bowstring, visibly rxed after a few breaths. Be careful! he hissed through gritted teeth.

    She winced and nodded apologetically.

    Shaking his head, he made to move away.

    <em>Cruuuunch!</em>

    His foot loudly crushed a fallen birds nest.

    They froze.

    The song cut off.

    <em>Who goes there?</em> the womans voice roared from the hollow. She whirled on them and ripped her sword from the earth in an explosion of dirt. Dropping into an expert stance, she brandished the monstrous de as though it were a dagger.

    I am sorry! Kyembe cried.

    No one cares! Run the hell away! Wurhi screamed.

    Wait wait wait wait wait! the woman cried behind them. Do not flee!

    Wurhi nearlyughed in half-mad panic. Who in all the world would be stupid enough to fall for that?

    The little Zabyan had reached the tree cover when she realized she was alone.

    Nonoit couldnt be.

    She turned around to find the Sengezian stopped, looking back unsurely.

    <em>No. No. No!</em>

    Dont stand and look around, fool, <em>do something!</em> Wurhi shrieked at him. Run! Run!

    He looked back at Wurhi anxiously. I think she is trapped down there.

    <em>Thats why were running!</em> The Zabyan hopped in frustration. <em>Because it cant chase us!</em>

    I call on you, stay for a spell! the woman called to them. I have been snared in this pitfall for three days and have not heard even a rude ogre pass! I pray for your aid!

    Pray to someone else! Wurhi snapped. Lets go!

    who are you? Kyembe called.

    <em>Nooooooo!</em> The Zabyan wished to scream

    There was a pause. I am St. Cristabel Esnore, knight-errant of Traemea and champion to divine Amitiyah.

    Kyembe gasped in something akin to awe. The one called The Solidde Knight?

    Aye, the knights tone swelled with pride. So I was monikered after the Battle of Jortos.

    By the stars

    Who is <em>that?</em> Wurhi demanded.

    A juggernaut of the battlefield, he murmured. A yer. A wielder of the Tears of Amitiyah, which bring either balm or burn. And if the songs of The Weeping God are to be believed, then one of scant few in this world who have walked across the veil of death and returned.

    <em>Thaaaat sounds like a demon!</em>

    It is not, he said in reassuring tones that reassured her not at all. He turned back to the hole. How did a saint of Amitiyah find herself in a hole, with a boat, in the Forest of Giants?

    May you not approach? she called back. I would look upon your faces and have you look upon mine.

    Kyembes eyes hardened. And leave ourselves open to a Traemean longbow or fletched javelin?

    You have my word! the knights voice took an urgent note. I will treat with you with no treachery uttered or intended!

    He pondered this. I have heard of you, Solidde Knight, and you are told to be a warrior of honour. He took a step toward the hole while Wurhi made choking noises. But I will kill you if you try anything unwise.

    If I utter falsely, I pray Amitiyah strike me dead before you have need.

    Kyembe tapped the hilt of his sword in deep thought, but startled as the tiny Zabyan stomped toward him. What are you doing? she demanded in a whisper.

    What do you mean?

    Whyre we here? Whyre we still talking to it?!

    Information. He touched his broken arm. Wurhi, we are wounded. Tired. Hungry. In the midst of ogre territory. He scanned the trees and skies around. And perhaps also lost. We walk north, but how far west did the river wash us? We could tread north like fools until we see the fjords of Skjerna. He nodded his head toward the pitfall. But she may know where in this hell-forest we are, and we have her at our advantage.

    Or she might know nothing and lie until were close enough for her eat our souls and cut out our hearts and smash our skulls and-

    Wurhi, he cut her off. She is the first we have met in days that has not tried to kill us.

    <em>Because shes stuck! </em>Wurhi pointed toward a heavy vine coiled around a branch far above the hole. Shell talk nice until shes up here, and then the cutting and eating and smashing starts!

    We do not have to let her upbesides, if I held my ring on her-

    She jabbed a finger into his chest. <em>Dont.</em>

    What?

    <em>Dont. </em>Thats how thieves die.

    Wurhi, I-

    Youre pretending that you can do something when you cant, she said bluntly, and his wince told her she had the truth of it. Your ring sputtered like a wet torch when you fixed your robe. First time Ive seen it do that. Theres something wrong, isnt there?

    Kyembes expression grew pained. Iit isplicated. It is more difficult to use my rings magic on the opposite hand. It is usablebut slower and not as reliable. He gave her an apologetic smile. I can still use it, so I thought it best not to worry you more.

    She leaned in very close. If somethings wrong, you tell me. What if I do something risky because I think you can st away all the problems to dust? I end up skewered, thats what. Dont ever do this again. Her voice and gaze were iron. Understand?

    Ah He lowered his head. Forgive me, I will not do it again. I am not used to working with others.

    No need to exin, you said you wont do it again, so its done. Done.

    A heavy silence hung in the air.

    Hello? Are you still there? the knight called from the pit.

    Quiet! Wurhi snapped at the hole, then looked meaningfully at Kyembes broken arm. <em>can</em> you get a st off if she starts doing anything?

    He frowned down at his ring. In all likelihood, yes.

    She squinted. You <em>really</em> think we need information?

    Kyembe sighed heavily and fiddled with his ring. It is a risk, but all our information consists of a piece of Lukotors notes and Eppons vague words. Now that we are off course, that is not enough. We could wander aimlessly and allow Lukotor to im the egg first. Or equally worrisome, stride into a nest of ogres.

    With dismay, she realized the Sengezian was right. If there was a chance this knight knew where they were, they had to take it. Even if she <em>was </em>probably some demon just waiting for them to get close so it could smash them, stomp them and eat their souls.

    You stay back. Wurhi finally said. We dont want her seeing you with that arm. Could give her ideas. You get your ring ready. If anything happens, st that big branch above the pit and drop it on her.

    Kyembe looked up to the branch. Alright. If she so much as twitches, you move from there, understand?

    You dont need to tell me that. She turned to the pit. Alright, solid-knight-

    -Solid<em>de </em>Knight, the imprisoned woman corrected.

    Whatever! Iming over there! My friends going to stay back and be ready if you do anything stupid! So dont do anything stupid!

    I would prefer to look on you both, but I cannot fault your caution in such surroundings. Come forth, but know that if it is <em>you</em> who plots treachery then I shall strike you down by any means at my disposal.

    Wurhi nearly barked out a bitterugh. In the twistingbyrinthine alleys of Zabya, young thieves and toughs would bluster and threaten each other before conducting any business. Frightened out of their wits, they buried their fear in bravado and attempted to wear the mask of dangerous fighters. She thought shed grown past such things.

    Of course, if Kyembes stories were true, then that <em>thing</em> in the pit was actually incredibly dangerous. Wurhi crept forward, tensed and ready to dart away if she so much as heard a twig snap. Stay near the centre where I can see you!

    Here I remain.

    Cautiously, the little thief stepped into full view of the hole.

    St. Cristabel of Traemea was haggard beneath her helm, her face stained in oil, sweat, mud, and urgency. Herrge blue eyes were narrowed and - despite the filth - a sea of freckles marked herplexion. She had not the countenance of a viin, but Wurhi knew that the most dangerous ones nearly never did. There. We see each other now.

    The knight appraised Wurhi. Might you grace me with your name? Makkadian words came from her mouth, but her lips clearly moved in another tongue. The inconsistency was chilling.

    Im Wurhi of Zabya, who folk call The Rat, she raised to her full height. We have each others names. Now, answer the earlier question.

    St. Cristabel looked behind Wurhi. And yourpanion? Might his name be shared?

    Any more questions and we leave you down there to eat worms!

    The knights face reddened. The Zabyan thief tensed to spring away, but she was merely subjected to a re full of wrath. Good. The woman wasnt capable of getting out on her own if all she could do was glower.

    The armoured warrior took a breath, and when she exhaled the anger drained from her like water from a slope. A swift wind to glory blew me here, she said steadily.

    A what?

    A wind of fate, if you will. I seek glory to heap before Amitiyahs throne. She drew herself up. Triumph in both arms and arts, the chronicling thereof, riches tithed, and just deeds dedicated to Amitiyah, to calm his tears. She made a wide, sweeping gesture. I travel where swift winds to glory blow me, seeking challenge in his name.

    Wurhi blinked. She blinked again.

    This knight was clearly filled with madness. The Zabyan resisted ncing back at Kyembe, lest the madwoman throw something at her while shed turned.

    I joined the great hunt for the dragon that haunts the mountains of Riyen, St. Cristabel continued, either unaware or uncaring of her audiences reaction. A tremendous red-scaled beast that has terrorized the countryside, said to be a holder of burning me, poisonous fang and wicked intellect.

    Wurhi made note to never go to thisnd.

    The saints eyes turned wistful. Its death would have brought much glory to my god. s! Like so many others, I failed to find the creaturesir. After a time, I knew I was bested, and took the river toward Laexondael to sing my chronicle at the great temple: the search itself was still a tale worthy to reach the weeping god. Yet the swift wind to glory blew me true. I heard tell of a hulk of an ogress that haunts the ruin of Gergorixs city. She is said to be a titan even among her race, andmands a tribe that may be thergest in all the Forest of Giants.

    Wurhi stiffened and she heard Kyembe quietly swear. What sounded like the mother of all ogresy right in the middle of their destination. Why? Why did this keep getting worse?! She fought to keep the dismay off her face while the knight continued.

    Danu the Bottomless they call her, and in her might I thought to find suitable challenge. I rowed until the waters grew shallow then began my portage north. She looked at her surroundings, her jaw tightened in agitation. I was foolish and stepped onto this trap, and the weight of my kit sent me plummeting, though Amitiyah preserved my boat in the fall. The mud walls are devilish slick and I cannot climb free. My food runs short, and I fear a shameful death of starvation awaits me.

    St. Cristabel looked up to Wurhi imploringly. I pray, toss the above vine to me. I shall be in your debt.

    The Zabyan mulled her words. If the Traemean was a liar, she may have been the worst in all realms ever walked by mortal, demon or god. A perfect lie was the careful blending of truth and falsehood, with thetter unremarkable so as not to be noticed. The fisherman with a full basket who adds a handspan to the one that broke his line is hardly questioned. The fisherman who ims to havended a crocodile and let it go is chased off.

    Yet, there was a ring of truth to the knights words.

    Dragon hunts? Giant ogres? Ironically, her story was so grandiose that what was less believable was that anyone would be foolish enough to utter such falsehoods. It was madness. Yet Kyembe had also told impossible stories when hed crawled from the River of Scales, and hed proven more than capable of aplishing them. Perhaps this was the same. Much like the Sengezian, if her tale was true, that would make her a fool. A dangerous fool.

    If we let you up here, you wont do anything to us?

    I would dare not harm my saviours: Lord Amitiyah despises treachery, as it brought his father to unjust end. Her gaze held Wurhis with an ufortable intensity. I swear upon my honour and grace that I shall not seek to harm you unless you seek to harm me first.

    Wurhi heard the Sengezian move, but didnt bother looking back. Fancy words moved fools, and he would probably be making for the vine if she werent around.

    Good. Prove it, she pointed down at the Traemean. Tell us where Gergorixs city is, if you know it. Well finish our business there and if we live, we might let you up on our way back.

    St. Cristabels eyes narrowed. Aye, I know where it lies. I ask that you free me before I direct you.

    Wurhi shook her head. Not going to happen. You could cut us into dog meat as soon as youve got your feet. Tell us first, then well let you up and go.

    A proper lie. A bit of the truth, merely twisted.

    The knight shifted, her armour making no sound. Blue balefires zed in her eyes. Do not insult me. I swore to utter true, and so I have done. It is your party that cloaks themselves in ndestine manner. You offer no word nor courtesy and yet demand them. A fool I might be to trap myself thusly, but twice the fool I would be to give you what you ask with no guarantee. As soon as I told you what you needed, you could leave me to grim fate.

    The little Zabyan grimaced. Maybe the knight was not such a fool.

    She steeled herself, preparing to haggle. Well drop the vine, but first you-

    <em>Whiiish!</em>

    Wurhi! Kyembe leapt forward, his sword drawing a gleaming arc.

    <em>ck!</em>

    He struck down an arrow mid-flight. Its stone tip buried itself in the earth, its shaft quivering. A chill went through the Zabyan; it would have caught her in the neck were it not for the Sengezian.

    Savage calls in Garric boiled up from the trees.

    Grotesque barking ripped from the east and south.

    Shit, shit! Wurhi swore. They found us!

 The Saints Plight III

    The Saint''s Plight III

    You are pursued? I can aid you! St. Cristabel snatched up her shield. Throw the vine to me!

    There is no time! Kyembe cried. They are on top of us!

    The armoured warrior growled in frustration. Then flee! From a treetop I saw a tower fifty paces northeast! Tis fallen, but defensible! She stabbed a gauntleted finger toward them. <em>If you live. Free me!</em>

    They raced northeast, bursting through thickets, keeping the giant trunks between their backs and hungry arrows. Into a clearing they broke, and before them rose a cyclopean ruin of a tower above the forest floor. The roof and several stories had long copsed into a pile of uneven stones at its foot, and alongside - as though in by the rockfall -y a broken statue, moss covered and rain-etched. A bearded face stared toward them with proud features and stony eyes.

    Inside! Kyembe barked. They tore across the clearing, leaping through a yawning doorframe as stone tipped projectiles shattered on stone walls in their wake. Within, the second and third floors had yielded to the ages, leaving the wreckage of a narrow spiral staircase jutting from the wall, and a fourth floor high above.

    The Sengezian considered holding the doorway as a chokepoint, but a nce outside shattered that notion. Garumnan warriors and leashed hounds poured from the trees like army ants. The main force clotted into a column of muscle, shields and gleaming bronze while their archers spread across their nks like the wings of an unnatural beast. Wounded and tired, he and Wurhi could not fend off a rushing wall of spears, leaping hounds, and arrows.

    We need higher ground. He started for the stairs.

    And get trapped up there? Wurhi recoiled.

    They will swarm us! We have no choice!

    They rushed up the precarious stone steps.

    St. Cristabel Esnore ground her teeth within a tightened jaw.

    The horde of barbaric warriors swarmed by her prison, letting fly whooping war-cries and striking shields with spears. Several nced down at her, but vengeance drove them toward their bloody purpose without pause. She glowered at them.

    Her pride towered too high to bow before these minions. To scrape low before unworthy underlings would be to spit on her own dignity. As though summoned, a familiar figure suddenly loomed by the pit. One arm of his dangled in a sling before him.

    What? Her eyes grew wide.

    The giant of a man came to an astonished halt. You! The word tumbled limply from a ckened maw, before it closed in a tight grin. The Three smile on me, Ive found you!

    Overgrown vermin. Her tone was frost-bound and caustic. I am cursed toy eyes upon you. He had discarded his river-soaked bandages and she noted the horrid scarring that had ravaged his flesh. I see you have sumbed to some pox since youst offended me with your presence. Your outside now matches who you are within, but were you not abominable enough?

    Oof! Eppon blew out a breath. Couldnt you be a little sweeter? He patted his broken arm meaningfully. You paid me a great wound already!

    In response to you paying me grave insult.

    You could have warned me!

    I gave warning, <em>twice.</em> The final word was bitten off by clenched teeth. And granted you opportunity to make apology. Instead, you strove to grapple and paw me. Her voice was flint. Vermin! I was in full right to split you to the gullet and leave you for the crows. Instead- She pointed to his sling. -I gave you that as a mercy. You are making me regret being so soft.

    By the Three! he roared inughter. Youre a woman and a half! I have to squash some cock-grabbing cowards, but Ill be back for you! His eyes twinkled. Ill make you my wife!

    <em>What?</em>

    At his raucous mirth, she cast her eyes down for a heavy stone to pitch at him, but he had retreated by the time shed found one suitable. Giving a dark look to the spot he once upied, she let out a heavy sigh and sat on the hull of her dugout. With her shield at her side and her bearing sword across her knees, she drew a protected wax tablet and bronze stylus from her closest pack.

    How unfortunate. She tapped the needle-like point against the tablets oaken frame, and began to scrawl a new entry into her chronicle.

    <em>Vrooosh!</em>

    White hellfire exploded the turf in a column of ash and burning foliage. The cluster of warriors nearby cried out, driven apart by the unearthly heat shimmering the air, but remainedrgely unharmed.

    The beam had struck none.

    Kyembe swore as he ducked behind the broken wall.

    <em>tterttertter!</em>

    An answering volley of arrowsshed the stone. His flesh hissed, the hellfires price slithering up his arm. Groaning at the agony, he channeled eldritch energy to heal himself, but he could hear the warriors advancing on the tower once more.

    Back! he roared, rising to loose another beam. The fire came slowly and erratically.

    <em>Vrooosh!</em>

    The beam leapt forth once more. Turf exploded. Once again all escaped with only superficial burns. The stuttering light of his ring provided them plenty of warning to spring aside.

    The Sengezian cursed himself. His master had warned him to practice with his ring on each hand, much as how he had with his de. Yet the boy had remembered all the years of agony it took to perfect the eldritch channels of one arm, and had not relished the thought of repeating the ordeal.

    His master had not forced him, but had shaken his head, the jewels shining at the end of his its. Better the sting of today over the sting of death tomorrow, hed pronounced grimly.

    Kyembe had never regretted shrugging off those words as much as he did now.

    Theres got to be <em>fifty </em>of them! Wurhi cried, rolling anotherrge rock to the broken wall over the doorway. She had gathered a pile from the wreckage of the upper part of the tower. How many have you gotten?

    None!

    Shit! Shit! Were going to die!

    Kyembe fired upon the horde once more. Another miss. He cursed, turning desperately to Wurhi. Look to the trees! Do you see any sign of ogres?!

    The Zabyan peered over the wall, but shook her head after a few heartbeats. Just more of these arrow-spitting bastards!

    He nearly howled in frustration. The illusionists trick had been raising a cacophony to bring forth the giants, but none hade in all that time. Something was wrong.

    You can stop all that noise! a familiar voice roared, quieting the din of the hunters.

    The volleys of arrows paused.

    A familiar figure hade amongst their attackers. Eppon the Bear-Breakers towering form rose just within the tree line, slightly obscured by brush. You can stop your festival tricks, scum! Theyll not help you anymore! Uncle Lukotor bade The Three hide your tricks from the ogres, just as they hide us!

    By the Stars.

    Wurhi looked to Kyembe. Whats wrong!? Whatd he say?! she demanded, having no knowledge of Garric.

    Their wizard learned of my trick. In disgust, he cut off the illusion. We are alone!

 The Battle of the Ruined Tower I

    The Battle of the Ruined Tower I

    Kyembe turned to the wall and roared out in Garric. You havee a long way for this little quarrel, Bear-Breaker! He aimed his ring where Avernixs heir stood, but dared not fire yet. A miss would just drive the conquerors son out of reach.

    <em>Little?</em> Eppon snarled. You slew my brother, you blood-eyed coward!

    Kyembe barked a hardugh. Would that I did!

    Liar! You, that ugly little whelp and those three worthless whores came at him while hey hindered by drink! Its the only way you could have bettered any of us! Cowards! We would have fed you to the maggots in a fair fight!

    You think so, oaf? Kyembes lips curved into a grim smile. Thene! He pointed to his own sling. Your hounds snapped my arm, and so we are equally crippled! That is as fair as anyone can ask! Come, and I will spit your heart on my de all the same!

    Oh no, Eppon snorted. Its toote for any of that. Now I have you where I want you, cornered like any troublesome beast. Soon my warriors will seize you and hold you down and I - you red-eyed devil - will slowly hack yourhers clean off with my de. Then, you can watch while your little friend eats them!

    By the stars.The Sengezian recoiled.

    Whatd he say now?! the Zabyan demanded.

    You do not want to know.

    But I also must give you thanks before your end! Eppons voice soared. You reunited me with that beauty in the armour! Shell be my wife one day, and I can tell my sons how two thieves brought their mother to me!

    The Sengezian blinked, then remembered what hed overheard in the camp. A Traemean knight! His mind must have been asleep not to see it! By the stars! he cried.

    Will you stop saying that!? Wurhi snapped. Or give me an answer, at least!

    That knight in the hole! he whirled on her. <em>Shes</em> the one who broke that giants arm!

    She did!? the little thief snorted in surprise. By all the gods, I shouldve let her up so she could do the other one!

    That might not be a terrible idea. Kyembe peered at the trees, measuring the distance from the tower to the pit.

    Fifty paces or so.

    A distance the small, but swift Zabyan could cross in perhaps twenty heartbeats. Wurhi, that knight is no friend of these viins.

    I follow you. Even if she jumps uster, we could use her help now. She followed Kyembes gaze to the trees. But theres fifty against two. Making that three wont change much.

    You saw what she did to those ogres, and her armour is thick. It will take a lot to put her down, and thats valuable time for us.

    Her eyes narrowed and she chewed her bottom lip. If thats the best weve got, were really buried in the shit. But I sure as every hell cant think of anything better. Whats the n?

    Look there. He pointed. Their numbers are low to the south. I will draw their attention and arrows. Make for it when I say.

    You still there? Eppons rough voice cut through the air. Or did whats promised to you make you faint like a child?

    Oh no, we are quite fine! Merely discussing a problem you have! Kyembe grinned ferociously.

    Problem?

    You speak of finding your wife, but what of the gift l made to your skin?

    Silence.

    Kyembe pushed further. No doubt you had trouble exciting a woman before, but now you must be a true fright! Step out a little, so I can see you!

    Quiet! the giant barked.

    Tell me! Did the damage extend to your stem and fruit?

    <em>You dog! </em>Im going to gut you! Eppon shrieked.

    But do not fear! Kyembe roared back mirthfully. I will aid that knight and you in the same stroke! She will not have to tolerate your foul touch, while you-

    The fire red in his ring.

    -will see your precious brother again!

    <em>Vroooosh!</em>

    The beam of hungry hellfire shot forth.

    Watch out, my lord! Eppons bodyguards tackled the heir of Avernix to the side, but Kyembe merely aimed for the ground before him. A st of me roared up, and the warriors scrambled in rm, trying to see if their leader survived through the explosion of soil and smoke.

    He aimed swiftly in that moment, not bothering to heal the burns scorching his arm.

    <em>Vroooosh!</em>

    Distracted, an archer did not see the white beam until it drove into his chest. With a cut-off scream, hellfire consumed him down to a cloud of ash and vaporized bronze. The beam voraciously leapt for a second warrior, then another and another.

    In a blink, four of their assants had turned to floating cinders and molten metal.

    While the others cried in shock, he called the me again. His flesh cooked.

    <em>Vrooooosh!</em>

    This time, he struck earth near a clot of warriors, scattering them.

    <em>Vrooooosh!</em>

    Another column of smoke and soil burst upward.

    To Kyembe, the beams were frustratingly slow toe, but to their assants, it was as though the heavens had torn aside and the fires of perdition hade to rain upon them.

    Scalding heat filled the air. Smoke rose. The stench of ash stung nostrils.

    They fled to the trees quaking.

    He continued to fire. The burns consumed his whole arm as the hellfire greedily exacted its toll. It was reaching his shoulder. The limb went numb and he had to prop it on the wall to keep firing. Now, Wurhi!

    Shed paled, her green eyes fixed on the wreckage of his limb. Youryour arm

    <em>Now!</em> he barked.

    Wurhi gave him a final look andunched herself over the wall.

    Covering his agony withughter, he loosed fresh hells upon the earth. Smoke and ash obscured much of the clearing. His body burned like cinders smouldering in a firepit.

    Wurhi dropped down thest bit of distance on the tower and sprinted for the trees.

    Ones getting away! a warrior roared, drawing back the string on his bow.

    Gritting his teeth, Kyembe levelled at him.

    <em>Vroooosh!</em>

    The archer joined the floating ash and Wurhi disappeared into the green.

    There you go, you careless bastards. Kyembe halfughed and half coughed, sliding down the cool broken wall. He pressed to his breast a hand outlined with golden light, letting the eldritch energy slough off the ruined flesh and bud more beneath. Arrows ttered against the wall behind him. He slowed his breath to calm his pounding heart as feeling returned to his arm - an itching agony that lessened as it healed.

    Hes done! Eppon roared. To the tower before he recovers!

    With a joined cry, the warriors rushed forth.

    Not you four! Take the dogs and follow the other! Dont let either get away!

    Run well, Wurhi, Kyembe breathed, flexing his fingers as his flesh finally grew whole. Healed he might be, but that did nothing for the exhaustion falling over him. Wearily, he took up his sword. Enchanted steel shone in the evening light.

    Time to die. Or live. He panted. With any hope, it will be thetter.

 The Battle of the Ruined Tower II

    The Battle of the Ruined Tower II

    Wurhi the Rat tore through the forest as though the hounds of hells followed. Branches and thickets pped her face, stinging her skin. The barking in her wake drew closer.

    As she came to the pit, St. Cristabel rose quickly, cing her stylus and wax tablet on the hull of her boat. You triumphed! she gasped.

    No! Wurhi ran for the tree with the vine coiled around its branch. Did you break that fat, cheese-hided, goat lickers arm?

    That <em>whats </em>arm?

    The big oaf that leads these wretches!

    Oh, him! Like a pigeons wishbone!

    The tiny Zabyan scaled the tree. Will you do it again?

    St. Cristabel gave her a stern look. With relish.

    Avernixs hounds bounded into the clearing, leaping for Wurhi. ws scraped the tree bark and bone-shattering jaws snapped at their quarry as she desperately shimmied down a branch above their thering fangs. Terror-stiffened fingers struggled to uncoil the vine. Bestial breath raked her skin from below. Im going to let you up! Help us!

    The saint gave no answer, but took up her vermillion bearing sword and circr shield. The golden mammoth head gleamed upon the sapphire-hued metal.

    With a heavy crash and rough shouts, four pursuers burst into the clearing with spears readied, jabbing their fingers toward the petrified Zabyan as she freed the vine. The lead warrior spat a battle cry and charged, her spear raised to skewer Wurhi, who cried out and dropped the verdant cord. It plummeted toward the pit even as the spear rose up.

    Bronze glinted in the dusk.

    Air hissed passed the razor point.

    <em>Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Thunk!</em>

    A vermillion bearing sword flew from the pit and skewered the Garumnans side.

    Its edge split armour and flesh like water. Its bulk crushed hard bone and soft organs alike. Driven deep into the tree, its victim was left a twitching, crimson mess upon it.

    In the stunned silence that followed, St. Cristabel leapt onto the vine with her shield on her back. Her armoured form ascended with the agility of a leopard. Only her powerful arms were used to heave herself up, her mighty legs dangled freely until her metal-d boots touched the pits edge. She rose to her full height before the warriors. Booming out a jauntyugh, her blue eyes came alight. Atst I taste freedom!

    Her gaze levelled upon the Garumnans. Cast away your arms or die.

    They retreated fearfully, but kept grip on their spears.

    The knights countenance grew grim. She brought her shield to bear and pped down her visor. Death it is.

    Wurhi could only gape as the knight fell upon her attackers.

    The rim of her heavy shield drove into ones chest, bringing forth a sickening crunch and fountain of red gushed from his mouth. Her gauntlet-d fist drove into the face of another, copsing it in a shower of crimson and rotted teeth. A rangy one cried out and charged, his spear levelled, but the knight closed on him without heed, letting the bronze speartip fold like cloth on her breastte. Her hand shot up, her gauntlet grasping the top of his helm in a monstrous grip.

    Her hand closed.

    <em>Crunch</em>.

    Bronze and bone crumpled like papyrus.

    Mewling like a freshly whelped pig, thest stumbled backward with eyes pleading, seeking a mercy he had granted no other. The Solidde knight kicked one of the fallen spears into the air, snatched it, and cast it into his belly. He gasped, dropping to the ground, clutching at the reddening haft.

    <em>Snap!</em>

    The rim of St. Cristabels shield hammered into his skull, twisting it to a fatal angle. He slumped forward as she wheeled toward the hounds. The scent of blood and vitriol saturated the beasts nostrils and they cringed before her steely gaze. With a joined yelp, they bounded into the woods, perhaps to begin their lives anew in the ogres forest. The sainted knight strode to the tree and ripped her sword from the ruined corpse impaled there. A quick brandish flicked away blood and bark.

    Wurhi slid down beside her, dumbfounded at the ruin that had fallen in mere moments. My she murmured, pointing. My friends at that tower. He fights for his life.

    The knights eyes zed in her visor. Then we shall go meet him.

    <em>Schhhnk!</em>

    Kyembes sword slipped beneath the ribs of the roaring spearman, skewering up through his heart. The mans battle cry died as crimson sprayed from the wound, and the Sengezian kicked his twitching body toward his fellows down the curved, narrow stairwell. A crash and tangle of limbs swept two more warriors from the precarious steps. Their despairing wails ended violently against the stone floor below.

    Sweat shone on Kyembes form and crimson eyes swam in exhaustion, yet he had thrown down eight of his attackers despite his broken arm. The rest crowded on the steps with growing reluctance. None were eager to face the devilishly quick yer.

    <em>Whish! Whish!</em>

    <em></em>Arrows shot up at poor angles, ttering uselessly on the ceiling. Cursing, the lead man drew his knife and cast it.

    <em>tter!</em>

    Kyembe cut it from the air with a swipe of steel.

    A roar of frustration sounded below. Bring him down! Bring him down! Eppon jabbed a meaty hand toward the Sengezian.

    Hes swift as a devil, lord! the man in front cried.

    Swifter! Kyembes lips twisted into a vicious grin.

    The man recoiled.

    By the Three, Ill do it myself! the Bear-Breaker drew his heavy sword with his good hand. Make way!

    The gigantic heir shouldered his way through his warriors ranks, nearly bowling some off the steep stairs to their doom. Kyembe considered firing with his ring, but the slow build of me would allow the front man plenty of time to skewer him.

    No, he would wait for the giants headlong rush then shear his neck open. With any luck, that would break the rests nerves. If they sought revenge instead though, it would likely be the end of him. Eppon took up ce behind the front pair of men, but moved no further. Kyembe frowned uneasily. What was this?

    Shield! the Bear-Breaker roared. One was passed to him, and he cursed. My shield arms broken, you fool! Send it to the front!

    <strong></strong>The shield was passed up the curving stairs to a front man. He hefted the heavy protector, sorge that he needed to drop his spear to wield it. His fellows behind jutted their spears past the rim. Advance! Eppon roared. The shield bearer came forth cautiously and the column marched slowly behind. Beyond the shield, Kyembes vision was blocked.

    It was not a terrible n. Exhausted and crippled as he was, he doubted he could dislodge the great shield before those spears spitted him. That was, if he allowed them to get close. If they were to advance so slowly then how could he resist cracking the shell of such an obliging snail? He raised his ring toward the grinning demonic face painted across the shield and channeled the eldritch energies. Burns crept up his arm. The eyes of the ring red with white hellfire, sputtering and slow. Yet his enemies advanced slower.

    His ring red.

    Foolish, Bear-Breaker! he called. Your death-

    <em>Now!</em> Eppon barked.

    The front man dropped the shield and abruptly crouched.

    The warriors behind him brought bows up with strings drawn.

    Kyembe froze. Oooh-

    <em>Twang! Twang!</em>

    Agony seared into him. One arrow burrowed into his belly and the other his forearm.

    His concentration broke. The hellfire sputtered.

    Vro<em>oooshaBANG!</em>

    It erupted, searing his hand and blowing him backward onto the stones.

    He dropped, his full weightnding on his broken arm.

 The Battle of the Ruined Tower III

    The Battle of the Ruined Tower III

    <em>Crunch!</em>

    Kyembes scream shattered the twilight.

    Bone splintered. Arrows jostled in his wounds, cutting wide. He sought his gging eldritch energies for healing, but they flowed too feebly, nearing their limit.

    A realization, unbidden and unwee, suddenly struck him.

    He was going to die alone on this forgotten tower.

    Images spilled into his thoughts. His father, the old mercenary, whose quietugh descended into reedy coughs in great mirth. The dark elf mother he never knew, her appearance painted solely by his fathers tales. The Archwizard Kmark, his stern master with his ck beard and cker armour. Companions and allies long dead.

    Wurhi the Rat, whose alliance might havested.

    Did she make it to the pitfall? His ears rang, and he thought he heard her cursing in the distance. He smiled bitterly. A soothing delusion. She would be likely dead by now.

    With a strength borne of rage, he shot to his feet.

    Hed see their killers pay a mighty toll for their lives.

    Setting his jaw, he passed the sputtering eldritch power into his ring and quickly sheared the arrow in his belly. He didnt have time for his forearm. His arm sizzled and scorched, yet his hatred for those who craved his death dulled the pain. His enemies poured onto the top floor. Eppon, frightful beyond his scarring, grinned from within their midst like a boy whod stolen his mothers honey. In the twilight, the red of his moustache looked like blood smeared over his lip.

    Pin him down. He sneered. And bring me a sharp knife before he bleeds out. No waita <em>dull</em> knife.

    Kyembe trembled. He exaggerated his weakness, seeming as though convulsed with terror. Eppon burst into a low, cruelugh. The urgency slipped from his warriors by the heartbeat, reced by the hunger for bloody vengeance.

    The power built slowly. He could not further tax his body with a beam, but he could do something less rigorous.

    Hold him down, Eppon smirked.

    His warriors approached; dark looks painted their faces. Kyembe waved his sword weakly. They raised their own weapons to contemptuously swipe his aside.

    The eyes of his ring red.

    His false whimpering erupted into the howl of a cornered beast.

    Air thrummed and shimmered, hot white light wicked up his sword, outlining it like a star behind an eclipse.

    With a crackle like bone bursting, the de erupted in a white ze.

    The twilight burned away as though the sun fell to the tower. Kyembes enemies recoiled in rm, but he already felt the flow of hellfire stuttering. He leapt forth, cursing them, burning steel striking through bellies, bursting superheated entrails and spraying boiling gore to drench the Sengezian. Blood bubbled on his skin, but left no burn; hed adapted to the touch of a far crueler heat.

    Kyembe brandished the hellfire-cloaked de, warriors recoiling as their skin scorched from the residual heat. Through that opening he leapt, screaming, toward the Bear-Breaker. The white ze reflected off his crimson eyes.

    The Sengezian thrust for the heart.

    Eppon, though maimed, still held a warriors wit and reflexes.

    The giant kicked one of his own onto the white-zing steel, it pierced through to the shocked mans back. He emitted a sound that was half-shriek and half the hiss of sizzling fat frying. The man was immted, his eyes boiling and geysers of fire and ash emptying from his eye sockets, mouth, and ears.

    His torso disintegrated. The morale of his fellows went along with it. As one, the Garumnans sprang for the staircase, pushing each other to get away from the terrible burning de. In their haste, they failed to notice how the me had been quenched by their fallenpanions body.

    Their leader did.

    With the roar of a cave lion, Eppon the Bear-Breaker charged Kyembe the Spirit Killer, his massive sword falling like a mountain slide.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    The Sengezian stumbled back a hairs whisper before he was cloven in twain.

    Wheezing, he tried to counter, but his body was cold and moved like drying mud. Eppon swept aside his cut and sprang forth with all the fury of an enraged boar, shockingly quick for a man his size. The Spirit Killer pulled back and the Bear-Breaker followed. Both men were off bnce with each having an arm in a sling. Yet Kyembe was losing blood, while Eppon remained fresh. The hulking Garumnan also bore considerable skill - to the Sengezians surprise - and his heavy steel sword had greater reach.

    A hail of powerful strokes withered Kyembes defence to a feeble retreat. Again and again Eppons de thrashed out, trapping the lean warrior in a cage of razored steel, beating apart his weakened guard until his hilt hung loosely in numbed fingers. The demon yer fought with inhuman speed borne from desperation, but his exhausted form yielded Eppon openings, letting him inflict one sharp blow to Kyembes chest with a ferocious kick. The wind sted from his lungs as he was driven into a broken wall.

    Snarling in triumph, the Bear-Breaker closed, de thrusting to split the Sengezians belly. Hate fuelled the Spirit Killer and he caught therger mans cross guard with his sword. With a deft twist, he sent the de spinning from its owners grip. The tarnished sword soared over the tower wall. Eppon swore, but his iron hand caught Kyembes wrist before he could withdraw. A horrifying strength constricted the Sengezians arm.

    Aaaargh!

    <em>tter!</em>

    His sword dropped to the stones.

    <em>Bang!</em>

    <em></em>Eppons fist hammered into Kyembes jaw.

    His vision spun. Bile boiled in his belly.

    The hulking Garumnan wrapped the Sengezians torso in a one-armed bear hug and lifted him from his feet, crushing him to his chest. The arrows sank further into Kyembes flesh, his breath rasped.

    Youre the worst trouble Ive ever run into, the heir of Avernix sneered. His sour breath stung Kyembes nostrils. Scars warped with his every expression. He seemed a horror born from some abyssal spawning pit. You gave a good fight, soutnder. You tired me; I give you credit. So, Ill <em>still</em> cut yourhers off, but only after youre dead. Hows that?

    Kyembe struggled, but his arms were pinned and he could not contend with the giants strength. The air was being squeezed from his lungs. The world darkened. He head-butted the titanic barbarian, dizzying himself and feeling like hed mmed his head into stone. Eppon sneered.

    Desperately twisting his body, the Sengezian pushed his ring to the Garumnans sling. He channeled the little eldritch energy he had left, concentrating through his fading consciousness.

    It was a trickle. Merely enough to make the hellfire sputter in the rings eyes.

    But those eyes were pressed against cloth.

    <em>Fwooosh!</em>

    <em></em>The sling burst into me.<em></em>

    <em></em>Aaaaargh! The titan roared in panicked agony as the fire raged around his arm, chest and neck. He dropped the Sengezian to the hard stones. Kyembe gasped for breath even as he grasped his sword.

    Turning feebly toward the giant, he ced the pommel in the hand of his broken arm.

    The Bear-Breaker stumbled away, frantically wing at the burning material until it ripped free. The stench of his scorched flesh hung in the air.

    The Sengezian tightened his grip on the pommel. His good hand clutched the hilt.

    Death burned in Eppons eyes. Ill stick you like a pig! he howled, snatching up one of his fallen warriors spears and rushing Kyembe.

    The giant raised the spear.

    Kyembe thrust with his good arm, extending his grip on the magical sword.

    The hilt lengthened.

    The de shot forth, angled low.

    <em>Shhhnk!</em>

    <em></em>Eppons shriek was a mammoths trumpet.

    His spear dropped. His hands fell, crimson fountained between fingers that clutched for what was no longer there. The Bear-Breaker wailed, doubling over and curling up on his knees like a whimpering babe.

    <em></em>Kyembe drew back his sword then drove the point through the mans neck.

    <em>Shnk!</em>

    Thest son of Avernix choked on steel with incredulous eyes. A horrid gurgle trickled from his gaping maw. Blood poured from his lips and nostrils. Teetering like an upturned siege tower, the giant fell into a pool of his own red.

    With one final terrible shudder, he breathed hisst.

    Silence.

    The wind blew cold, carrying Kyembes weak, deliriousughter as his beautiful sword ttered to the stones.

    His eyes drifted to the heavens.

    The stars danced in the sky above.

 The Tears of Amitiyah I

    The Tears of Amitiyah I

    A shriek like a mammoths trumpet ripped through the ruined tower.

    Transfixed by the cry, the flight of the Garumnan warriors scraped to a startled halt.

    That was lord Eppon, a pale man murmured.

    A scarred woman groaned; her knuckles white on her spear.

    Uneasy eyes rose skyward, but none emerged from the portal in the ceiling. Only silence greeted their ears.

    We a young warrior choked, his voice warbling and reedy. He shook himself like a dog in the wet. We need to aid our lord! he suddenly shouted, brandishing his spear. We cant abandon him!

    Quiet, boy! a bearded veteran snapped. You didnt see that red-eyed demon with his fire sword! You dont know what youre talking about!

    Wewe have the protection of our demons! the young warrior snapped. Lord Eppon-

    By the Three boy, hes <em>dead!</em> the scarred woman scoffed. That sounded like a butchered pig! Were done here!

    The young warriors face reddened. You dont know that! Youre all cowards!

    <em>Us? Youre</em> the one closest to the door!

    I fear nothing! the youth roared, banging his spear on his shield.

    A tumult of shouting rose from the broken tower. Leaderless and demoralized, their discipline copsed. Comrade argued withrade. Threats flew. So drunk had they been on their overlords victories that the sobering chill of defeat froze their wits brittle.

    Only the roar of the grey-bearded veteran stopped the din. Quiet! All of you! We have to do something! If we dare go back without Lords Agisil and Eppons killers, what the Overlordll do to usll make what he did to them personal guards of theirs look like a day at the summer fair!

    The babel died in heartbeats. As one, the warriors looked to each other.

    Death by the soutnders wizardry would be mercifully quick, the scarred woman muttered, starting back for the stairs. <em>Ill</em> not go out nailed to a cross!

    <em>Be still.</em>

    The deeper voice of another woman smote the room.

    <em>Hisssss.</em>

    Vitriol burned the warriors nostrils.

    An armoured figure hade to stand in the towers doorway.

    Hulking in build, a vermillion sword of terrible size hung in her hand like a willow rod. A great rounded shield stood ready upon the opposite arm - emzoned with the golden head of a mammoth - and six wings rose from her visored helm like the horns of a dragon. Golden witch-light poured from an ether enshrouding her form - at once liquid and vapour - hissing with an undercurrent of wrath.

    Blue eyes burned balefully from within the sapphire slit of her helm.

    St. Cristabel Esnore took a deep breath. I am-

    Die, die, you mange-filled bastards! Wurhi the Rat darted in behind her, snarling and violently shaking her little fists.

    The Garumnan warriors blinked and looked at each other, having no understanding of her Makkadian words.

    The Traemean knight threw a look to the Zabyan, then back to the warriors, taking another breath. I am-

    <em>ng!</em>

    A slingstone struck her on the side of the helm.

    The saint did not flinch. Her eyes narrowed at the young warrior, who paled and took a step back, bumping into the scarred woman.

    St. Cristabel sighed. So be it.

    With a silent prayer to Amitiyah, the saint surged forth with all the power of a hurricane.

    Her bearing sword gleamed in its luminescent shroud. Those before her cried out, bracing behind their shields.

    <em>Whooooosh!</em>

    The knights stroke was monstrously quick.

    <em>Crunch!</em>

    <em></em>Shields shattered. Painted demonic faces and the stout warriors behind them split like rotten fruit. Flesh and bone parted like water. The sheer might in the saints arm blew limbs and torsos through the air, trailing gore and viscera. Luminescent ether bled from the vermillion de, clinging to severed flesh like glue and sshing over those close to their sundered brethren.

    <em>Hissssss!</em>

    Shrieking, they fell as vitriol ate them to the bone.

    Caustic light burned the gore from the saints armour, and she stalked forward with her titanic de dancing like a dagger. Each thunderous stroke reaped warriors like dry wheat, and the corpses poured over the floor in caustic pools.

    Wurhi choked down the urge to be violently sick.

    Damn you, she-witch! The grey veteran charged at the knight in desperation, but a swift twist of her wrist brought the hammer-like pommel down on his skull. His head crumpled in a sh of gore and brains.

    Panic spread.

    Those remaining scrambled up the stairs. Several tripped in their haste and plummeted. If the fall did not finish them, a spiteful Zabyan and her dagger did.

    Scant few made the top floor and found themselves trapped.

    Burning light and a clink of armour heralded their reaper ascending through the stairway.

    Three whirled, their spears thrusting, but her shield turned their blows aside.

    <em>Whoosh! Chok!</em>

    <em></em>Her sword severed their legs at the knees and they fell in screaming, twitching heaps. St. Cristabel stalked past them.

    The scarred woman - all that was left of Eppons once mighty force - looked about frantically for some escape. Her gaze fell upon the Sengezian copsed against the wall and a wild hope sprung up in her eyes. She raced toward the fallen swordsman, intent on a hostage, but the knight charged her swiftly, driving a kick to her back so hard that she flew from her feet and sailed over the edge of the tower.

    Her despairing scream ended with a dull thud on the forest floor.

    St. Cristabel raised her visor and lifted her bearing sword in salute to her god. It is finished.

    Wurhi of Zabya gingerly emerged from the stairway, attempting not to step in the crimson slurry left in the knights wake. She failed spectacrly. By all the gods and demons, you killed them <em>dead! Dead </em>dead! Ive seen <em>bones</em> less dead!

    A pained, cough and chuckle came from the fallen Sengezian by the far wall. I will miss your words, Wurhi, he forced augh.

    Shit! Shit! The Zabyan rushed to Kyembe. You slow-headed bastard! she cried, flinching at the amount of blood soaking him. Youre dying! Heal yourself with your magics! Quick! Quick!

    He took a deep, trembling breath. My eldritch energies are exhausted, Wurhi. All I can do now is slow whates. Heughed his deep, richugh but there was a bitter undercurrent. That lumbering fool and his archers have in Kyembe the Spirit Killer.

    No! No! Youre alive, so keep living, you idiot! Dont give up!

    His breaths grew shallower. My legend ends here, Wurhi. He chuckled.

    She did notugh with him. Youyouwere oath bound! You cant die!

    Oh, I think you will find that I am most capable of that. His eyes grew unfocused. Proficient, even.

    <em>No!</em> She grabbed the front of his tunic. I left my home and my whole life! she snarled; her face close to his. Were supposed to go to Laexondael together!

    Youyou can still-

    Can I?! What am I supposed to do when I get there!?

    Taketake my share of Cas treasure.

    And then what?! she nearly shrieked. I cant understand what most of these barbarians say! I cant speak to them! Whos going to watch my back when someone decides to rob me!? How long am I going tost without a partner?! Her eyes narrowed in frustration. Did the so-called Kyembe the Spirit Killer let Wurhi the Rate with him just to die and leave her to pick pockets in some strange market!? <em>Here!?</em> she gestured wildly to their surroundings. Where the air is moist as a river and the cold grabs your bones?! I wouldve been ten times better off in Zabya dealing with Cas throwaways! Why did you let mee with you! <em>Why?</em>

    He looked at her for a time, then feebly raised a hand to her arm. Crimson eyes met green ones. I am sorry.

    She squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head. Little hands clutched his clothing tightly. You she grimaced. You

    Metal clinked quietly as footsteps approached.

    St. Cristabels body blocked the rising moon, but illuminated them with the glowing substance sheathing her form. She looked down on the wounded Sengezian, her expression grave. You have fought a difficult struggle, Spirit Killer. In force, your enemies fell upon you, yet you preserved yourpanions life at the cost of your own. That is honourable. I would see that you need not endure such pain of body and heart.

    She raised a gauntlet over the Sengezian and squeezed the empty air. Luminescence pooled beneath her clenched fist as though juice were squeezed from a fruit. I shall ease your suffering.

    Wurhi whirled on her in shock. Shed seen what that glowing stuff did to people. What are you doing, you crazed, filthy-

    A glowing droplet fell from the saints fist and sshed over Kyembes forehead. His eyes grew round.

    <em>Hisssss!</em>

    <em></em>Aaaaaaaargh! he screamed, writhing against the stone.

 The Tears of Amitiyah II

    The Tears of Amitiyah II

    You wretched, mad, treacherous filth-monger! Wurhi shrieked, drawing her dagger and leaping at the knight. She was caught by the wrist and held in ce like a child. Let me go! Let me go!

    The Zabyan struggled violently but the strength of that grip was truly pythonic - she might as well have tried to uproot one of those giant trees. The saints fingers were not closedpletely, but they did not move even when Wurhi strained with her whole being. She tried to stab her dagger into the entrapping hand, but it scraped off the strange metal gauntlet without even marring it.

    She screamed and hissed and cursed the woman, but St. Cristabels eyes did not spare her a single nce. Focused on Kyembe, she took in every moment as the glowing substance underwent its grim work. He continued to scream behind Wurhi until his voice wore out, copsing into a great, trembling breath like that of an eldersst or an infants first.

    The saint gave a curt, satisfied nod. Amitiyahs will is done.

    Why?! Wurhi shrieked. <em>Why!?</em>

    <em></em>She raised her dagger, this time aiming for the knights face beneath her visor.

    Wurhi.

    The de froze in her hand.

    I ask you not to put a knife in the eye of my saviour, mused a rich, familiar voice. It would be most ungracious.

    She whirled.

    The arrows that pierced Kyembey on the stones; his skin bore no sign of wound. Languidly, he pulled the sling from his body and stretched his arm, rotating it at the shoulder and flexing his fingers without difort. His expression grew stupefied.

    The odour of vitriol was reced by a scent akin to fresh rain.

    H-how? Wurhi stammered. Why arent you mush?

    By the mercy of another, it seems. He transferred his ring back to its primary hand, sliding it into ce where the skin was a little lighter. He gave a great sigh of relief. Thank you. He looked to St. Cristabel sincerely. I owe you my life.

    You merely owe me your name, stranger. The saint threw her shield over her shoulder and extended a gauntleted hand. St. Cristabel Esnore, as you doubtless heard at the pit.

    Kyembe of Sengezi, he said. She grasped his forearm and pulled him to his feet as though he were an empty sack. He nearly stumbled, but sped her forearm in greeting and to steady himself. Apologies for the secrecy.

    The saints eyebrows rose. Kyembe of Sengezithe same Kyembe that folk call The Spirit Killer?

    It was so whenst I checked, he grinned.

    She smiled broadly in return, dimples appearing on her cheeks. The grip on his forearm tightened. Glory be! I know you by reputation only, but what I have heard marks you as a warrior of both might and honour! Well met! Very well met indeed!

    Wurhi wondered if the knight had heard of him being a scoundrel and fool as well. It seemed not. She would have to correct that.

    The Sengezian bowed deeply. I am honoured further to make yourpany, Solidde Knight. Without it, I would be dead. Again, many thanks for your aid.

    It is by the grace of Amitiyah that you are made well, not by mine. The glowing substance about St. Cristabels body dissipated. I thought your deeds here would have pleased him and so chose to anoint you in his tears.

    Amitiyahs Tears, he murmured, peering again at where wounds once were. I had heard of their power before, but never imagined this. He touched his arm and belly, which bore no mark or scar. They may be burn or balm he repeated his earlier words to Wurhi. And you knew they would be balm for me.

    The Traemean knight shook her head. As I said, I <em>thought</em> they would favour you, but I know not Amitiyahs will. It could have been that he found you displeasing.

    He froze. You meanthey could have he looked down to the half-melted corpses by the stairs.

    Indeed. His tears of wrath are quite fatal. She shrugged. That is why I anointed your head. Any suffering would be mercifully quick.

    Kyembe blinked and slowly grasped the wall behind him for support.

    You! Wurhi cut in. You didnt say any of that! You acted like you were killing him!

    Did I? St. Cristabel asked.

    You said I shall ease your suffering or some shit!

    I did.

    Why did you say it like that!?

    Because I <em>did</em> ease his suffering. By Amitiyahs grace.

    Wurhi gnashed her teeth. You made it sound like you were killing him!

    Did I? Cristabels lips pursed. I suppose I did.

    Why?!

    The saint raised an eyebrow. Why did you quarrel so long before releasing me from my prison?

    We-I- Wurhi choked. Kyembe made strangling noises.

    You, rest. St. Cristabel Esnore appraised the Sengezian. I shall ensure that thisrge, dead cretin- she kicked Eppons corpse. -left none straggling in the dark to fall upon us. I shall retrieve my kit and procure some bounty for our supper. She looked to the moon. It iste, and I see no sense in camping separately.

    The knight made for the stairs.

    Wait! Kyembe called after her. did you spite us?

    Did I? Cristabel half-turned, her face contemtive. A smile formed on her full lips. I suppose I did.

    The thief and the demon killer gawked long after her steps had disappeared down the stairs.

    A sour sigh slipped from Wurhis clenched jaw. I hate her.

    Kyembe nodded emphatically.

    I also want to marry her a little, she added.

    Kyembe nodded emphatically.

    <em>Dead?</em> Avernix threw his goblet, striking a hapless ve. The overlord of Garumna stared at his wizard. Are you certain?!

    Yes, Lukotor the Wise pronounced grimly. I wasmuning with the vessel as his life ceased: Hisst thoughts were-

    Do not! the overlord stopped him with an upraised hand. Who did this?! Those demons from the soutnds?

    The old wizard nodded grimly.

    How can this be? Avernix rose from his oaken throne woven with the skulls of conquered Garumnan kings. I sent half a hundred warriors with Eppon! My best trackers! My hounds!

    Lukotor glowered at an empty point in space. Our enemy is a cunning one. His brown, tangled teeth clenched in his jaw. And seems to have a devils luck.

    The old man recounted how the Solidde Knight had entered the battle. What she had said about Eppon giving her offence, and how she had ughtered until none were left. Avernix turned paler listening to the wizards words until, devastated, he fell back in his throne. my son<em>thats </em>who he His calloused hand grasped his face. where are they now?

    Before the Threes power passed from the vessel, I heard thoughts turn toward making camp. Lukotor nced southward. Though if they remain there now, I know not.

    You know not? the overlord snapped. <em>Why arent you still watching them?</em>

    Irritation shed through the old wizard, but he kept it from his face. My overlord, the Three must have more sacrifices before they will lend their power to the vessel again, and it will need time to recover its energies, lest it shatter from the strain. It is no matter; we will reach Gergorixs city before them.

    No matter? Avernix bristled. My sons are ughtered and their killers feast in celebration and you say no matter? Tell me exactly where they are! Now! I will rouse the army and I <em>will</em> have my vengeance!

    My overlord, Lukotor said quickly. It would be wise to wait until morning.

    The conquerors eyes narrowed dangerously. Speak carefully, Lukotor.

    The old mans head bowed. It is dark. We could wander until our enemies gained the egg or escaped our grasp. He shook his head. Patience, my overlord. By dawn, the vessels energies will have renewed and the Three will be well fed. We will then be better able toy ambush for those soutnders and this newpanion. All without risk to us.

    Avernix seemed ready to spit back some retort, but the wits of a war leader stayed him. His rage receded beneath the surface, reced by a cold contemtion. He had long mastered his own temper. theres sense in your words. Go then. Prepare the sacrifice so that the Three are ready to find them at first light. At first light, Lukotor, and not one heartbeatter.

    As youmand, overlord. Lukotor bowed and turned to depart.

    Oh, and Lukotor?

    Yes, overlord?

    Speak no more of this until I say so.

    Understood, overlord.

    When the old wizard left the tent, he nearly tore the jewels from his hair. His teeth clenched so hard that-

    <em>Crunch.</em>

    <em></em>One cracked in his mouth. Ignoring the pain, he spit blood and tooth.

    The army of Avernix filled a forest valley around the wizard, mired in erecting tents, deciding watches and boiling thick porridge. Warriors ranged into the forest with bronze axes and saws of hardened copper, harvesting low hanging branches and dried brush.

    They fed an unlit bonfire, where heter would summon The Three Who Dwell in Ash. Ten poles towered around the woodpile, each bearing a whimpering captive struggling against their bonds as the fuel of their grisly fate piled higher before them.

    Pickets held the small herd of horses and oxen brought with the horde. The beasts eyed the trees with lolling eyes. Nestled in the confidence granted by their demonic protection, the soldiers spooned their steaming pottage by small fires and japed to each other over rising lines of smoke outlined by the moon.

    Lukotors own thoughts were empty of cheer and heavy in doubt.

    Thrice these nameless soutnd thieves - who he was starting to think must have not been so nameless - hade from seemingly nowhere and caused catastrophe upon catastrophe. This was to be hisst push to final triumph, not this fell trial. He had paid his due. His personal power was at its peak and his sacrifices were on the cusp of bearing the sweetest fruit.

    Yet, the sons of his overlordy dead, and their killers sought the egg. Unease stirred in him. The old wizard looked to the northern tree line, considering making for the ruin alone, but dismissed the thought. Uncounted were those that had sought the egg and never returned.

    Did the ogres and beasts of the forest truly im them all? Demons only knew what horrors King Gergorix had left to guard his treasures. There were reasons why hed gathered a great force to apany him. He did not live to earn the moniker The Wise by flying off like a fool.

    A little more, he promised himself, making for the bonfire.

    Even as he pacified his own doubt, a familiar sound rose in the corner of his mind.

    His masters wet cackle.

    The same one that echoed after his back the night hed left to start his journey.

 The Three that Dwell in Ash I

    The Three that Dwell in Ash I

    <em>Crackle</em>.

    The campfire danced atop the stones, casting a flickering orange light and hissing from fat dripping above. Six quail hens and a plump hare roasting upon a copper spit sizzled, their skin darkening to golden brown. Their aroma was tantalizing.

    St. Cristabel turned the spit and anointed each with salt and sour wine. Her shadow - made long from the me - danced over the hull of her dugout boat and bundle of supplies, more weighted for a beast of burden than a human. The vermillion metal of her bearing sword glinted as ity upon the sapphire of her shield. Her helmy close by. Unstrapped, chestnut curls - tangled and greased from long travel - hung down to the knights mid back, lightly swaying in the low wind that bent the fire toward the west.

    Wurhi of Zabya hugged her cloak tightly about herself, shivering in the chill. Her belly growled and her eyes watched the meat as though it were glistening gold.

    Patience. Cristabel did not take her eyes from her task, but her te armour clinked as she shifted her weight in Wurhis direction. You will have not long to wait, though I would curb your excitement. I am no master cook.

    Dont care. You take too long and Ill eat it raw. Wurhi rubbed her hands together rapidly. She nced to therger woman. Er, thanks for making all this.

    The knight waved a gauntleted hand. You granted me freedom and life. I merely saw you both repaid.

    You did that when you saved our lives.

    Then it is repayment for thepany! Cristabel grinned broadly. I am as starved for that as you are for this. She pointed to the meat.

    I wouldnt take that bet. Ive had nothing but mushrooms, berries and water for days.

    Thest soul I had words with before you was the son of Avernix.

    Yeah, okay.

    The women snickered.

    Speaking ofpany, I wonder after yourpanion. The saint nced toward the forest. Did he not promise to return shortly?

    Hell be fine, Wurhi waved a hand dismissively. Wish hed hurry though.

    A mountain of fuel rose by their side. Kyembe had borne the logs up the flight of steps over many trips before retreating back into the dark of the wood. He often referred to the tablets of Lukotor the Wise, muttering to himself with eyes sparking with gleeful vindictiveness. Hed dragged the bodies of Eppon and four other corpses against the westward wall. Mercifully, their stench blew away from the fire; already Wurhi saw flies buzzing on Avernixs son.

    He <em>is </em>taking a while though. The Zabyan eyed the sullen boughs far above them. The ruined tower rose four floors but the trees dwarfed it, and she felt like she was being measured by a ring of hungry titans.

    Worry not of the ogres, St. Cristabel said with confidence. The light upon this tower can be seen, but we are in a defensible position: ogres cannot reach us from outside and their bulk is much too great for the doorwayit is almost a pity. Her eyes were blue balefire in the light of the me. I am still stiff and the warriors of Avernix were woeful exercise.

    A chill shuddered through Wurhi. That look in St. Cristabels eye was ufortably familiar. She told herself she was imagining it. Its not those overgrown brutes thats scaring me - well, they are - but not as much as that old vulture getting that magic egg first while we take our time.

    Oh, I would not worry about that, Kyembes deep voice boomed from the stairs. The Sengezian had silently ascended the tower, his crimson eyes shining with an evil triumph. He gently held a long, ck feather like a grand prize. With this, our friends will be he chuckled darkly. far, <em>far</em> too engaged to worry about any eggs.

    There you are! The Zabyan started from her seat. I thought youd been eaten out there! Whatve you brought?

    A vultures feather! he boasted as though it were the answer to all mysteries of earth and sky.

    She blinked. <em>Why</em> do we need a piece of corpse-eating bird?

    He chuckled darkly. Trust me

    Making a noise of disgust, she turned away as he dropped down by the fire. He hummed with irritating cheer, warming his hands nearly in the me. St. Cristabel cocked her head at the sight. Are you quite fine?

    Kyembes lips curled in amusement and he passed his hands through the fire. Both women startled and he gave a jauntyugh. The dark elves dwell deep beneath the earth, where it grows hot and under-suns float in towering caverns for half a year at a time. It takes a truly great heat to burn their flesh and I am ustomed to even stronger mes. He yed with his ring in emphasis, the womans face gleaming within the skulls maw. His nostrils red. By the Stars, that smells wonderful. You spoil us.

    It is passable fare. The knight poked the hare with a bronze fork. Had I thyme, a clove of garlic and peppercorn we would have a true feast.

    Kyembe gave her a long, pleased look. We have feast enough. His eyes drifted to the stars. We have our lives. Our wits. Our freedom. And our health. Things we did not have so much when the sun rose.

    Youre in some mood, Wurhi said.

    Of course! he spread his arms wide. There are many great things to look forward to.

    Such as this, the knight added. Meats ready.

    She passed them each two quails.

    Wurhi stuffed hers down her throat, moaning happily at the crisped skin and delectable juices. Kyembe tore into his with the ferocity of a lion over a kill. The saint took the hare and two remaining quails for herself and feasted with impable manner, yet finished all down to the bone. The little Zabyan wondered at where she put it all. Then again, swinging that enormous sword, no doubt, built an enormous appetite.

    Nooow then. Kyembe drained his water skin, then scooped up a handful of ash from the me. Might I borrow this fire, good knight?

    She gestured freely to it. The fire is ours and yours.

    Bidding them to step back, the Sengezian added fuel to the fire until it towered into the night. He swiftly marked the stones with symbols drawn by finger in ash, so sharp they pierced the eye. He began to chant in terrible cadence, intoning foreign words sounding so vile they bore through the ear.

    Wurhis belly grew cold at their familiarity; shed heard simr utterances from the Lord of Nightmares in Cas chambers.

    What treachery is this? St. Cristabel tensed, her hand falling to her dagger.

    Hey hey! What are you doing? Wurhi whispered harshly. Inwardly, shemented having anything to do with zealots.

    The knights voice was flint. Why does he prepare a ritual to summon a demon? A vile one at that!

    Wurhi defended him. Heshes<em>hes </em>She paused. She whirled.<em> </em>Kyembe! Are you bringing a demon?

    <em></em>He looked up with a wounded expression, pausing his chant. You ruined the surprise!

    Wurhi exploded. <em>Why!? </em>she shrieked. Why are you bringing a demon? Why are you bringing a demon with<em> me </em>around?<em></em>

    Trust me.

    Stop saying that!

    Kyembe offered no more exnation as he dragged the piled bodies into an arrangement about the bonfire, cing them head outward to construct the points of macabre star. I thought to use animal corpses that I found in the forest for this ritual, but our most gracious enemies have provided: the bodies of higher beings always suit magic better.

    With a lean finger, he drew three ashen circles surrounding them. It will take too long to describe and time is short. Better that you see. All you must know for now is that you will be safe outside of these circles. He looked at the tablets again. The Three Who Dwell in Ash cannot break them.

    The <em>what?!</em> Wurhi cried.

    The saint set her jaw, and her body began to move.

    Panicking, Wurhi caught her by her armoured forearm. Wait, wait! Both the knight and Kyembe wielded terrible violence and worse magics, and she did not fancy her odds were a fight to break out between them. See what he does first!

    He trucks with filth. St. Cristabel bristled. I have heard both word fair and foul spoken of Kyembe the Spirit Killer, but it seems the truthy toward thetter. The Three Who Dwell in Ash are vile beyond counting. To worship or call upon them is an act most foul.

    The Zabyan frowned. To her, demons and gods were little different; deceiving, devouring, killing and demanding sacrifice. She had no grounds to see this Amitiyah dissimrly to whatever Kyembe was about to dump into the world. Of course, she was not so mad as to voice this before the zeal burning in the Traemeans eyes. We could have left you down in that pit to starve, she said carefully. And weve done nothing to you. If hes doing something like this, its going to be for the damned best reason. She looked to Kyembe hopefully. Right?

    He peered up from Lukotors tablets. What was that? I was contemting these.

    Wurhi nearly pushed the knight aside to kill him herself.

    <em>Whoom.</em>

    The bonfire pulsed.

    Crawling sensations of a thousand maggots froze Wurhi still. A bitterness settled into the air, weighty with the attention of something that should never be called upon.

    The door is open. Kyembes smile was vicious. His crimson eyes were demonic in the firelight. I will begin the call. Do not step into the circle and do not disturb the ash.

 The Three that Dwell in Ash II

    The Three that Dwell in Ash II

    Without waiting for response, he ced the writings of the old wizard down and touched the vultures feather to the me. It hissed as an old serpent arising from slumber and spat copper sparks and ck smoke. The Sengezians deep voice rose into a song of exultation, turned hideous by the Tongue of Demons. He began to move.

    With grace, he whirled about the roaring me - a lean silhouette against the ze - his lithe limbs bending and swaying in a rhythm predating the ancient stones they stood upon. ck smoke trailed him, twirling and forming strange lines and patterns with his movements.

    Wurhi stared on, transfixed by what took ce before her, an instinctual loathing rising up from instincts both human and animal. A wrongness akin to that in Cas chambers rooted her to the ground and yet demanded that she speed into the night with all haste. Torn in two, she could only tremble at the abomination being worked before her.

    St. Cristabels aversion manifested not in fear - for that had burnt out of her with hering to sainthood - but in a grand wrath that only her discipline managed to yoke. She stayed her hand, for the Zabyans terror and disgust were in to see, yet the woman did not flee. Heeding her earlier words, she would see this through.

    The five corpses shuddered.

    <em>Crack.</em>

    <em></em>Their jaws wrenched apart,pelled by unseen force, releasing sinuous streams of steam with the stink of bile and blood. The streams weaved through the vulture feathers trailing smoke, braiding together into one roiling mist. Kyembes voice grew in volume and menace, until he shrieked his song toward the stars themselves.

    The smoke above the bonfire deepened.

    Wurhi gasped, taking a step back.

    Some hideous thing hinted at their presence, reaching forth from a ce too foul toprehend. A repulsive whispering caressed the air beneath Kyembes chant, joining with him in foul counterpoint. With a final cry in the Tongue of Demons, he stilled and cast the smoking feather into the me. The smoke above solidified into a column of darkness. Three who Dwell in Ash! I call to you! the Sengezian cried.

    The heat of the fire ebbed away. Three vast silhouettes formed. One mountainous. One lean. Thest squamous. Light recoiled from their vile presence, and their auras held an ancient, primeval terror.

    Wee with sacrifice for your dread blessing! he exulted with arms extended above him.

    The shapes in the smoke paused, and Wurhi felt in them a vast amusement. Her mind shuddered at such contact.

    Little thing! the squamous one hissed, its voice an ebb and flow of decay. You are promised to us! You and the smaller thing there!

    Wurhi whimpered as a thousand eyes crawled over her.

    The mountainous one grated inughter, its voice the scream of rust upon rust. Our human-things brought feasts to us and we grow fat and strong! You will be feast for us too, when theye!

    We will guide them! Now we hide them! the lean one screeched, its voice the wisp of ash on the wind. They will feed us and we will eat you!

    But you know words. The mountainous one leaned toward the edge of the column. You know ways. You feed us too. We take you. We bind you. Not eating.

    One here is not promised! the squamous one writhed in hideous longing. Its smell is sweet and tart! It is marked by another! Good! We will take! Good sacrifice!

    Try it, St. Cristabel growled beneath her breath.

    Wurhi blinked in horror. Was this Kyembes grand n that excited him so? Was he trying to gain mercy for them by bargaining with these things?

    The Sengezian shruggednguidly to the Three Who Dwell in Ash. I am afraid I did not call you to appease you, demons. I called you so that I may kill you.

    There was a startled silence from all present except the Sengezian.

    Laughter burst from the column.

    Fool! the mountainous one roared. We are here but not here!

    Metal no harm us! the squamous one jeered.

    Not Flesh! Not wood! the lean one cried. Not little mortal magic!

    And what of fire? Kyembe asked.

    The demons sniggering grew; a cheer of rust, pus and ash.

    Twice fool! We dwell in ash!ughed the mountainous one. Fire no hurt!

    A fourthugh arose, deep and cruel and triumphant. The Sengezians great mirth rolled through him, and he raised his fist. His ring zed white.

    Suddenly, hisugh was alone.

    And this fire? The ring grew brighter. Will <em>this</em> fire no hurt?

    Hellfire! the lean one shrieked.

    Flee! cried the squamous one.

    <em>Whoom.</em>

    <em></em>The ring of braided mist rushed inward, coiling about the smokey column like a serpent about a screaming rabbit. The demons screeched and writhed within, pounding on their bindings with foul appendages. Kyembe slowly brought his ring to bear, drawing out what was toe.

    And then

    <em>Vrooosh!</em>

    A white beam hungrily fired toward the smoke.

    The lean one screeched and shoved the mountainous one forward.

    The hulking creature screamed. Hellfirenced it through the chest and it sparked into a white ze like a dry desert tree smote by lightning. Writhing and wing at itself, it crashed into its fellows, and they too went up like oiled parchment. Wurhi fought back springing bile as a scent, fouler than any she had encountered, struck her nose forcing her to her knees. A strange sound came from her side and she slowly looked toward it.

    Comprehension left her.

    St. Cristabel was doubled over inughter.

    Demonic shrieks rose higher in pitch until there was only the crackle of flesh that was not flesh. Their bodies disintegrated.

    A swift wind crashed over the tower, nearly sweeping Wurhi off her feet and stealing the sound from her ears with its roar. Foul smoke and symbols in ash were carried away, the five corpses in the circle dissipating to dust; floating away like gossamer.

    The fire abruptly died.

    Calm descended as quickly as the wind came.

    As her hearing returned,ughter from saint and demon killer greeted her.

    So that was your game! St. Cristabels face had turned red.

    Did you see it!? His fists shook like an ecstatic childs whose prank was a triumph. He drew himself up. Fooooool! he mimicked the rust-like voice. Fire cannot huuuurt uuuuus! He pped his hands. And then <em>boom!</em>

    It seems that it could! the knight roared scornfully.

    Whats so funny?! Wurhi demanded. Shed been a heartbeat from soiling her loincloth and was not particrly amused.

    Wurhi! he came up to her. Those greedy, foul demons! I called them and they came, with the smugness of jackals, expecting to feast! One moment they bragged and they threatened and the next, well- He pped his hands again. <em>-BOOM! </em>he roared withughter. I would have given much to have seen the looks on their faces!

    Hold, hold! St. Cristabel waved her hands. What did they mean when they spoke of hiding something?

    Kyembes grin turned outright viinous. You see, my friend, those were the tribal demons of the great Avernix! The same Avernix who it seems has led many warriors into this forest if our pursuers numbers are any measure. He gestured all about. In a forest full of ogres and beasts. He leaned toward them. Eppon gloated about how the tribes demons are cloaking them.

    St. Cristabels eyebrows shot up. And those demons now lie in. Their entire force

    will just <em>poof</em> into the ogres senses. In the midst of their territory. With our persistent friends having no way of knowing until Lukotor calls on their demons again. Kyembe looked up toward the moon. And they said he called on them this very night, so he will not do so again for some time. They are probably readying themselves for a restful sleep.

    The Traemeansughter boomed up into the sky.

    A grin split Wurhis face as she finally realized what this meant. Oh, theyre going to have a bad, bad night.

    Kyembes teeth shone in the dark. The worst.

    As herpanions mirth continued, Wurhis swiftly abated. She realized what the ufortable, familiar feeling was shed gotten from the Traemean knight.

    Her eyes drifted between the two, marking their sharedughter.

    Oh no she moaned. Not <em>two</em> of them.

    A hulking, twisted figure stalked through the dark.

    Typical of his kind, the ogre towered over the tallest of human men. His chest spread broader than a bulls and his arms could wring the life from the most massive auroch. Sniffing the air with each long stride, his eyes pierced the darkness like a dire wolfs.

    In one hand, he bore a tree-trunk as a club, while the other gripped the grisly remains of a fox that had misjudged the quickness of the giants limbs. Half of it had already disappeared between his grinding fangs.

    In this forest of beasts, little threatened him. He patrolled ensuring no neighbouring ogre tribe dared challenge the territory of his chief, Danu the Bottomless. So feared was the ogress that his task was rarely fruitful.

    He took another bite of his meal, savouring the taste of cooling blood and the tang of it as it caressed his nostrils

    Hisrge body came to a stop.

    he smelled something else.

    Horse-flesh. Fire. Human-flesh.

    The scents were strong. So strong he must have been nearly on top of them. He blinked, shaking his horned head as though throwing a shroud off his senses.

    Now he heard them. Many of them. Speaking in human tongues.

    He whirled about. His jaw gaped at what he saw.

    Not a hundred strides away, fires rose in a clearing through the trees, illuminating human silhouettes. How had he not noticed? Perhaps it was human witches or shamans and their tricks. His tribe bothered not with such things.

    His jaw closed into a fanged grin.

    These bold men had stumbled right into the maw of the cave lion.

    He turned to find his brethren on patrol.

    Tonight, they would feast.

 The Massacre I

    The Massacre I

    As the night grew, the armys chatter faded from the forest. Fires were snuffed. nkets drawn. Guards posted. All settled into a quiet slumber, fearing little and drawingfort from their fellows and the protection of their tribal demons. By this time, Kyembe the Spirit Killer had erased those demons from this world and all others, but none here could know that.

    Nor did they know the budding danger in the dark.

    Looming figures stalked the woods beyond the sight of the sentries, their inhuman eyes shining as they cut through the ckness. Ears twitched, nostrils red and hulking shapes drifted closer to the camp. They rumbled to each other in their rough, grinding tongue, and great horned bodies pulled their way up the tree trunks to peer at the bold and foolish folk below. Bold to bring such a force so deep into the sea of rising trunks.

    Foolish to slumber in the midst of their predators.

    Some bounded north with long limbed strides to gather more of their brethren, returning by the guards shift change.

    Avernix''s horde was not alone.

    Towering, horned figures massed about the army, moving with predatory purpose and driven by bottomless hunger.

    <em>Crack. Crack.</em>

    <em></em>Groaning branches and snapping twigs filled the darkness.

    The Garumnan sentries eyed each other and the trees, but did not raise rm. After all, they were under their demons protection and would draw only jeers and ire for waking theirrades because of odd sounds in the dark. Yet, this was the Forest of Giants, where half the most dread tales told to them in childhood had taken ce. Memories emerged of elders waving gnarled fingers as they spat horror stories through missing teeth, telling how the horned denizens of the wood woulde and drag away children who did not obey.

    They shuddered those tales away. They were grown now. Strong. They had ravaged and piged their homnd until their king called none equal. They were the ones that should be feared. It was this thought that burned in their minds as unseen eyes stalked them. As twisted, wed hands drew up stones the size of womens torsos. As one of those hands raised a war-horn of hollowed mastodon tusk to a fanged maw.

    <em></em>And the note of doom sounded.

    <em>Whooooosh!</em>

    The stones came first.

    Cast from hidden perches by monstrous thews, they cut through the branches - some ncing off and missing their mark - and flew into the clearing with the force of falling stars.

    <em>Crunch!</em>

    <em></em>The first screams spiralled skyward, but they were drowned by a peal of roars from vast throats and the stampede of titanic, taloned feet. The sentries were still turning in confusion when the press of colossal, grey-skinned bodies charged from the wood, howling and cursing in their monstrous tongue. Caught by surprise and forsaken by their demons, the guards were bowled over and trampled.

    The ogre horde surged into the camp.

    Veterans of Avernixs grand campaign stirred awake, only to be stomped into crimson mash beneath gigantic feet and bestialughter. One man, stuporous from sleep, half-rose from his bedding only to be smashed back down by a club bearing the weight of a battering ram. Savage, alien eyes burned above fanged maws as the mammoth rush raged on. In mere breaths, scores of the overlords mighty hordey crushed into the earth, never knowing what came for them.

    Attack!

    To arms!

    Cries rose and warriors staggered to their feet, desperately grabbing for spears and shields, leaving their armour where ity. Thin bronze could do little to ward against blows that fell like catapult stones.

    What is this? The Overlord of Garumna sprang from his tent, bronze axe in one hand and shield in the other, gaping at the catastrophe that had befallen them. By the Three! Arise! Arise youyabouts, were being ughtered! His voice rose above the din like an off-pitch bull-horn in a cattle market. The ogres havee for us! Fight! Fight for all you have! Fight for your lives!

    He sprang forward with his bodyguards.

    Lukotor the Wise scrambled from his own tent, dazed with horror and incredulity. Nonono he murmured as a lost child would. This cannot beit <em>cannot!</em>

    The ancient man rushed back inside and seized his objects of power. He brought forth a y amulet carved with symbols demonic and soaked in the blood of a hundred sacrifices. His trembling hand hesitated at what it had taken to create it, but seeing no choice, he squeezed, crushing the charm. The magics within rushed out as a reddish mist he quickly struck with a spark from his pyromancers ember. It roared into green witch-fire hanging in the air before him, and vomiting a column of unnatural ck smoke.

    Three Who Dwell in Ash! he cried. I have cracked the pact amulet! Come! Serve!

    His voice rung through the air, but no presence answered. Come! Serve!

    The column of smoke remained empty, and the old wizard began to quake as he had not since boyhood. From outside, the din grew more dire. Serve! he cried. Serve, damn you all, seeeeerve!

    Spells upon spells had been worked into the charm at terrible cost: enchantments that would call andpel the Three for one days passing without choice or bargain.

    Yet, they did note.

    The eldritch energy hung limply, like a fishing line in an empty pond. It was not possible. If another had called them or even held them, at least this magic should have touched them. This silence could only be ifif

    Dead? he gasped. Theyre dead?

    How could this be? Was their protection gone? Were they alone?

    With his heart pounding as though it would burst, he rushed from his tent with the Vessel of Altak-Tur grasped beneath one arm and his pyromancers ember gripped tightly in the other hand. Muttering words of power, the ember red as its magics were drawn to his spell. It red like the sun in miniature as he pointed at one of the looming, horned silhouettes rampaging through the dark.

    <em>Boom!</em>

    A roaringet zed from the ember, trailing me through the night. It exploded against the giant chest, consuming the howling creature in a roiling fireball. Flesh charred and bone cracked, and the congration rose into the sky, revealing the battlefield in a brief, terrible instant.

    <em>No!</em> Lukotor cried.

 The Massacre II

    The Massacre II

    The ogres overran the camp like scores of mad titans. The trees belched monsters with eyes shining and spittle flying from their maws. Innumerable tents were trampled, and sickening red oozed from the wreckage. Warriors mounted a desperate defence, but they stumbled in confusion - half-blinded and crazed by terror.

    One towering beast took a spear to the chest, snarled, then grabbed the thrower and squeezed the life from him. Another fighter was tossed high into the air, her terrified wail abruptly ending when she impacted a tree. A man struggled in the steel-grip of a grey-skinned giant, his irate roar abruptly changing to an agonized mewl as he was pulled in two. Gore poured onto his yer. The creature opened its mouth to drink the grisly rain.

    The fireball faded, plunging all into a blind nightmare of screaming and ripping flesh. The army was ruined. The old wizard stiffened. Decades of effort evaporated before his eyes, trampled t by these brutes like a child stomping a snow castle.

    He clenched his fist around the ember. He would pay this back tenfold! A hundred-fold!

    Yet, he must wait for that. This was not the time.

    Moving quickly, he followed the sound of Avernix''s bellowing. My overlord!

    Overlord Avernix had gathered twenty of his best and was rallying to charge, but whirled at the call of his wizard. Lukotor! he roared. What madness has befallen us!? We were hidden! The Three-

    -are dead! They are dead, overlord!

    Avernix and his bodyguards recoiled from his words, and Lukotor knew he had erred. Even these hardened veterans had only the loosest grip on their courage now, and giving witness to their guardians destruction could doubtless cause the rest to slip away. He had to speak quickly. Overlord, we are overrun! We must get away!

    The Overlord of Garumna, pale as the moon, looked about as the silhouettes of carnage destroyed the army that had carried him from victory to victory. An army that would have protected him and fought his enemies far into the future. An army he had nned to gift to his heir. An heir he had also been robbed of. The golden crown encircling his battle helm felt like mere tin for all it meant now.

    Yet, his conquerors spirit demanded no surrender. No bowing. Not even to death.

    What do you advise? his gaze grew sharp.

    The egg! It is our one hope now! With my magic, we can escape and move quickly to im it! Its powerit will fix this.

    With hisst words, he was unsure if he spoke to convince his sovereign or himself. Avernix rose up to his full height, eyes zing. Make a path for us. The conqueror turned to his remaining warriors. We will pierce the encirclement to the north. Stay in formation and gather any others who would join us. Spears down. Shields away. Do not stop running. May the Three- the words caught in his throat, and he grit his teeth and raised his spear. Forth! We charge!

    With a roar of desperation, they followed their sovereign while the old wizard took up position in their midst, raising the pyromancer''s ember.

    <em>Boom!</em>

    <em></em>me exploded before them, and ogres screamed and writhed as they burned, lurching apart. Again, Lukotor spat the same incantation.

    <em>Boom! Boom! </em>

    Streakingets crashed into grey flesh. Heat, light and the reek of scorching meat battled each other in the air as Avernix rushed onward, his powerful arm coiling then exploding in a piercing thrust to a confused giants throat. A rip sideways saw the bronze point sh the throat open. The towering brute clutched its ragged wound, tumbling back from its burning fellows. It copsed like a felled tree. The conquerors warriors cheered, pushing into the gap with bronze spearheads glinting in light of moon and fire. Speartips washed red when driven up into incensed forest giants. More warriors rallied to the violent push as one drowning would cling to passing driftwood.

    Ogres bounded forth to meet them, bellowing challenges and sweeping with their clubs - crushing warriors two and three at a time - but Lukotor was already chanting.

    His ember red a deadly orange.

    <em>Fwoooosh!</em>

    <em></em>He unleashed a stream of fire akin to dragons breath, sweeping back and forth to coat their attackers. Their screams were deafening. The scorching was unyielding as ogres were swallowed in me, toppling onto warriors and taking them too to a burning doom. Remaining warriors pushed on behind their roaring overlord, fleeing as if escaping all hells. A nce at looming bodies swarming the paddock told them that the horses and oxen were lost, so they pushed for the trees.

    Spears thrust and fire magic roared until those surviving were drenched in sweat and delirious from terror and exertion. The ogres drew back from Lukotors devastating me to cast a hail of immense stones with disastrous uracy, striking many down and nearly taking Lukotors life.

    Yet, a scant few made the tree-line. Perhaps a score. Perhaps a dozen. Lukotor and Avernix had no time to count. Wordlessly, the wizard and the conqueror pushed on in the grimmest of marches, their rhythm broken only by the screams of their dyingrades in the shadows of night. <strong></strong>

    <em>Crunch.</em>

    <em></em>Another tooth shattered in Lukotors mouth.

    He swore. He swore to himself that he wouldy hands to the egg. He would make it his own. Its fell powers would find those thieves, that saint, and whatever did <em>this</em>. The tortures he would conjure would be evesting and vile enough to drive demons mad.

    This he swore to himself. He swore in his mind loudly. Loud enough to have it echo through his entire being.

    yet, it could not shout down insistent doubts that had further arisen in his heart.

    The old wizard ran. Forwardy endless power and glory. Pursuing him was death.

    He could not be sure which would move the quicker.

 The Wizard-Kings Truth I

    The Wizard-King''s Truth I

    As morning broke, Kyembe, Wurhi and St. Cristabel continued their journey north to Gergorixs city.

    A mans scream shuddered through the western foliage, piercing the dawn and echoing through the colossal trunks. Wurhi the Rat dropped into a defensive crouch. An ogres bellow followed. The Zabyans little hand gripped a bronze sword plundered from the body of one of Eppons trackers. It trembled as it hung ready to strike. What was that?

    Shh! Kyembe raised a hand, while the other had his sword on guard. It seems some of Avernixs muster might have escaped their fellows ughter at the camp we passed earlier. They are being hunted.

    Another scream sounded from the east.

    Poor devils. St. Cristabel adjusted her boat bnced over her broad shoulders. Her te quietly clinked and the pack on her back rocked,rge enough to overburden a mule. In her free gauntlet she bore her bearing sword. Alone and wandering in these deadlyndsthey do not stand a chance.

    I hate this stinking ce, Wurhi muttered.

    The Traemean adjusted her visor. Ogres are a vicious race and yers of men, but some can be bartered with if one speaks their tongue. Not these. Danu the Bottomless rules this great swath of forest, and she is hunger given flesh. The rest follow her mould. They will not let a single one escape.

    Oh good. They werent just dealing with ogres. They were dealing with especially hungry and vicious ogres. For the ten thousandth time, Wurhi cursed the moment shed stepped foot in thesends.

    It would be good if they hunted the old wizard down, Kyembe grumbled. Many ogres were burned in that massacre; his doing no doubt. I am sure he still lives. His crimson eyes narrowed as he looked around them. He is out in the green somewhere, still after his prize.

    Or maybe hes waiting for us, looking for revenge, Wurhi added uneasily.

    Perhaps.

    Mayhaps that would be better, St. Cristabel added gravely. We stride into the beasts den. An ambush now can be reversed; an ambush in the midst of battling a tribe of ogres would bring some disquiet.

    We will <em>not</em> battle an entire tribe of ogres. Kyembe gave her a look. Not until the egg is in our hands. Once we have its power, we could battle all of Cymorillia for all I care.

    A battle where victory is assured? the knight gave a deep chuckle. And where would the merriment lie in that, Spirit Killer?

    Wurhi and Kyembe exchanged a look.

    When hed first suggested the three of them travel to Gergorixs city together for protection, Wurhi had been happy at the knights eptance. Being surrounded by ogres was much more ptable with a walking wall of metal and death at their side. Now she was starting to regret it, and she could see some of that echoed on Kyembes face. Not nearly enough to her liking, though.

    For much of the morning they stole through the greenwood, with the Sengezians keen senses and forest-craft weaving them around danger. Dying shrieks continued echoing about them - the final throes of those not so fortunate. Time and again they hid upwind when the sound of great, wed feet passed close by. St. Cristabel longed to confront the brutes, but their pleading just barely stayed her hand.

    By mid-morning the ruins loomed ominously before them.

    Ancient weathered structures dotted the trees: cyclopean remnants built by hands and backs ruled by King Gergorix. The ckened skeletons of burnt-out watch-towers entwined with giant firs. Statues once towering - now long-eroded by the rains of time -y in pieces strewn across roads reimed by the forest. Stony antlers crowned heads of long-bearded men whose cracked fingers held broken circles woven from rope-like strands of stone. War-goddesses in stone-crested helms bore the remains of spear and shield. Wings, strangely unbroken, extended from their backs.

    An old man hunched with a walking stick beside a wide-bodied woman, heavy with child.

    We are close. Kyembe eyed a well-preserved sculpture of an ancient crone with her lips twisted in wetughter. Idols of their deities would protect their most precious ground.

    <em>Thump.</em>

    <em></em>St. Cristabel ced her kit by the old womans base and slid her hand into her shields straps. After a moment, Kyembe dropped his bundle alongside hers.

    What are you doing? Wurhi protectively clutched her possessions on her back.

    We will need to move quickly now. He gave his sword a few quick swishes through the air. If we live, we wille back for them. If we diewellwe will be dead.

    The Zabyan thought on this, then ced her things beside his. When this over, Id best be the richest woman south of the Sea of Gods.

    But we are north of the sea right now, Kyembe pointed out.

    She gave him a look. He said nothing else.

    As the idols of Gergorixs time protected his people, they came across the effigies of the regions current inhuman masters. Snarling faces with too many horns carved into titanic tree trunks. Branches twisted into towering monsters, capped with grinning mastodon skulls further crowned by rhinoceros horns. Bramble baskets hanging from trees, swaying and rattling with grim contents: hundreds of bones painted ghastly colours.

    The echoing screams died out.

    Avernixs fleeing warriors seemed not to have made it this far.

    How odd, St. Cristabel muttered behind them. We are well within the bower of these beasts, yet not a single sentry watches.

    Kyembe threw her a troubled look and bent to the path. We are still on an old road, and the footprints smother each other in the earth. Theye this way often. He looked up to the trees. The path <em>should</em> be well-guarded.

    Wurhi sniffed the air and frowned. I smell ash.

    The Sengezian swore and began to move quickly.

    They came upon their answer not a hundred paces down the path. A crude watch-post had been made in one of the trees. From it hung a solid thickly woven vine leading to a branch so massive that a carriage could drive along it. A nest was built there,fortable enough for a sentry to stay in, but no watchery within.

    An ogrey crumpled face-down on the earth below with one of its horns snapped off.

    Kyembe examined it grimly, seizing it by its shattered shoulder but struggling with its weight. He made a noise of disgust and turned to the Traemean knight. Why did I bother? Can you turn it?

    St. Cristabel cracked her neck. The saint nted her sword and upturned the giants corpse with one hand, rolling it as though it were a mere sack of grain. Its dead eyes stared emptily and ash ckened its lips, pouring down the front of its chest. Wurhi hissed, remembering how the wizard had in a man by burning his lungs from the inside. How the terrible ember had killed with hardly a glow, hiss, or sound.

    He has arrived first! Kyembe snarled in frustration. We have little time! Come!

 The Wizard-Kings Truth II

    The Wizard-King''s Truth II

    More signs of Lukotors passing greeted them. Another sentry with its lungs burned out. A patrolling ogre with three spears skewered through its neck, surrounded by a trio of broken bodies.

    Shit! Shit! Wurhi hissed. Think they have that magic egg?

    Kyembe growled. If they did, we would be dead.

    Look at that! St. Cristabel pointed forward.

    Beyond the trees up ahead rose an ancient greenish wall, cyclopean in structure and jagged at the top. Vine and moss crawled over the stones, colouring them verdigris. The tree-line ended before it, and from behind drifted the sounds of grotesque life.

    Where once a magnificent bronze gate would have stood, now only a tangled barricade of logs and brambles blocked entry to what was the ogres settlement. Strangely, none guarded it. The party of three approached the wall undetected. A slight boost from the saint brought Wurhi and Kyembe to the top, hidden from the ogres eyes by verdant boughs. They peered into the settlement. The knight stood guard below.

    Before them rose the broken promises of a lost civilization. Throughout, they could see half-towers and fallen temples, overgrown markets, tumbled statues and stone houses repurposed. Zabya dwarfed it, but Wurhi could well see that it had been a proud city in its day. At a distance a towering figure of stone overlooked all in the central za: powerful, stern and d in stone robes beneath a breastte of bronze.

    Wurhi shuddered at the feat of metallurgy required to craft such a giant piece of armour, but her gaze was drawn to the face of the statue. It had been long despoiled, hiding its original identity. Deep gouges marred the stone over which a grinning skull had been painted in red pigment. A crown of mastodon tusks writhed into the air above its head, suggesting some abyssal giant standing guard over its horned people.

    Ogres stalked about the ruins below its gaze in agitation, weapons in hand. From the west a party of four came, bellowing and boasting to each other. They bore several of Avernixs warriors tied to saplings slung over their shoulders. The soldiers hung like harvested rabbits after a hunt. No sooner had they passed, than another hunting party surged boisterously through the same western gateway. The barricade was pulled shut after them.

    Wurhis eyes narrowed. If that portal was guarded, why was this one abandoned? Best be away from here quickly.

    Where do you think itll be? There? she pointed to a dpidated pce behind the grand despoiled statue.

    I doubt it, Kyembe mused. If I led these monsters, that is where I would make my throne.

    Oh. Then we should <em>never</em> go there, Wurhi said emphatically.

    Kyembe pointed in the distance to the north end of the city where earthen mounds rose from the soil like conch shells in the surf. Those barrows will hold the wealth of the dead. You see that one in the middle? His finger focused on an earthen heaprge enough to be a natural hill. I will y myself if that is not Gergorixs tomb.

    Thats all the way across the city! Wurhi cursed. The ruins were not wide, but they would need to weave through an entire vige of ogres to pass. We should go around.

    A tumble of pebbles nearly made her spirit leap from her body. St. Cristabel pulled herself up the wall with her sword and shield on her back. You found the bower of their leader, you say? Her eyes burned with excitement. Atst! The swift wind to glory blows!

    She tensed to throw herself over.

    Wait wait wait wait wait! Kyembe panicked, catching her by the shoulder. You will rouse the whole vige!

    A grin came through her freckles. It will be a battle to remember!

    Wurhi rapidly shook her head. Youll kill us! Kill us!

    Surely not! St. Cristabel scoffed. Alone, this rabble would be barely a challenge for me. With the Spirit Killer at my side, it would devolve into unfair contest!

    They were dead, Wurhi realized. This fool knight was going to charge out screaming, and ogres were going toe and squash her t while the two fool warriors fought their unfair contest.

    Hrm, possible. Kyembe rocked his head to and fro, ignoring the Zabyans incredulous look. But such chaos could allow Lukotor to slip through and gain the egg. Please, I ask for your aid until it is in our hands. I will help you have your fight with your ogress after.

    She thought for a moment. Very well. I have no love for this Lukotor. I would sooner see Gergorixs legacy in the hands of friends.

    Friends? Kyembe cocked an eyebrow. We just met.

    She chuckled. And what of it? We broke bread, saved each others lives and journeyed into danger. If those are not the seeds of friendship, then what can be called thus?

    A wide grin broke on the Sengezians face. I like the way you think.

    Funny that, so do I. A mischievous twinkley in the saints eyes.

    Okay, thats all nice. Very, very nice. Good! Good! Wurhis tone was acid. But much better <em>after we get the magic doom egg away from the fire-spraying wizard!</em>

    Amused, Kyembe turned to say something back to her, but froze mid-movement, his eyes locked on the centre of the vige. By the Stars! Look!

    Three ogres made their way through the central za, drawing stares from their fellows. Between them strode several prisoners. Walking defeatedly were three Garumnan warriors. Striding boldly was a tall and powerfully built man, red bearded and bronze helmed with a golden crown hammered into it. Dragging himself along was a towering old man in a vulture feathered cloak. Shining jewels were woven into his hair.

    Yes! Wurhi nearly crowed in malicious glee. Captured! Good! Good! Saint! Wait until that big ogress eats them before you fight her!

    No, no, no, no. Kyembe slowly shook his head, his voice tight. Something is wrong. Look how stiffly the ogres walk.

    The Zabyan looked again and saw he was right. Each moved as a wooden puppet, like those used by the travelling performers of Huangzheai. Their bodies were stiff, and at times they shuddered with faces grimaced in a scowl. Their fellows only stared at the passing prisoners, their attention utterly focused, detecting no note of anything amiss. Bypassing the broken pce, the three ogres and their captives continued north toward the barrows.

    They seem bewitched! Kyembe dropped from the wall. They will take Lukotor right to the Wizard-Kings tomb! Come! We have to run!

    Panic surged through Wurhi. Going around will take forever! Cant we go through?!

    Even I could not conquer the ogres numbers before they reached their destination. St. Cristabel dropped, grimly bringing her bearing sword and shield to bear.

    What about sting them with your ring? Wurhi demanded.

    I would have to channel much power to the beam to hit them from this range! He sprinted beside the wall, drawing his sword. It could cut through the vige and set the forest aze!

    Wurhi cursed vilely, bringing out her sword and knife. I swear, Im going to cut that old mans heart out.

    The three raced around the wall of the ruined city.

 The Wizard-Kings Truth III

    The Wizard-King''s Truth III

    Lukotor the Wises hands trembled around the Vessel of Altak-Tur, which had prated the minds of the guards from the southern gate and seized their bodies. It was a powerful spell that strained the vessel terribly; it shuddered as though in agony. Cracks were forming in the magical y.

    Only a little more, he promised himself.

    Triumph thrummed in his breast as the enthralled ogres led them through the low wall to the barrows. King Gergorixs tomb rose before him. He was certain of it. He could <em>feel </em>it. Within that great hill would shine his ultimate triumph. An egg that would hatch into endless power.

    Avernixs bearing was imperious, but his countenance pale and coated in an icy sweat. His lips muttered silently and his eyes were helpless. When theyd first reached the wood, it was with a great army at their backs. Now, like an apocalypse, all had been withered down to three exhausted warriors. Hed been made heirless as well.

    Lukotor considered all his overlord had lost and knew he would need to pledge restitution and bestow boundless tribute unto him. With the power to shatter mountains, he could spare time to console his devastated sovereign. Or perhaps

    His dark eyes narrowed.

    Perhaps <em>he </em>should be sovereign.

    All along hed held no interest in pursuing earthly rule once hed gained Gergorixs legacy, thinking to slough off such things like a child casting away wooden toys in adulthood. Hed thought to live as demigods do, drinking of mortal gratitude for generations while supporting Avernixs dynasty. With the overlords forces devastated, Lukotor would need to take a firm hand to rebuild what had been lost. Why not control it directly? It could be amusing.

    They rounded the barrows, their feet crunching on ancient gravel paths weaving between silent hillocks. A pall hung on the air. One of death. One of anticipation.

    Gergorixs barrow loomed higher before him.

    Lukotor scoffed, touching one of the jewels in his hair. Clearly, the Wizard-King had been a man of limited taste. No matter the size, it was still a dirt mound hed chosen to spend eternity beneath. Is this all the fool had aspired to? Even the city - grand enough in its time - would have been a poorir for one who rocked the skies with his power. Lukotor had traveled to many civilizations far grander in his youth.

    <em>He</em> would build something that would shame the Duke of Laexondael and the Merchant Princes of Zabya. And when he came to restnowhy die at all? His imagination soared at the possibilities. He walked tall, more than ready for godhood to be bestowed upon him.

    The warriors breaths fell silent.

    He rounded a final barrow.

    The door to Gergorixs tomb came into view.

    He froze.

    The Vessel of Altak-Tur slipped from numbed fingers to roll on the gravel.

    Lukotorthe door Avernix murmured.

    The vault had been breached by a terrible force.

    <em>No!</em> the old man shrieked, pushing past his bewitched ogres and rushing toward the doorway. <em>No! No! No! No! </em>

    <em></em>His pyromancers ember came to hand, its glow wan from being called upon so frequently as ofte. Its light dissolved the pitch dark of the tomb. The burial chamber had been despoiled. Ancient treasures were scattered about thoughtlessly by a brute hand.

    The bones of the Wizard-Kings personal guard were scattered, their verdigris tinged armour flung to and fro. In the middley a crumpled skeleton with a crown lying beside it. Lukotor kicked it aside, desperately searching the dusty vault.

    Lukotor! Avernix and his warriors filled the entryway. Whats happened?

    The wizard snarled at him.

    <em>Crunch.</em>

    Another rotten tooth broke in his mouth. Dont stand there like a fool, help me search for it! <em>Now!</em>

    The overlord recoiled. Never before had the old man spoken to him so, and his endless fears and frustrations finally curdled into a terrible wrath. His face turned red as blood. You dare? You dare speak to me, Overlord Avernix of Garumna, like this?

    <em> </em>I dare! Lukotor shook with rage. I <em>made</em> Overlord Avernix of Garumna! Who was it that fed your tribes weak demons?! Who was it that taught you tactics and grand ambition?! Who was it that helped train your warriors beyond the ale-swilling brigands they were?! Who was it that put actual <em>thought </em>into the empty heads of those two louts you called sons?! It was <em>I!</em> Lukotor of Garumna! Lukotor the Wise! the ancient mans voice shook the dusty chamber. I am a <em>god</em> to you! Obey me, you hapless idiot! Look for the egg!

    This! This! Avernixs finger shook, jabbing forth usingly. This is <em>your</em> fault! All of this! I built an empire! I had everything, and this disaster <em>you </em>conjured took <em>all of it!</em> Now I see it was all for naught, and you dare tomand me like a cur! Ill have your head, wizard!

    He went for his sword.

    Without a word, Lukotor levelled his ember.

    <em>Fwooooosh!</em>

    A stream of me shot forth.

    The conqueror leapt aside as quick as a hunting beast, but the fire caught his three warriors in the doorway, immting their flesh and burning out their lungs in heartbeats. The stream continued, consuming the stone-still ogres, which set them free of the spell by way of agony. They shrieked like dying pigs as they fell to the earth, wing at their sloughing flesh. In the distance, roars of rm echoed through the vige.

    Lukotor leapt forth, his ember sputtering, but Avernix was in full flight, the barbarian conqueror abandoning honour and vengeance for the sweet embrace of survival.

    <em>Fwoooosh!</em>

    Lukotors second stream missed him as he rounded a barrow and disappeared. Cursing, the old man rushed back into the tomb, holding up his ember for light.

    The object of power shuddered, giving a great sputtering sigh.

    The prize hed imed from the volcanoes of Eldvioi flickered and died into a piece of worthless coal. Growling in frustration, he cast it away to shatter on the cobblestones and searched by the light of Avernixs burning warriors.

    He cast aside a disc-shaped talisman of pure gold encrusted with jewels. A miniature white golden sword was set atop it.

    Not there.

    He threw away a priceless goblet of gold and tinum. It was studded with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, pearls and green jade.

    Not there.

    He stepped on Gergorixs golden crown. Its diamonds, rubies, sapphires and aquamarines formed images of triumph along its outer rim.

    Not there!

    He flung aside a beautiful silver-ded sword. Its golden hilt was covered in diamonds, emeralds, sapphires and rubies, with a grip of red dragon scale.

    It ttered to the stones near the exit.

    Its not here! he shrieked, ripping jewels from his own hair but too filled with fury to feel the pain. Its not here! The old wizard ran from the tomb, his hands balled into fists so tightly that his palms bled.

    Why!? he screamed at the heavens. I haveboured andboured! I sacrificed everything! My blood! My years! My toil! All for this! I have nothing left! <em>Nothing!</em>

    Heavy footfalls pulled him from his mania.

    His stomach fell as his luck turned ill once again.

    Ogres were stalking through the great barrows, their inhuman eyes fixed on him and their tusked lips drooling. The five in the lead made the others look like milkmaids. Four massive males a head taller than the rest framed an ogress that might have been sired by a demon. She towered far above even her honour guard, half again the height of her subjects, and her great, powerful bulk was to ogres what the rest of her race were to humans.

    A crown of horns jutted from her head - a hideous mirror of the tribes territorial signs - and her mastodon hides were covered in a rancid grease. In one hand she gripped a giant bronze hammer that looked able to plough a castle gate in half with a single stroke, no doubt taken from one of Gergorixs statues.

    You her voice was the grind of mountains as she chewed through a word in Garric. Youe to die.

    Lukotors shoulders slumped in defeated agreement. There was nothing left to do. He took in the terrible form of his yer, drinking every detail of the sharp bone fetishes hanging from her furs. The stone knives stuck through her vine belt. The twined pendant hanging from her neck, shining from

    He froze. His lips parted.

    Mad, bubblingughter poured from between his tangled teeth.

    In a cage of twined mastodon hair hung an egg.

    An egg of white marble, jade and gold, encrusted in rubies, emeralds and diamonds.

    The Egg of Gergorix.

    The Wizard-Kings legacy hung before him as no more than an ogres pendant.

    With a speed he had not known in decades, Lukotor leapt for the Vessel of Altak-Tur. Caught in surprise, none of the giants were able to act before he seized it. Incantations poured from his lips. The whispering voices from the urn shrieked as his spell twisted its magic beyond its purpose. He thrust a wed hand toward the bewildered giants, then squeezed it shut.

    There was a surge of impact.

    Panic-stricken thoughts poured from the vessel, but his terrible wizardry crushed any resistance. Their bodies contorted, twisted, then went still around their panicked eyes. He had them.

    Nothing was stopping him now.

    <em>Walk forward,</em> he mentally ordered the giant chief.

    She slowly came forth. The urn shuddered.

    <em>Take that thing off, </em>hemanded. <em>Free that stone from the ridiculous setting you put it in. </em>

    <em>Snap!</em>

    <em></em>The ogress pulled off the ne, snapping the mastodon hair. Spider webs of cracks appeared through the vessel.

    <em>Give it to me</em>! He extended a wed hand that trembled in anticipation.

    Lukotor! a strangers deep voice called from behind him. Rapid footsteps approached.

    The Egg of Gergorix dropped.

    For a single breath, the world hung in the air.

    Any number of things could have happened. A beam of hellfire or thrown sword could have severed the old wizards life. The quick hand of a thief could have snatched the egg before it dropped.

    Yet nothing so fortunate urred.

    Lukotor the Wise closed his hand around the prize hed sought all his life.

    A new Wizard-King was about to ascend.

    <em>Slit your throats,</em> he mentallymanded. The ogres before him slowly raised their ws and drew fountains of crimson from their necks. Gurgling, they fell. Danu the Ogress, feared throughout all the forest of giants, died to a man who knew not her name.

    The Vessel of Altak-Tur pulsed, gave a final infernal shriek, then crumbled into dust as he burned out all its magic. He did not care. He did not need such a bauble anymore.

    You are toote, thieves! Lukotor whirled about, lifting the egg in triumph.

    A motley band stood before him. A tall, dark soutnder with crimson eyes. A heavily armed warrior in gilded and sapphire te armour. A tiny, rat-faced woman who swore in Makkadian, her eyes terrified. The red-eyed man stared helplessly as Lukotor raised the egg.

    Witness now theing of a new age! the ancient man shrieked. An age where my will isw!

    Jewels shone in the morning light. He reached deep into the stone, calling forth That Which Hungers from its gilded prison, ready to yoke its power to his own purpose.

    And he reached.

    And he reached.

 The Ogres Pendant

    The Ogre''s Pendant

    and he found nothing.

    A coldness began to grow within him. He thought he could hear something in the distance.

    Come forth! he cried to the egg. Being that dwells within! I call on you as your new master! I do not fear you, That Which Hungers! Serve me as you served Gergorix!

    He sought to bring to life the magics that would lure the mighty entity within. His breath caught. Something was wrong. Something was missing!

    What are we doing? the small woman cried.

    We should attack! a womans deep voice came from the visored warrior.

    The soutnders crimson eyes narrowed. He held up a hand. Waaaaait.

    Obey! Arise! Lukotor cried, seeking dormant spells. Work! Work, demons damn you, wooooork!

    No spells answered him. No entity answered him. He could not even feel the remnants of any magics upon the prized object. Certainly none great enough to bind an entity that could reave valleys in the earth! How could this be?! You could-

    He froze.

    In that heartbeat, a memory returned, long buried by the decades.

    A crackling fire that brought a sinister light to an old witchs eyes.

    A mighty old woman whom he called master.

    An old woman who greatly resembled the statue of the crone hed passed outside of the ruin. <em>Or at least, my young Lukotor,</em> her voice had quaked with meaning. <em>That is how the legend goes.</em>

    He trembled as his mind considered a terrible possibility.

    <em>What can we learn from this? </em>she had asked in that sly way of hers.

    In his fiery youth, enchanted by the tale and drunk with the power of his mentors arcane ways, hed determined that one must be bold to seek what they wish. To be as Gergorix had been in the legend, when hed bound That Which Hungers.

    But had his old master told that tale to teach him something so utterly simple? And why? Why bring it up at all? And if the point of it was to be bold and go im unlimited power thenthen

    why didnt she im it for herself? he murmured, the strength draining from his body.

    Hed thought she had been too afraidbut why would she encourage him to seek it? From a motherly kindness toward him? He scoffed at the thought. The old woman had been fair, but terrible.

    His mind raced.

    If Gergorixs egg had been so mighty then where was the evidence of the wonders it had wrought? The shattered mountains? The changed rivers? Why had the Wizard-Kingsnds fallen to ruin? Why had none of his apprentices imed it for himself? Why was the capital of his empire a small city that any rude warlord could build with enough ves?

    <em>I dont care how long it will take me! I will im the Egg of Gergorix, and with its power I shall do wonders! </em>hed cried as a young man

    A strange smile had taken his masters lips. <em>Perhaps, Perhaps you will.</em>

    <em></em>An ironic smile. One that did not acknowledge the truth of his words

    or her own.

    He fell to his knees, choking back a sob.

    His decades rose before him like an army of ghosts. Treasures bartered. Friends betrayed. Loves lost. Homes abandoned.

    And for what?

    The three demons hed nurtured. The fellowship hed found in a young tribal king. The respect in that kings twin boys. The army that believed in him. All gone now.

    And for what?

    The crumbled pieces of one object of powery around him. The shattered bits of his othery in the tomb. His eyes caught his hands. They were gnarled. Wrinkled. Skin thinned and blue veined. His hair had long gone grey. His back ached. His joints burned. The strength of youth had long fled his limbs.

    His body shuddered with another choking sob.

    And for what?

    For a legend that sounded too grand to be real?

    For a false promise?

    Forfor

    Yeeeessssss, the red-eyed soutnder slowly sheathed his sword. We are <em>all</em> fools today, are we not, Lukotor the Wise?

    The old man sobbed. The Wise? Him? What sort of sickening joke was that?

    Whats happening? Why arent we dead? Whys that crow-faced, piss-smelling bastard crying? the little rat-faced woman demanded of herpanion, but the soutnd man could not answer, for a low mirth contorted him.

    It was the knight that realized it next. Amitiyahs Tears! she cried. The legend was false! That stone has no more power than those at our feet! An armoured foot kicked the gravel.

    What?! the little woman whirled on Lukotor. You mean we went through all this she shuddered. all <em>this</em> she pointed usingly at the egg of Gergorix. <em>for a shiny rock?!</em>

    The soutndersugh burst forth at this: a deep, and rich mirth rising from earth to canopy. It echoed through the giant trees and Lukotor heard within it what he thought hed merely imagined earlier.

    His old masters wet cackle, the same that echoed after him the night hed left to seek the egg. Only now did he realize whom shed beenughing at.

    Do notugh at me! he sobbed toward the soutnder, whoughed harder.

    You! You did this! the small thief came forward, brandishing her dagger. Do you know how much trouble weve been through? For a shiny rock?

    Spare me your whinging! Lukotor snapped. In his disgust at the egg, his sacrifices and the three witnessing the great culminating joke of his life, he flung the stone at her.

    The small woman dropped her dagger and snatched the egg from the air. Turning it over, her eyes came alive and her anger melted away instantly. You know what? Never mind, I like shiny rocks like <em>this</em>, she said cheerily, waving the jewel encrusted egg. Ill take it aspensation for our trouble!

    <em>Compensation?! Trouble?!</em> he shrieked. You<em>thieves</em> strode up from demons know where and <em>ruined my life!</em> Id still have my allies, magic andrades if not for you! His body shook and he tore at his hair. To you, this was but a <emrk! </em>Just another doomed caper for scum, but IImy whole life was spent on <em>nothing! </em>

    This is <em>not</em> nothing, the small woman grinned and caressed the egg protectively. I could eat meat and drink wine for years with what someone would pay for this!

    Meat?! Wine?! he shrieked incredulously. That <em>thing</em> was supposed to hold ultimate power, not be barter for <em>vittles!</em>

    This is unseemly, the knight raised her visor. Contain yourself, sirrah.

    And <em>yoooou!</em> he pointed at her. Why are <em>you</em> even here?!

    She pointed her bearing sword at the ogress chieftains corpse. To battle her. A glory you robbed me of in a most cowardly manner.

    I dont caaaare! Lukotor ripped more hair from his scalp and sobbed in the dirt.

    Are we going to kill him now? the small woman asked.

    The old mans head shot up in rm. They would take his life too?

    Kyembe shook his head, still chuckling. I think not Wurhi. Look at him. He is broken. He will suffer more by letting him live.

    A wild hope sprung up in Lukotor. Perhaps he was not done yet. He could gather new magics and new peoples to sacrifice. Find a way to extend his spent life. He could take his newfound power and destroy these thieves who had dared to cross-

    Really? Wurhi asked.

    The Sengeziansughter stopped. No.

    He raised his ring, which red white.

    No, wai- Lukotor the Wise cried.

    <em>Vroooosh!</em>

    His world turned impossibly bright. A great sh of heat. Agony beyond imagining.

    Then nothing.

    Wurhi blinked at the cloud of white ash settling on the gravel. you could have waited until Id pulled the jewels from his hair first.

    Kyembe gave a shrug. He offended me.

    She looked at the ash for a moment. Ah, whatever. Theyd be greasy anyway. Just d he threw this before you sted him.

    The Egg of Gergorix, a jewel of staggering value, glittered in her hand.

    A Wizard-Kings legacy. His full lips curled into a smile. And look there. He pointed toward the mouth of Gergorixs barrow. I think I see more glittering in the tomb.

    Yes! Yes! Best forest weve been to! She scurried for the barrow as though it were a market and she had a pouch full of gold. She paused once to spit on the ashes of Lukotor, then happily entered the tomb, illuminated by Avernixs burning warriors.

    Her cries of excitement boomed from within.

    A profitable venture for you both, all considered. St. Cristabel Esnore looked on.

    Kyembeughed a deep, richugh. Lose ultimate power, gain a kings wealth. It happens. What of your quest, though? He looked down to the ogress chieftain and her honour guard, then up to the barrows behind the cooling corpses. Other ogres half-hid there, gaping at their in chieftain. Will you hunt them instead?

    The knight glowered at the giants, but did not move to attack. I shall not. A glorious battle would please Amitiyahbut this would hold little glory. They have lost their leader and champions. Let them turn to home and hearth.

    Very fair. And where will you go now that you have no ogress to battle?

    She looked to the west. Portage to the river and resume my journey to Laexondael, methinks.

    His face grew artfully surprised. <em>We</em> make for Laexondael! Do you still wantpany?

    She gave him a pleased look. Journey with friends or alone? I think I shall pick the former.

    You think we can fit in your boat?

    The saint chuckled. There is room enough for two skinny vagabonds.

    He raised a thin eyebrow. And what of two vagabonds and a kings ransom?

    She pursed her full lips in thought and herrge eyes twinkled. That will be more difficult. Perhaps a piece of treasure would be suitable toll.

    He shrugged easily. I can live with that, but you will have to convince Wurhi to part with something.

    The Zabyans half-mad, triumphantughter echoed from within the barrow.

    St. Cristabel turned grave. I think that is beyond me.

    The Overlord of Garumna pushed against the brush, his teeth gritted as brambles scraped his flesh.

    His spirit was near utterly spent. He had witnessed Lukotor''s end - the thieves having stolen that vengeance from him - but he could exact a price of blood from <em>them</em>.

    All that was needed was for him to reach his army outside the Forest of Giants.

    A terrible wrath drove him forth.

 Epilogue

    Epilogue

    The wide river shone in the evening sun like a line of fire in emeraldnds. An orange sky hung in the wake of the sun above rolling hills and thest towering sentries of the Forest of Giants. Early fireflies danced above the current like sparks kicked off the ming sunset, and waterpped against the hull of the dugout, pulled along by two oars powered by inhuman might.

    St. Cristabel Esnore rowed, her armour and kit packed away lest she were to tumble into the water by ident and sink like a stone. Shed washed, and her chestnut curls poured down over shoulders to her chest and back. Broad shoulders led to arms corded with powerful muscle made visible by her short-sleeved tunic.

    Kyembe of Sengezis eyes drifted downward as he watched her work. Eppon the Bear-Breaker had mentioned the size of her chest when describing her to his brother. He had to admit, the dead Garumnan might have been crude, but he certainly hadnt been blind. A nce to Wurhi and he saw her gaze lingered on the same thing.

    They exchanged a nod of understanding before turning away lest they were discovered.

    Yet more notable to him was the saints seemingly endless vitality. She hadnt paused rowing once since theyd gotten into the boat.

    Are you sure you do not want a break? he offered, as he had several times already.

    She grinned, her oars cutting through the surface. They say I have the strength of a hundred men. This is no trouble to me.

    He looked at her arms, noting sourly that they were thicker than his. Youre exaggerating, he said quickly.

    Perhaps, St. Cristabel shrugged. I have not had the pleasure of testing it. Perhaps I should. Were I to gain a rope long enough-

    Hold on! Wurhi suddenly sat high in the boat, her green eyes sparking with anticipation. Here ites!

    The three travellers watched thest of the giant trees drift by.

    At longst, they had exited the Forest of Giants.

    Yeeeeeees! Wurhi crowed, kicking her feet. Were free! Free! Hell to you, filthy forest! Hell to you, drooling ogres! Hell to you dead, ashy wizard! Freeeee! she pumped her fists in the air. Aaaand rich! Sheughed, pulling out Gergorixs treasures as she had many times. Were going to sell youuuu. She caressed the golden goblet. And yooou. She caressed the golden talisman. Not you, though. She clutched the egg preciously. Youre going to go right on disy when I buy a pce. No! No! Maybe Ill turn you into a pendant again!

    She handled it fondly. But we will sell youuuu. She caressed the silver-ded sword.

    Wait, may I see that for a moment? Kyembe interrupted her.

    He turned the de over in his hands, the evening sun ying over the silver edge and jewelled hilt. Oh myyyy, he mused. I would keep this. Theres magic in it.

    Really?! She snatched it back. The glitter of its emeralds reflected in her green eyes, and she gave it a few test swings. Well-bnced, and despite its length, it was quite light. Yet she still frowned. I dont know how to use something this long. I can stick people with the pointy end but not any of that fancy stuff you do.

    Simplicity itself to solve! heughed. I shall teach you! With your reflexes, you would be a natural!

    I dont need anything like tha- She paused, suddenly remembering how shed run afoul of demons, warriors, wizards and ogres ever since shed met Kyembe on that abandoned dock back in Zabya.

    She looked at the Sengezian, who made it his business to hunt demons and raid conquerors. Then she looked at the Traemean, a - hopefully temporary - member of their little band who seemed to think only of fighting the biggest, nastiest thing she could.

    Wurhi blinked and sighed. She looked at the Sengezian very seriously. When can we start?

    The river took them toward Laexondael, where Kyembe the Spirit Killer promised he would look into Ku-Hassandras whereabouts if the wizard had made it that far. He still needed that drink with Ippolyte and Thesiliea. Where St. Cristabel Esnore, the Solidde Knight, would visit the Temple of the Weeping God to sing her new tales to him, and then listen for where the swift wind to glory would blow her next. Where Wurhi the Rat would carouse until she was sick, then rob the merchants and trove guardians blind.

    Anticipation burned in three pairs of eyes as they looked west.

    Ahead, where the river joined one much greater,y Laexondael.

    One of the greatest city-states north of the Sea of Gods. Crossroads of trade. A city of riches, temples and intrigues.

    What awaited them there, they knew not.

    Neither did they know what they had left behind.

    Overlord Avernix of Garumna crashed through the trees, his breath ragged and his eyes bloodshot. His feet bled. His beard and hair were matted. Somewhere in his days-long flight hed lost his helm and crown. Yet hopey ahead.

    Hidden, hed witnessed Lukotors deserved fate, then pushed through the forest for several sleepless nights and terror-filled days. He was finally reaching the eastern end of these infernal trees, where the remains of his army should still be encamped. His eyes swam with exhaustion, but they zed at the ns hed solidified behind them.

    He would find his remaining officers. He would rally his forces. He would recruit more boys from the viges to grow his horde again. He would tell all of Lukotors treachery, saying that the wizard had in their tribal demons in some mad gambit to gain the egg, before he himself was killed by Avernixs hand. He would gain the patronage of new demons. Find new wizards if he could. He would go to his wives and nt his seed in each until he had more sons.

    Then. <em>Then.</em>

    His teeth ground together.

    He had glimpsed the three wretches that ruined his army. He would chase them down. Sack whatever city they hid in. He would castrate the man and crucify the two women. He would offer their souls up to whatever demons hed gained. No, no he would torture them first! Yes, perhaps he would take boiling lead and-

    His head shook, bringing him back to focus.

    He had all the time in the world to conjure the most creative punishmentster.

    Reaching the end of the trees, he cupped chafed hands to cracked lips. Warriors! I havee! Your overlord has returned!

    In the distance, galloping hooves approached.

    He sighed, the relief taking him sopletely that he nearly copsed.

    Finally exiting the trees, he looked up in anticipation.

    His breath failed.

    Ahead of him, in a line parallel to the forest, hung his remaining army.

    They had all been crucified.

    In all that had transpired, Avernix, Lukotor and Eppon had spared no mind to what was not even an afterthought to them; the Bear-Breakers ve boy. The boy that had been released by Kyembe of Sengezi. They could not know how that boy had waited while Avernixs army rode into the trees, leaving behind just enough to guard the captives. They could not know how hed hidden in the encampment, slowly visiting the other captives at night, parting their bonds and arming them with weapons left behind. They could not know how theyd risen up the same night that the ogres had butchered the main force, doing much the same to their own guards.

    Or how theyd waited.

    Or how theyd plotted their revenge, and how a mass of enraged voices hade together to conjure torture upon torture, each more unspeakable than thest. It was these who had reimed their own freedom and now rode to the exhausted, lonely overlord. It was them who rode him down and bound him when hed feebly tried to flee. It was these freed captives who dragged him screaming, back to camp.

    We were waiting for you, father of my master, Eppons ve-boy stood among the circle of folk that bore burning brands, bronze hooks, horse-whips and spiked scrapers. To the despairing overlord, they looked like a gathering of demons. Its too bad youre alone. I wouldve liked to repay that fat fool you chained me to in kind. Oh well, well just take his share from <em>your</em> flesh.

    He pointed. Take him! But make sure youre gentle! We want him tost!

    Avernix screamed as the mob surged toward him from all sides.

    In those days, the legend of the Egg of Gergorix finally came to a close, but a new legend - the Fate of Avernix - was born.

    The horrors worked on the overlords body were spoken of only in whispers, save by those thatmitted them. They shouted out their deeds loud enough for the stars to hear.

    Watching it unfold from the branch of a high tree was a crow.

    A lean crow with feathers white as clouds and eyes as red as blood.

    It stayed on the branch, still as death, until the overlordsst sobs echoed and died.

    Then it took to the air with a single beat of its wings. In its ws it clutched a pouch which contained the ash that was once Lukotor the Wise.

    As it flew off, a strange sound seemed to follow in its wake.

    An old womans mocking, wet cackle.

    <strong>The End</strong>

    <strong>[Check post chapter note for an announcement]</strong>

 Book 3: The Rat in the Pit

    Book 3: The Rat in the Pit

    <strong>From Chronicle of the Solidde Knight</strong>

    <em>Hail to Lord Amitiyah, son to a murdered father; may our joy balm your grief. </em>

    <em>In thy name is the glory, may my deeds lighten thine heart. </em>

    <em>''Tis the 21st Day of the 3rd Moon of the 306th year of your sorrow. </em>

    <em>I must confess to you that my journey through the Forest of Giants was fraught with the unexpected, and not at all what I anticipated. </em>

    <em>Though I did enter that ce to battle the foul Danu the Bottomless in your name, I found no satisfaction. Sadly, the ogress chieftain was in by treacherous wizardry before our sh could begin. It leaves me mncholy for what a glorious battle that would have been.</em>

    <em>s, my Lord, all was not lost. While in my travels to confront Danu, I found myself in a most unseemly plight and was met with a pair of soutnders who became my salvation, and I theirs.</em>

    <em>One is named Kyembe of Sengezi - who folk call The Spirit Killer. He takes a strong offence at Demons, and this I can admire. I have heard words both fair and foul spoken of him. Yet, I found your tears turned sweet against his flesh - so I conclude that the fair words have the right of it.</em>

    <em>The other is Wurhi of Zabya, who folk uncharitably call The Rat. Of her I know little, though I am told that she is a thief of some repute. I have yet to test your tears on her skin.</em>

    <em>Together, we overcame a force of superior numbers. We saw three demons in. We thwarted the schemes of a foul wizard and ended his depraved life. We raided the vault of the long dead King Gergorix for a sizeable hoard of treasure. </em>

    <em>Are these deeds not worthy of glory? They are not the deed I first sought in your name, but they surely are feats of greatness all the same. May they please you when your heralds sing them in your ear.</em>

    <em>At present, Wurhi, Kyembe and I winter in the walled city of Laexondael, the heart of trade in the northwest. I have imed my old quarters at the Lovers Paradise - the seneschal still holds it in reserve; I had thought the memory of the aid I granted Paradise would have faded. Happily, it seems not, and I have vouched for mypanions lodging. </em>

    <em>I daresay they are more than capable of Paradises princely pricethough at the rate the Sengezian buys others drinks, I do wonder for how long. It is a joyful time, and I hope that - in some measure - that joy is shared with you, o grieving one. </em>

    <em>Even if that joy is in more earthly things.</em>

    <em>And so, there is little else to write: I celebrate life and fellowship as you would have me, and wait for the swift wind to glory to blow me where I next must travel.</em>

    <em>I still find Eydis Rune dormant. I am not called yet.</em>

    <em>Your humble servant writes so that your followers may know the deeds done in your name. May your glory spread across thend and choke the murderous Stheno and her treacherous servants. May your suffering, one day be hers. </em>

    <em>- St. Cristabel Esnore, the Solidde Knight, Sworn to King Merzhin of Traemea, Sainted of Amitiyah</em>

 The Poets Resolve I

    The Poet''s Resolve I

    It had not been the first time he had considered murdering her.

    Haldrych Ameldan slumped in his silver iid chair, scowling at the burning firece. A letter of introduction curled and ckened as me consumed the parchment to a husk. The wax seal of the Gomentrude family boiled, hissed, and melted away.

    Shadows writhed about the corners of the bed chamber, matching the darkness of the young mans mood. His soft fingers yed along a sword bnced on his knees, smearing the mirrored finish. The des bronze edge shone - pristine and unmarred - never having struck beast nor foe.

    His other hand, untouched by callous, toyed with a silver goblet filled with Olubrian wine. Hed ordered it heated over the kitchen fires for exactly fifty heartbeats, and brought to his chambers at a run.

    Words in Laexondaelic weaved across papyrus stacked beside the goblet; poems of great deeds told with uninspired words. Each ode ended in his sigil and signature.

    <em>Thump. Thump.</em>

    A gentle knock came from the door.

    Haldrych? A womans soft voice called.

    His scowl deepened. What? Do you wish to gloat after ruining my life?

    A wounded silence followed.

    His eyes shot to the arms adorning the stone walls: bronze swords, spears, shields and daggers polished to perfection by the servants. His lip curled.

    He longed to wash every de with that womans blood.

    Haldrych, my sweet boy, the intive voice came again. I only wish to know what I can do to make you feel better-

    I think youve done enough! He leapt to his feet, draining the goblet, and mmed it onto a side table. Pulling on his cloak, he stomped past the firece. The letter had turned to ash.

    He threw the door open.

    A startled woman gasped in the entryway. Her greying hair shook as her slight frame recoiled. Her hand had been outstretched toward the door.

    I am leaving! he snapped, pushing past her.

    Where are you going, Haldrych? Ill call for an escort-

    Im no blushing babe! Leave me be!

    But the killings! The womans brown eyes grew wide. Haldrych, the streets are not safe- She reached for him.

    Do not touch me, <em>mother!</em> he pped her hand away and brushed past her into the hall.

    A low whimper followed him.

    He neither turned, nor nced back.

    The winter air raked Haldrychs face with its frosty bite, burning his nostrils. He pulled a white rabbit-pelt hat over his ears and spurred his stallion onward. Faster, Marctinus.

    The handsome beast broke into a trot, his gold-shod hooves glinting through the white they kicked up. His breath misted in the air like dragon smoke. The proud steed had been a gift from Haldrychs mother: purchased during the summer horse market for a lords ransom.

    Its silky coat glimmered like silver as its hoofs pounded through the snow, echoing in the empty silence. His masters jewelry shook beneath furs of ermine and white fox, all bought by his mother from the finest stone-setters and furriers in Laexondael. His gold-hilted dagger glinted upon his belt.

    The Heir of House Ameldan thought he cut a fine figure, yet there were none to see him in the moonlight and thickness of night. He nced about the empty street. Grand stone houses framed it with their courtyards barred by bronzed gates. Snow caked the road. Iciclesnced down from overhangs of stone and timber.

    A pair of lean crows squabbled over refuse pulped into the frozen ground. They were the only other life about.

    Haldrych looked toward the city centre through drifting lines of chimney smoke.

    In the distance, the crescent moon hung over Duke Kirinius'' castle, rising from an escarpment so vast that it filled the night sky. The mountain peaks north of the city - the most southern tip of the Midaggar Mountains - seemed its twin. The fortress sat unyielding atop the summit, watching its people from cloudy heights.

    Unbidden, rumours of the recent killings returned to Haldrychs mind.

    The young poet scowled, patted his scabbard, and drew himself to his full height in the saddle.

    He was Heir to House Ameldan. His bloodline reached back to the Tigrisian centurions.

    He would not fear.

    Even as he thought this, he spurred Marctinus to a quicker pace.

 The Poets Resolve II

    The Poet''s Resolve II

    Haldrychs tension eased as he reached his favourite bathhouse.

    It stood among white grounds as majestic as a pce on a grand estate, its faade supported by braided columns. Wood panelling sealed its balconies from winters cold. When the weather warmed, panelling would be reced by patrons drowning in wine and spirits, filling the balconies to bursting. Painted courtesans would lean over balustrades draped in silk and flowers, shing smiles that stopped the heart and calling with voices like a summer wind.

    Steam rose from several vents. A natural hot spring boiled within indoor baths nestled among a garden of delights: music, liquors, spiced foods and more carnal pleasures. One could even obtain dried mushrooms and powders that offered all manner of exotic transformations to the senses.

    The poet nodded to the guards by the front gate; broad shouldered men and women encircling a fire pit. Facial scars were a chronicle of their grim careers.

    Lining the snowy walkway were dancing statues of pleasure deities from half a dozen pantheons. It was to them that the bathhouse owed its name.

    The Lovers Paradise.

    No pleasure temple in all of Laexondael was finer. Or more exclusive.

    Haldrych handed Marctinus reins to a shivering stable boy then made his way to the threshold. The door loomed before him, painted like a gateway to an otherworldly garden.

    He knocked three times.

    <em>Clnk.</em>

    A wooden slot slid aside.

    Master Ameldan, a deep voice reverberated through the opening. Piercing eyes examined the young poet. How charming to see you again. It has been some time since yourst visit. I trust you have been well?

    Healthy, Jeva, but not happy. Haldrych pulled a small medallion from his tunic; it bore a grapevine coiling about a pair of nude figures. He brought it up to the slot for Jeva to examine; the seneschal nodded.

    A click signalled thetch sliding. The door pulled aside, revealing an unassuming man with grey dusting his brown hair and beard. His doeskin gloves creaked as he gestured inside. If it is happiness you seek, then paradise opens its gates to you.

    Haldrych entered the foyer without a word, handing Jeva his cloak. He moved to step past him.

    Ah, Master Ameldan? Jeva held out an open hand.

    Haldrych grunted, digging a small coin from his pouch and dropping it into the ck gloved palm. The seneshal held it up to one of the oilmps upon the wall, turning it over.

    My coins good. Haldrych muttered.

    I am sure, Master Ameldan. Your House has ever been an honourable one. Jevas pupils narrowed in the light. But these are strange times. The Zabyan merchant princes carved up the House of Cas like a roasted pig. Coin flows freely across the Sea of Gods again. Some of itless than pure.

    Im a man of honour. Haldrych insisted.

    Indeed. Jeva paused. Butwith the killings

    What about them?

    They have made some a little more eager for theforts of our bower. And sometimes, when one is eager, they may not pay attention to the coin they give. Especially, on such a dark night- Jeva smiled, his teeth white in the dim light. -when one can feel the wolf on their threshold.

    The seneschal reached into his robe, producing dried purple lc and lemon leaf. One for love. The other for discretion.

    Your sacrifices, Master Ameldan.

    Haldrych crossed the foyer to the shrine and kneeled. A fire burned in a stone basin beneath a dozen deities in mass embrace. He tossed the sprigs into the me and bowed his head slightly before rising.

    Jeva nodded in approval, then knocked on the inner door. Juliana?

    The door opened. A young woman smiled in the entryway, her face framed by strawberry blonde hair pouring past a pale, delicate neck.

    The velvet of her robe hugged her supple body, bunching in all sorts of ways as she glided across the tiles. Her arms wrapped around one of Haldrychs. Haldy! Youvee! She pouted, caressing his hand with soft fingers. You abandoned meeee.

    Juliana. He smiled tightly. It was not by choice, fair maiden.

    Herugh was the tinkle of crystal. Im no blushing virgin, Haldy. She leaned in. Her hot breath touched his ear. You would know that better than most.

    She punctuated her words with a light kiss on his lobe.

    He shuddered. The heat of her body seeped into him as her scented oils caressed his nose. Haldrych cleared his throat.

    So adorable, Haldy, Juliana chuckled. Come, let us get some hot water on your skin and some wine in your belly.

    He smiled ruefully. You always make a man feel like a king.

    I try. She twirled a finger through one of his reddish-brown locks. Especially when that man deserves to be treated like royalty.

    Juliana chattered warmly as she led him to the cleansing chamber. No patron was admitted bearing the dust of the streets. He availed himself of the steaming fountains - each sculpted like satyr children pouring water from gourds - and scrubbed his body until it felt anew.

    He took the fine robe that she had prepared for him; his own clothes were already stored away. They entered the wine room to a chorus ofughter and music.

    A beautiful young manmanded the stage, singing to the driving beat of drum, warble of water organ, and strings of lyre. Dancers leapt and twirled in time, matching the drums with the p of bare feet on carpet. Below, guests frolicked in disys more amateurish, but with matching enthusiasm. Theirpatriotsughed and pped and drank.

    me roared in a central fire pit, its heady light ying along the mouldings and ceiling murals. At the rooms edges the light thinned, leaving only an intimate dusk. Within, silhouettes twined together with clutching hands, pressing lips and grappling tongues.

    Spices and perfume suffused the air while paradises guests filled long tables; their jewelry glimmering upon freshly oiled skin.

    Full today, Haldrych noted.

    In dark times, one seeksfort, Juliana replied. Perhaps we-

    Oh? <em>Haldrych!</em> a baritone voice cut through the revel.

    A familiar figure waved to the young poet with a bronze bracer glinting on his forearm.

    Adelmar!

    Haldrych and Juliana weaved through the throngs to reach a small table near the fire pit. There, a young man wiped beer from his sculpted, blonde beard. I thought youd died! Adelmarughed, gesturing with a calloused hand toward free seats on the bench. Come, sit!

    Whys this table so empty? Haldrych asked as he sat down. Juliana squeezed his thigh and quickly left to fetch a decanter of wine.

    Because of these. Adelmar kicked something at his feet. A woman groaned. The young poet nced down. Three figures were curled up beneath the table. It <em>was</em> their table, now its mine. Adelmar grinned. And since Im not feeling like just anyonespany tonight, Ive been telling people whoe along that Im saving the seats for these three.

    Do you know them? Haldrych asked.

    No, but it doesnt matter. Adelmar shrugged, popping a dried berry into his mouth. Why dont you tell me what the trouble is.

    Trouble? the young poet asked.

    The blonde merchants son speared a hunk of herbed cheese. Your face looks like a dried plum. Somethings happened. Ive never seen you next to Juliana without that big, stupid grin on your face.

    I dont grin stupidly, Haldrych insisted.

    Sure you do. Adelmar pulled the cheese off his fork with his front teeth. Everyone in here grins stupidly. Thats the point of being here. So, why do you look like youve been sipping vinegar?

    Haldrych grimaced. Mothers set a marriage for me.

    Adelmar nearly choked. To- he coughed, pounding his chest. -to who?

    The young poets scowl deepened. To Fulberte of House Gomentrude.

    Really? The other mans blue eyes narrowed. He speared and chewed a piece of roasted pork. Thats not so bad.

    Its awful! Haldrychs fist banged the table, his pinky ring digging into his hand. Beneath, one of the figures groaned. Shes a bore! the young poet cried. A witless country bore!

    A <em>pretty</em> country bore. Adelmar pointed out. Raven haired. Good shape.

    Nothingpared to Juliana.

    A snort came in response. Dont goparing normal folk to goddesses. Snot fair to mere mortals.

    This is serious. Haldrych chewed his bottom lip in irritation. Shes condemned me.

    You could do a lot worse. She couldve married you off to Ingrid Tolstoff and youdve ended up in Twinspire for the rest of your life. The Gomentrudends have good farms and good hunting. Adelmar snatched up a copper cup and drained it of beer. And great beer. This is from there, you know? And youll get to drink all you want.

    Thats some life, Haldrych growled bitterly. Old and unsung, hunting foxes and rabbits and drinking until my bellys as wide as a keep.

    Dont sound so bad to me.

    I want <em>adventure</em>, Adelmar, not some dull wretched life!

    Thought you wanted to be a poet?

    Yes, and write of my own triumphs! He leaned forward with dark eyes alight. Its an age of adventure! Yuriya of Cymorillia is offering an audience to anynded man in the north who makes his name by wit and sword!

    Adelmar scoffed. You want to marry a Cymorillian dragon princess?

    No, but think of the glory of such a quest! I could bring an expedition to the mountains of Riyen and join the Dragon Hunt! I could collect a band and make a go of taming wild Garumna now that Avernix is dead! I could-

    Haldrych.

    -Prince Jasea is building a fleet to sail to the other side of the world! Even here! Merrick the Hawk burgles manses by night and makes sport of the trove guardians-

    Haldrych!

    I should be out there! Among <em>those</em> names! Do you know what they say about my poetry? That its uninspired! <em>Uninspired,</em> Adelmar! Of course its uninspired! I write about things Ive only heard about in songs! So how can my poems help but be uninspired? He took a deep breath. That<em>woman</em>that <em>mother</em> of mine cages me like apdog! And now this! Marriage! A prisoner before I can even fly!

    Adelmar slowly ced his utensils down. Youre serious about this.

    As serious as a gue! Haldrych snarled. Shes been this way ever since she drove father to his death! Softened him with her <em>mollycoddling </em>until he couldnt even beat a summer cold! The poor fool died with a smile on his face!

    <em>Bang.</em>

    <em></em>Both fists struck the table this time. Another groan came from beneath.

    Damn all hells! Wheres Juliana with that wine? I have a thirst!

    Wordlessly, Adelmar slid a jug of beer to Haldrych, who tilted it back until it was empty.

    He mmed the jug on the table.

    The house of Ameldan sprang from war heroes! the young man raged. <em>War heroes!</em> Now its reduced to a worry-sick matriarch driving her men to silken graves! We were meant to struggle! To see blood-

    Adelmars gaze grew sharp.

    -to be a part of the thrill of life and death! The poet sped the air. I would capture that life with my reed pen! No one could ever tell me <em>that</em> was uninspired! But shell never have it! Shell <em>never</em> let me be the man Im meant to be!

    So, leave. Adelmar''s handsced together before him. He rose to his full height in his seat. You have weapons. Take them and go.

    I <em>cannot!</em> Haldrych cried. Funds, man! I need funds! Provisions! Warriors or mercenaries! Guides! Shell give me all the coin I want to entertain orfort myself but none for glory! I couldI could

    His hands clutched the air violently.

    kill her? Adelmar supplied.

    Haldrych froze. What?

    The merchants son stared at him with piercing eyes. You could kill her?

    WellIthats not to

    Are you barking uselessly? Adelmar pushed. Or do you mean it?

    Ier

    Youre a poet, arent you? Use your damn words.

    That final provocation made Haldrychs face sh hot.

    Sense deserted him.

    Yes! he snapped. I could kill her, Adelmar! I could!

 The Poets Resolve III

    The Poet''s Resolve III

    The words hung in the air. Blurted out at a foolhardy volume, the wine rooms din still drowned them out. Haldrych slowly realized what hed just admitted to his friend.

    Adelmars face was stone, but his eyes flickered as though examining a ledger. His mouth opened. Then do so.

    Haldrych blinked. Had he misheard? He gave a nervous chuckle. Youre jesting-

    I am not. Adelmars voice ground out. You had the right of it.

    the right of what?

    We are meant to struggle. To suffer, and be made strong for it<em>.</em>

    Haldrych mumbled. Copper and tin can never be bronze without the me<em>.</em>

    Adelmars face broke into a ferocious grin. Well spoken, poet. But are you going to just speak uninspired words? Or are you going to reach up and take what you need?

    Haldrych looked closely at his old friend. There was a zeal in him that hed only ever seen in petitioners in the Pantheons za. It was somewhat frightening.

    And somewhat contagious.

    The merchants son wordlessly took up a table knife. It twirled in his nimble fingers. You could do it easily enough. Hells- he slipped the knife beneath his bracer. -I could even help you.

    Haldrych gasped in surprise. Whatwhy are you saying this?

    Adelmar nced about before leaning so far forward that his short beard nearly brushed the table. Theres folk who think the way we do. Folk who know things. See things. Say things.

    The poet leaned forward as well. what do they say?

    That blood is weak. Just water that tastes like rust.

    Adelmar, I-

    The merchants son held up a hand. His bronze bracer shone in the firelight, highlighting the etching upon it. A wolf. A wolf curled over itself and feasting on its own tail.

    These folk I speak of, Haldrych. All the things <em>you</em> want? <em>They </em>also want. Blood. Death. <em>Life!</em>

    <em>Bang</em>. His fist struck the table.

    The <em>true</em> life! Outside of weakness, and walls and trembling around fires! Unbound and powerful! You want to write about your victories? What theyll give you will be-

    Haldyyyy!

    Juliana returned, sliding up beside the poet with a decanter of wine in hand. Did you wait long? I-

    Wait. Haldrych stopped her. JulianaI must be alone with my friend for now.

    Ah. She ced the wine on the table then gave him a little wink. Come find me if you change your mind, Haldy.

    Her velvet robe did terrible things as she sashayed away.

    Both men watched her go. The beer and lust were settling in Haldrychs skull, buzzing about his warming ears. He thought hard on the marriage his mother had made for him. The soft life. The safe life.

    The drab life.

    He sped the wine container and took a long draw from it. These folk. Can they help me?

    Adelmar barked a lowugh. <em>No.</em> They wont give you help. Theyll grant you a <em>calling</em>. One where youll never see the end of triumphs to write about.

    tell me more.

    <em>Bang.</em>

    The merchants son mmed a palm to the table in excitement. So-

    <em>Bang!</em>

    Another hand came down on the table top, nearly toppling the wine.

    Both young men startled and swore.

    A muscr arm, suffused with freckles, rose from the abyss beneath the table. The woman it belonged to - broad of shoulder and powerful of waist - climbed onto the bench. Chestnut curls matted the side of her face and herrge blue eyes swam blearily.

    Amitiyahs Tears, she groaned, her voice deep for a womans.

    <em>Bang!</em>

    <em></em>What?! Adelmar eximed.

    A dark-skinned hand gripped the table from the other side, bearing a shining ring. A knife-lean man dragged himself up. Haldrych gasped at his sinister features: crimson eyes and slightly pointed ears on an otherwise symmetrical, somewhat feminine face.

    I thinkI think I might hate myself at the moment, the man moaned, his deep voice tight and pained. His words carried a liquid ent. Who won?

    The woman gave a stiff grin, revealing even white teeth. She weakly raised a thumb toward her chest. Haldrych noticed her dress struggling to contain her heavy bosom. I did.

    Impossible, the man grumbled. You drank three for every one Wurhi and I had.

    And I saw you both fall she murmured. Granting victory to me-

    <em>You sugar-tongued, lead-skulled bastards!</em>

    <em>Bang!</em>

    <em></em><em>Why!?</em> Haldrych cried in as much consternation as rm.

    A hand belonging to the third denizen beneath the table emerged. A tiny woman was connected to it, olive skinned and with eyes beady, blood-shot, and green. She dragged her mop of ck hair from her face and her grimace revealed a slight overbite.

    I nearly died! Died! she hissed, her Laexondaelic bearing a slight Makkadian ent. I must be three idiots stuffed in one skin to let you talk me into a drinking match!

    Oooooh, you had fun, the man chuckled weakly. You also had quite the singing voice.

    The small woman looked at him sharply. Dont joke with me, Kyembe.

    I am too weak to joke, Wurhi, Kyembe murmured. Ippolyte and Thesiliea could not stop theirughter-Ah! He looked about. Where did our Vesti friends go? You were awake the longest, Cristabel, did you see them?

    They made retreat upon the fourth round. Cristabel jerked her thumb toward the doorway. Great muscles flexed in her arm. They were the ones who bore true wisdom-

    She paused, seeing the two young conspirators for the first time. Oh, hail, fellows.

    Er, hello, Adelmar muttered.

    We were just leaving, Haldrych threw a meaningful look toward the merchants son before rising from the bench.

    They left the three drunks to their own affairs.

    The poet drew close to hispanion. Well do it tonight. Climb the north wall when the moon is at its highest and Ill let you in through my balcony. Keep that knife ready. And in the next few days when this is behind us, introduce me to these people you speak of.

    Good. Adelmar said. I look forward to introducing the Heir of House Ameldan to them.

    No. Haldrych smiled. Not heir, my friend, but master! My inheritancees before the sun rises!

    Kyembe of Sengezi watched the two young men leave the wine room, huddled against each other.

    Liquor dulled his gaze, but suspicion sharpened it.

 A Snow of Silver I

    A Snow of Silver I

    Like a serpents tongue, a silk rope slipped over Haldrychs balcony, gliding down into the winter night.

    The Heir to House Ameldan lowered it carefully, listening for movement in the hall or footfalls in crusted snow below. Icy nerves chewed his belly; every shadow seemed a witness.

    The rope tensed. His bed creaked as the knot tightened around its leg.

    Thin arms strained to steady the line for his invited intruder. A young sneak ascended with liquor-blunted reflexes, making what seemed to Haldrych the noise of a copsing smithy.

    No outcry was raised - the night-guard having been drugged into deep slumber. Adelmars hands grasped the rail. I made a trail all around the house, as you said. Now help me up.

    With a low grunt, the poet struggled to pull his aplice onto the balcony and into the darkened room. He silently eased the wooden screens shut as soon as Adelmars feet touched the carpet.

    Take your boots off, Haldrych hissed. Adelmar bent and pulled off the boots, holding the wet soles up while Haldrych retrieved the rope. The young mens breaths came shaky and ragged, but they had no time to steady themselves.

    The two exchanged guarded looks for reassurance.

    Their faces hardened in dark resolve.

    Through the dim halls they stole. Every step, breath and heartbeat was the cacophony of a drunken army to Haldrychs taut nerves. His hands shook. His mothers room loomed closer. His breath quickened.

    Memories reached for him in the ck of the hallway. Childhoodughter. Learning to mount a horse while soft brown eyes watched. Small hands pping and a womans cheer when he finished his first ode.

    His jaw tightened. Freedom awaited and he could not be a child forever.

    The door to the master bedchamber opened silently at his touch. She hadnt barred it.

    He spied a corner of his mothers bed through the doorway. Her quiet breathing blended with the low crackle of the firece. Haldrych paused on the threshold, slowed by guilt. Terror at being caught fastened his feet to the floor.

    Adelmar pushed him forward and they slipped into the room; breaths held. The merchants son made for the balcony and silently ced his boots beside the doors. Their feet made no sound on the carpet.

    The beds tall footboard was all that stood between them and their prey.

    With a soft groan, a small figure turned beneath fur coverings.

    Haldrych saw his mothers sleeping face.

    The memories returned, stinging him with guilt.

    He shuddered, his eyes fleeing her countenance to fall upon an old chest.

    It was a forgotten thing pushed into the corner of the room; the sigil of his family was emzoned upon it. A piece of copper purposefully barred its opening. Haldrych knew whaty inside: condemned to confinement as long as his mother lived.

    Just as he was.

    Rage ignited him.

    In three quick strides, he crossed the distance.

    His hands locked around his mothers neck.

    Adelmar was a step behind.

    Haldrychs thumbs tightened, sealing her breath. rmed eyes flew open. A gasp stuck in her throat.

    He pushed his knee against her chest, pinning her beneath the covers.

    The knife from the bathhouse glinted in Adelmars hand. It rose up.

    It fell.

    The trapped woman writhed in panic. Haldrych forced his weight upon her. His blood boiled hot. His vision narrowed. There was only his victim and his grim work.

    Adelmar cursed. The table knife could not prate the thick furs.

    He ripped his dagger from its sheath - long, and sharp and polished.

    It rose high.

    It drove toward her belly.

    Their quarry stiffened. A gasp of agony halted in her throttled throat. Her limbs wed frantically at furs that grew sticky and hot beneath Haldrychs knee.

    The dagger fell again. And again. And again.

    Impacts rocked her thin body. Life ebbed with every panicked heartbeat. Her eyes searched wildly for escape. Then they froze.

    A face hovered above her: the familiar countenance of a young man, twisted by rage and firelight. Her struggles ceased. He waited - anticipating the shock that should fill those eyes  the anger and horror that should follow. His own consuming rage hungered for that image.

    It never came.

    Only confusion filled her eyes.

    As the impacts repeated, they never wavered. Never blinked.

    Never shifted from her sons face. After untold heartbeats, he finally understood.

    They were dead.

    Stop! <em>Stop!</em> he hissed to his aplice. Shes gone!

    The two young murderers rose, panting, and looked upon their grim work. It stained the furs. Pooled on the floor. Filled the air with an iron tang and the fouling of death.

    In that miasma, Haldrych Ameldan became master of his house.

    His first act was to hold back bile with shaking hands spattered crimson.

    I need to be away, Adelmar hissed. Give me the rope!

    <em>The rope. </em>Hed left it in his room! He turned to sprint to the hall. Adelmar roughly grabbed his shoulder. Whatre you doing? Give me the rope!

    Haldrych looked down. The silk rope was wrapped about his torso.

    Whenwhen had he put it there? His thoughts jumbled and raced.

    <em>p!</em>

    <em></em>He sped his stinging cheek. His fingers came back wet.

    The hand Adelmar pped him with was drenched in his mothers blood.

    Hurry, fool! Adelmar shook him.

    They sprang into activity.

    The merchants son pulled his boots on, slipped over the balcony and down the rope with the dagger and knife. Later, he would clean all traces from them. Haldrych threw the rope after him and watched as he doubled back through footprints he had made earlier. With one furtive nce up at his aplice, Adelmar turned and melted into the cold night.

    The Master of House Ameldan moved away from the open screens of what was now his bedchamber. Numb steps carried him past the ruin on the bed.

    With trembling hands, he slipped the copper bar from the chest thaty in the corner.

    <em>Creak.</em>

    <em></em>Its hinges protested its opening.

    His hand reached into the darkness within. When it emerged, it tightly sped a ruby the size of a childs fist, cut into a circle. It was as dark as dried blood, but its facets burned in the firelight. In the centre the red grew so dark that it appeared to be a ck pupil.

    The Eye of Radiin was the jewels name. The progenitor of Haldrychs line had ripped it from the dress of a high priestess as a memento of an ancient massacre. It gleamed in defiance of House Ameldans enemies, but had been locked away by his weak-willed mother.

    Now it was free. Just as he was.

    His lips pulled back in something that was half-smile and half-snarl. Triumph roared in him. Bloody anger drank its fill. Hate cheered. Andsomething else. A dull ache. A twinge in his core. He pushed it down. It would fade with time.

    He promised himself this.

    Putting the jewel away, he barred the chest and returned to the bedside.

    For now, he would celebrate only in his mind. Outwardly, he needed to y the role of bereaved son. Curling over the side of her bed, he sped his mothers body to his as though he had just discovered her. This would ensure exnation for the blood drenching him.

    He fixed his face in a disy of mock grief.

    He took a deep breath.

    The manor filled with cries of false remorse.

 A Snow of Silver II

    A Snow of Silver II

    Wurhi of Zabya screamed.

    <em>Whish!</em>

    <em></em>The sword cut mere finger widths above her head.

    Good! Now push cut! Kyembe the Spirit Killer barked.

    His de shed in the daylight.

    With a cry, she struck back.

    <em>Sching.</em>

    <em></em>The Sengezian caught her silver sword with his steel, holding it in a bind. One quick twist would have her weapon spinning to the snow. You are hesitating.

    Youre trying to kill me! She retreated, opening distance with agile steps.

    The half-dark elf shook his head, running a hand through his cropped curly hair. I am trying to prevent others from killing you. And you are making that difficult.

    Silently cursing, she held her enchanted sword - taken from the tomb of the Wizard-King Gergorix - before her. Its silver de, jewelled hilt and grip of dragon scale ill-matched the calloused hands of the small Zabyan thief, who was veritably buried in furs.

    She still shivered in the winter chill.

    High guard, Wurhi. Kyembe stalked toward her, his fur wrapped feet crunching on the snow. His breath misted before him.

    Yes, right. She hastily brought her sword up.

    And why the high guard? He brandished his ivory hilted de.

    Because the gods have shit for justice and I onlye up to your damn chest.

    His full lips curved in amusement. Not quite. Why the high guard?

    She grumbled. Because your swordlle from above.

    Correct.

    He blurred at her faster than a predatory cat.

    <em>ng!</em>

    She barely managed to parry, drawing back again. Her fingers were growing numb in her furry gloves.

    He frowned. Stop giving ground.

    Why, so you can <em>skewer</em> me!?

    Laughter boomed from the side; Wurhi threw a re toward its source.

    A crowd of spectators - wrapped in furs and seated about copper firepots - watched from the snow-covered terrace, sharing steaming meat and mulled wine. Kyembe and Wurhis training exercises provided a novel entertainment to the patrons of Paradise.

    In short order, a consistent congregation had formed to follow the two soutnders each time Jeva brought them their swords. St. Cristabel reclined in their midst,ughing jauntily and pouring back ale by the pitcher. She bit into a massive joint of venison held lightly in one hand. If you tire of the Sengezian, she gave a cheery cry. You might submit to my tutge, Wurhi!

    The Zabyan suppressed a shudder. Shed witnessed the powerful knight flip an ogres corpse with one arm, crush a bronze helm in one hand and split three warriors in half - shields and all - in a single stroke. Even if they used wooden swords, there wouldnt be much left of her after a blow from the saint.

    A pair of Vesti mercenaries framed the muscr woman, watching the spar with the red eyes of their people. Their athletic forms and lupine grace were shrouded in winter garb. Thesiliea and Ippolyte of Vestulon - as they were called - had met the pair of thieves during their escape from Overlord Avernix of Garumna.

    They had aided each other in that struggle and promised to share drinks if all reached Laexondael in safety. Meanwhile, Ippolyte had vowed to gain back the coin Wurhi had taken from her through dice.

    Now that the warriors charge - the wizard Ku-Hassandra - was safely ensconced in the outpost of the City of ss, the bodyguards had little to do to pass the winter. As such, they had been visiting often. Very often. Suspiciously often. Wurhi had begun to suspect that Thesiliea had taken a liking to Kyembe. Even now, the warriors red eyes followed the Sengezian with a certain heat.

    Ippolyte, to her chagrin, had lost more coin than shed gained back. Now, she smirked and jeered at each of Wurhis mistakes. The Zabyans beady green eyes narrowed. She promised herself that smirk would be short lived. When they gambled tonight, shed be taking all of Ippolytes coin. Again.

    Perhaps that had some influence on the warriors resentment.

    Eyes to me, Wurhi! Kyembes sword blurred into a series of gleaming cuts.

    With a yelp, Wurhi danced back, parrying as best she could.

    Metal chimed upon metal.

    You need to get under my guard! Kyembe shouted. My reach is twice yours; I would <em>kill</em> you at this distance! Close with me!

    <em>How!?</em> she cried, her own needle-sharp reflexes barely keeping his de at bay.

    <em>Schwish!</em>

    <em>Shnk!</em>

    <em></em>Her sword fell to the snow. Kyembes point hovered in front of her nose. With a groan, she raised her hands in surrender. Im done! Im done!

    He frowned. Wurhi, you are deadly with short swords. You close the distance like a striking cobra, why do you shrink back now?

    Im learning this long de so<em></em>I <em>dont</em> got to rush in and get cut to leather, arent I? She rubbed her hands together, blowing on them and shivering. Didnt Cristabel say this was a <em>warm</em> winters day?

    The first time she had seen snow had been a mere month ago, waking to pure wonder gently floating from the sky. Like the sandstorms that struck her homnd, it painted the world in its colour. Yet, it was soft and cool, whereas sand was coarse, rough and irritating. It got everywhere.

    She never tired of watching the slow, otherworldly dance of those ivory flecks on the wind. Yet, her fascination quickly evaporated when they reached the ground. They brought a wet cold worse than any desert night. It was deviltry that such frigidness could even exist in the world. What sort of evil god or demon cursed these climes with it?

    She cursed them enthusiastically in kind.

    Cant we go back to wooden swords? sheined.

    They made you close <em>too</em> quickly. Kyembe stepped away from her. You need to respect your opponents de while turning each defence into a counter.

    She grumbled, fetching her sword from the groundand something else that she hid in her palm.

    Why so sour a look? You are improving wondrously. Kyembe smiled, dropping his sword into a low guard. Your reflexes are those of a scorpion and your agility would put a cats to shame. With some experience, you will be a monstrous opponent.

    And Ive got the reach of a cockroach. She brought her sword before her in a high guard.

    He shruggednguidly. The multitude of furs wrapping him bunchedically about his shoulders. A disadvantage, but it also makes you a small target. Now, enough talk.

    His lips curled into a confident smile.

    Attack me.

    <em>St.</em>

    <em></em>Wurhi whipped her hidden snowball into his face.

    Aaaah! He cried, trying desperately to wipe his eyes.

    Sharedughter burst from the crowd.

    He moved his hand to re at her. You wicked little-

    <em>St.</em>

    <em></em>A second one impacted him. He shrieked.

    Wurhis cackle of triumph thrummed with manic glee. Your weakness is discovered! Victory! Victor-

    Defend yourself, viin! roared a familiar voice.

    What th-

    <em>St.</em>

    <em></em>Wurhi turned directly into arge snowball. She screamed, dropping her sword as her face began to numb. St. Cristabel was on her feet, gathering more snow for another missile.

    A very <emrge</em> missile.

    Wurhi ran the hell away.

    Shit! Shit! She sprinted across the grounds, ncing back to her pursuers.

    <em>Revenge!</em> Ippolyte snarled, the Vesti leaping from her seat to pile snow together. I will put a nice rock in mine for you, you cheater!

    I dont cheat! Wurhi lied. Your luck is just trash!

    Kyembe watched with a gaping mouth before throwing his head back in deep, richughter. I suppose that ends the lesson. He cast his sword aside and bent to gather his own snowball. I am pact-bound to aid you, Wurhi! You may have betrayed me, but I shall show you that Kyembe of Sengezi <em>keeps</em> his honour! Cristabel, I will face-

    Me.

    Thesiliea poured an armful of snow over his head.

    By the Stars! he exaggerated his cry. I thought the warriors of Vestulon had honour!

    We do. Thesilieas grin was wolf-like. She moved a lock of ebon hair behind her ear. But my spear-sister already joined the battle. It was your fault for not watching your nk.

    With augh, she tackled the Sengezian into the snow. The two rolled and grappled, kicking up white. Their cries, squeals and giggles were unbing of seasoned warriors.

    What are we waiting for? A huge, brown-bearded man leapt to his feet. Are we going to let the soutnders and Traemean have the glory? Or are we going to show them how one wins a snow fight in Laexondael?

    With a cheer, a tide of half-drunk men and women waded into the snow. Shortly, the air sang with cries,ughter and flying missiles of white. From the side, Jeva watched fondly as he quickly ordered towels soaked in hot water to be prepared.

    Even while cursing and dodging the assault of Cristabel and Ippolyte, Wurhi could hardly hold back bubbles of joyousughter. She was frigid. Her fingers and toes hurt. The snow was sticking to her clothing.

    Yet, she could not recall thest time she was this happy.

    Her childhood memories were dominated by an empty belly and a lone mother whod died far too early. Her struggle in Zabyas dangerous alleyways brought only the barest survival. Her partnership with the dead Kashta the Talon had yielded somefort and excitement, but no joy.

    Now, she was in a strangend among a bevy of exotic sights and sounds. She roomed in the finest ce she had ever stayed. She was forming fine friends in the Sengezian and Traemean. And she had a fortune. Between her share of Cas plunder and the treasure of the Wizard-King Gergorix, she could glut herself on the finest wine for a decade.

    Of course, she wanted more.

    A manor house to rival those of the merchant princes of her homnd. A fine garden. An exotic predatory cat as a symbol of status, as much as that was an ironic desire for a rat-shapeshifter. For these things, she would need much more coin.

    Yet, for now?

    She let herughter fly free while dodging snowballs.

    She was content.

    <em>Watch it, urchin!</em> an arrogant voice cried from above.

    Skidding to a sudden halt, she took a step back.

    Before her rose a young man astride a horse as fine as any shed seen pass through Zabya. The silver-coated beast raised its head and his master looked down upon her with his lip curled. Careful, I would not want to pay you rpense if you ran beneath Marctinus hooves.

    Wurhis eyes narrowed. Something was oddly familiar about the young man. Familiar and detestable. She opened her mouth to toss insult at him, but her words froze.

    Hanging from his neck was one of thergest rubies she had ever seen.

    Its facets glimmered like fire in the daylight, and there was a sickening beauty to its colour that hypnotized the eye. The dark spot in the centre seemed to watch her even as she watched it. Its worth must have been staggering.

    Inadvertently, her tongue wet her lips.

    In a breath, she was no longer so content.

 A Snow of Silver III

    A Snow of Silver III

    Ippolyte gasped, staring at the jewel on the mans chest, her oliveplexion paling by the heartbeat. Her eyes widened; the scar on her neck shifted with the tightening of her face. <em>Shame!</em> she howled, thrusting an using finger at the horseman. You wear <em>shame</em> upon you!

    Another young man rode up on a ck-coated horse. His blue eyes narrowed. Whats this, Haldrych?

    Haldrych Ameldan rose in his saddle, drawing his horse back. A Vesti. No surprise you recognize this. He pointed to the red jewel. I wear no shame. The triumph of my house hangs from my neck.

    Ippolyte shed from pale to red. A victory from dishonour! A butchers blood-price- She stepped forward.

    Ippolyte! Thesiliea caught her arm in a tight grip. She bent to her spear-sister, hissing something in low tones. Whatever it was, they froze the words on Ippolytes lips.

    The Vesti warriors drew away.

    Adelmar gave a snort of amusement and Haldrychs back straightened. He turned to the crowd of patrons, still snow-drenched.

    A smile grew on his face. The scene was perfect for him to do something he had always dreamed of. Hail, denizens of Paradise! he called. Ie bringing gifts and tidings!

    He looked about. Their attention was his. Magnificent. With a grunt, he drew from Marctinus side a sack so heavy that he nearly bowed at its weight. He brought his steed forward with a tap of heel to nk.

    If it is snow you wish to frolic in, then I shall grant you snow! He thrust his hand in the bag to a metallic jingle and brought forth a fistful of silver coins.

    They gleamed between his fingers.

    I gift you a snow of <em>silver</em>!

    With a boomingugh, the poet cast the coins aloft.

    They flew in a shimmering arc above the heads of the gathered,ing to earth akin to hail rather than snow. In a breath, a cheer erupted and folk began grabbing for the coins.

    The Master of House Ameldan buys your drinks tonight! heughed, moving Marctinus through the crowd and casting handfuls of coins in a silver snowfall. Adelmar grinned behind him, though not all shared his cheer.

    The Vestis res burned and several of the patrons - mostly older ones - wore looks of distaste. Haldrych could only sneer at their hypocrisy: they came to drown in iniquity yet they found <em>this </em>disdainful?

    Yet, he could not voice his derision, for among those regarding him harshly were the servants of Paradise. Julianas face was amongst them, with unconcealed disfavour in eyes as hard and cold as ice.

    What was this?

    Master Ameldan.

    Jeva approached him with his hands sped behind his back, passing through the scampering crowd as a shepherd might move among their flock.

    He stopped before Marctinus. You wear the colour ck. And only the colour ck.

    A barb of usationy in his voice.

    Haldrych nced down at his furs and ck gloves. I do. What of it?

    It is not your usual colour. Jeva looked at him evenly. You are in mourning.

    There was no question in his tone.

    Haldrych hesitated. I am. What of it?

    The admissions effect was immediate. Many of the guests froze in their scramble for coin, their attention focused on the young master. Only a zealous few continued to snatch the silver up. One was the tiny woman who had nearly bumbled into Marctinus.

    The seneschal sighed. Master Ameldan, it is forbidden to set foot in a pleasure temple when one is in mourning.

    Haldrychs heat rose. I have heard of no such forbiddance. It is now of Laexondael.

    It is aw of the gods that bless these grounds. Jevas tone was gentle but contained steel. Many are gods of fertility, and we dare not mingle them with death.

    The poet scoffed. You cater to yers and plunderers! They are suffused in death!

    You misunderstand, Master Ameldan. Those that deal death may carry something of it in their thoughtsbut those that are in mourning - who have felt death pass so close, with its gaze fixed upon them - carry more. The weight of loss is heavy and cannot be abided here.

    My mother has left this world! Haldrych cried. I mustpose an ode for her funeral three days hence, and I merely seek a little cheer! A small joy for a man now orphaned! He pointed to Jeva. You turn me away!? What sort of false paradise is this?

    Master Ameldan. Jeva took the tirade as an old oak would face a feeble wind. Your loss is great indeed. Go home. Mourn properly, free from distraction. When you havepleted the custom, we shall balm your pain.

    Bah! Haldrychs chin rose. Perhaps I shall have found ces more deserving of <em>my </em>coin by then! He turned away from Jeva, looking to the crowd. Three days! When the sun is at its zenith in three days, a remembrance will be held for my mother on the banks of the river Laexon! Though its waters be stilled by winters bite, I will perform an ode in her memory-

    He ensured that this was made known to all.

    -and any who have words or thoughts to share may attend! He looked pointedly to Juliana and other folk that he had revelled with in the past. If you truly call Haldrych Ameldan friend, then you shall be seen there!

    To hear my performance, Haldrych added in his thoughts. And spread the word that my poetry is <em>not</em> uninspired.

    His head held high, he turned Marctinus and trotted him back to Adelmar. He spared no look for Jeva or any other who might deign to judge him. Not Juliana. Not the Vesti.

    Yet, the hair on the back of his neck rose.

    An eerie feeling crawled through his body. He threw a quick nce over his shoulder.

    He stiffened.

    Towering and lean as death, a dark-skinned man stood a little apart from all others. Some manner of inhumanity must have stained his blood, for his eyes were a deep crimson, darker than those of Vesti kind.

    His expression might have been carved from obsidian: a re of barely stymied rage and a disgust as deep as the bowels of the earth. It pierced the young poet, forcing a fearful shudder to his core. For a held breath, he believed some denizen of the afterworld was before him. One that knew well just how he hade to his silver coin.

    Then Haldrych stiffened in recognition. He knew the red-eyed man! He was one of three beneath the table when they had crafted their plot! Had he heard? Was that what filled his eyes with such terrible violence?

    An unease shook the young poet, and he looked for the others from that night.

    There.

    The little one that nearly crashed into him. She was staring at him as well. And thered been another. The broad-shouldered womanthere she was. Her powerful arms were folded and her brows bent.

    A terrible possibility froze him. With haste, he moved to Adelmar. We must speak, he whispered. He was keenly aware of the three gazes fixed on him as they left.

    Yet, two things escaped his notice.

    First, that the eyes of the little woman were upon the jewel on his chest, not him.

    Second, that there were not three intent gazes that watched him leave.

    There were four.

    Another figurey t on a rooftop across the boulevard.

    A figure who noted the wealth the young Ameldan spread.

    And, that his house would be empty three days hence.

 The Rat and the Hawk I

    The Rat and the Hawk I

    Cristabel, may I ask you something? Kyembe dragged his gaze from his wine cup.

    At any time, Kyembe. The saint looked up from shuffling a set of hand-inked wooden cards.

    He nced about. The Sengezian and Traemean were seated at a small table on the edge of the wine room. They were nearly out of reach of the firelight; distant chatter drowned their low tones. Good. Kyembe had sought the seclusion.

    He took a deep breath.

    Did you hear anything of note on the night we slept beneath the table?

    The saint paused. why, pray tell?

    Kyembe leaned forward. Did you?

    St. Cristabels brow furrowed and herrge eyes narrowed. For several heartbeats, herpanion looked on in anticipation. Eventually, she shook her head. I cannot recall the foggiest.

    Hrm. The Sengezian circled the rim of his wine cup with the tip of a finger, examining his memory for the hundredth time that night.

    The young noble - that Jeva had chastened - sparked a dim memory: plotting, nebulous words so depraved that he was unsure if they were vile truth or drunken delusion worthy of dismissal. Yet the more he thought on them, the more rity they gained. rity was breeding obsession.

    The boy had seemed so proud as he cast his silver over the snow.

    So satisfied.

    So free from grief.

    Kyembes mood darkened. Are you sure? You were the first to wake among us.

    St. Cristabel studied his countenance while carefully cing the cards down. I heard not a thing. Though, unless I miss my guess, <em>you</em> heard something that has you most unsettled.

    I <em>may</em> have heard something. He shrugged. Or I may be ruminating on a bad dream as a child would.

    Perhaps. Did you inquire the same of Wurhi?

    She heard nothing as well.

    Aye, but she wasst awake among us, and you- She tapped her ear. By far have the sharpest hearing. Clearly, disturbance lies upon your spirit. A rare thing for you. She cocked her head, chestnut curls falling over her shoulder. Confide in me. What confounds you so?

    Kyembe chewed his lip. you must hold this in confidence.

    St. Cristabel brought her fist over her heart. I swear it: I shall not utter a word to another without your leave.

    The Sengezian sighed. Alright. ncing about, he leaned across the table. Do you remember that boy from earlier?

    Which boy?

    The one casting silver at us like grain to hens.

    <em>Oh.</em> Her expression soured. <em>Him</em>. Uncouth, boorish and godless.

    And perhaps worse. I might have heard him speaking to his friend that night.

    Slowly, Kyembe ryed what he thought he remembered of their conversation. With each word recounting a sons plot to murder his mother, the saints expression turned somber. Her lips formed a grim line. Her face grew red beneath her freckles.

    <em>Bang.</em>

    <em></em>She shot up from her seat. The table quivered from the impact of her hands.

    Kyembe recoiled. What are you doing?

    Blue balefire burned in her eyes. I shall have Jeva release my de to me. Her voice was low and calm: like an executioners reading the name of a condemned person. Then, I shall search out this murdering ckguard and cleave him in twain.

    <em>Wait wait wait wait wait!</em> Kyembe scrambled to his feet. The memory is shrouded! It could be false!

    Without breaking gaze, she brought up an empty hand.

    <em>Hsssss.</em>

    The scent of vitriol stained the air.

    Droplets formed in her palm, shining in a golden witch-light that gave her face a demonic cast. I shall anoint him with the Tears of Amitiyah. Should my gods tears burn his flesh, then I shall execute him post-haste. If they instead turn sweet, then I know his innocence.

    Kyembe grimaced. This Amitiyah had not caused evil that he had witnessed, but - in his grim experience - little good birthed from the fickle whims of demons and gods.

    His own vige of boyhood had learned such a lesson. Fatally.

    Please. He wrapped her hand in both of his. The scent of vitriol turned sweet. Callouses on their fingers touched. I beg you: do not crash through someones gate because of my drunken dreams. You may destroy two reputations in one stroke: his, and your own. I owe you my life. His grip tightened. I would not forgive myself.

    The two warriors stood. Crimson eyes held blue ones.

    Atst, the saint sighed and withdrew her hand. You have the right of it, she dered. Wisdom must cool zeal. And your words are wise, Kyembe.

    He sank back into his seat, relief washing over him. Thank you. Though had you confirmed what I thought, you would need a centaurs speed to reach him before I did. I have stolen from tyrants, in men and women who have sought my life, quarrelled and caroused. There are many that would say I fall quite short of a good man. He shook his head. But tomit a deed soso

    His eyes hardened, growing distant. He had never known his mother. A thousand fantasies of meeting her had apanied him through boyhood. The very thought of ruthlessly ying ones own

    His belly twisted.

    So vile? St. Cristabel offered, sinking back into her seat. Indeedthere are few acts fouler in this world. Though if such evil stains his hands, doubtless it wille to light in haste.

    He gave her a curious look. Are those the words of your weeping god?

    She chuckled. Those are the words of St. Cristabel Esnore. Mark them well: one who murders then flings about silver scant dayster is an imbecile. Her mirth hardened until herughter was flint. A murderous imbecile is soon a discovered one. And a discovered one is soon a <em>dead</em> one.

    Kyembe! Wurhis voice cut in.

    Wurhi and Ippolyte approached the table, their dark hair wet from the baths. The Zabyan had a bounce in her step. Kyembe and Cristabel made room for the two women.

    As Cristabel greeted Ippolyte, Wurhi whirled on Kyembe with manic speed. Hows your stash doing? The words tumbled from her mouth.

    He smiled with curiosity, pushing his dark thoughts away. Better than it has in all my years. I have never had quite so much.

    Her beady green eyes shone in the low light. How about more?

    Hm? He cocked his head.

    She leaned in. I say we rob master silver snow.

    Kyembe froze. Several bloody thoughts shed through his mind. No. I think not. Fighting a grimace, he took a long sip of wine.

    If he went to that boys manor, the urge to search out the truth would be overwhelming. Were he wrong, they would be left with an angry, powerful young patriarch. In and that was not their own.

    Wurhi snorted. Come on,e on! You saw that smug bastard! Dont you want to wipe that sneer off his face?

    He winced. A little.

    And did you <em>see</em> that pretty shiny hanging from his neck? She nearly vibrated in excitement. Ive never seen a ruby like that! If I could get my hands on it-

    It would be the doom of you. Another womans voice cut in.

    Thesiliea had arrived while they were upied. Her look was grim. That gem is cursed. She nced at the small table, before ring at Ippolyte. I told you to save me a seat.

    <em>Scrrrp.</em>

    <em></em>Before her spear-sister could defend herself, Kyembe slid his chair back and patted hisp. And so, she did. He gave the new arrival a broad smile. I will be the mostfortable seat at the table.

    Thesiliea raised a dark eyebrow, quirking her lips. I will hold you to that.

    He chuckled. I would hope so.

    Her red eyes twinkling, the Vesti warrior slid into the Sengeziansp. He ced an arm around her waist to steady her. She made no motion to move it. His smile deepened. He did not catch the look of ord that passed between the spear-sisters.

    Wurhi snorted. Hey. Lechers. Whats this about a cursed jewel?

    The table grew quiet. Ippolyte grimaced. Thats a story.

    Cristabel finished another jar of wine and stacked the empty vessel on her others. The tower rose as high as her head. I am fond of stories. She wiped her mouth with a kerchief.

    As am I, Kyembe added. He looked between the two women of Vestulon, giving a little bounce of his legs to the one on hisp. Come now, tell us a story.

    Ippolyte groaned. She tells it better than I do.

    Thesiliea gave her a look. That is because <em>I</em> listened to our vige matron.

    True...and <em>I</em> did not.

    Herrade sighed. Your mother would be sad.

    With all the coin I send back to her, she had better not be. Ippolyte drew dice from her pouch, throwing Wurhi a nce of mistrust before re-examining them.

    Fine, Thesiliea threw up her hands. When they fell, one came to rest on Kyembes thigh. He made no motion to move it. She took a deep breath, drawing on words she had first heard from a grizzled voice in a seaside temple lit invender.

    Before the Vesti were Vesti, she began. We were of the peoples near the Sea of Gods: Hebans, Illians, Olphoenians, Olubrians and more. We were of all their blood.

    Her look grew dark. But all changed when the Tigrisians attacked. In those times, their empire was young and strong; they could run from sea to steppe with hardly a breath. They came for the viges. The vige men met them in the mountain passesand fell in the mountain passes. So, the women took up the spear and shield.

    Three sets of eyes watched Thesiliea.

    Even Ippolyte had her ear cocked in her direction.

    And then? Kyembe asked, enraptured as a child.

    The storyteller barely resisted a smile. She patted his leg. They fought the legions on every road, in every forest, and every bog. Each battle gifted them the wisdoms of war. So<em></em>ferocious did they be that even the legionnaires of mighty Tigrisia came to fear their war-cries.

    She sighed, her cheer abating. Yet, the empire pushed on: young, hungry and <em>strong - </em>razing all who opposed them until every daughter, mother and young son fell. Their high priestess despaired, kneeling in the temple: her supplications rose high to their war-god while the conquerors smoke choked the skies.

    Thesilieas lips tightened. A spear pierced her back where she knelt. A bloodied Tigrisian hand dragged the crown jewel - The Eye of Radiin - from her headdress. Her dying words, whether curse or prayer, bubbled in her blood. And so, those people were wiped from the world. But, when they found the afterlife and sought their just reward, their war-god called only the men to enter his barracks. The women were left - told to find joy in other realms of the after-world.

    She gave a darkugh. But they had been made <em>warriors </em>as few can be called. Their eyes burned red from their gods slight and they turned their backs on him. Their ire smouldered like hot coals and they shed with the souls and demons of the afterworld. They gave no quarter, fighting in darkness and light. They trampled all until, once again, they reached the world of the living.

    She looked to Ippolyte. And so, they emerged: warriors through the crucible of death. They emerged as the Vesti.

    A moment of silence hung in the air.

    Yeah, yeeeeah thats very nice. Wurhi eyed Thesiliea impatiently. But what about the jewel?

    Were you not listening? Ippolyte grunted. It is a stone pulled from a murdered priestess during a massacre so awful it birthed a new people! A people birthed from the <em>rage of the dead, Wurhi - </em>is that not cursed enough for you?!

    The Zabyan blinked. Wait, wait, thats all true? Coming back from the dead?

    Some time ago, she would haveughed at the very thought. Yet, she had witnessed strange things since joining Kyembespany. Awful things. Nightmarish things.

    <em>I</em> was in and returned by Amitiyahs grace, St. Cristabel offered. Such urrences are not impossible.

    Wurhi looked at the saint as though she were rabid. She chose to ignore the madwoman. So why dont you go get it back? she asked the Vesti.

    Gods, I wish you gambled as badly as you listened, Ippolyte moaned. <em>Cursed as cursed gets</em>? We want no part of it: let it twist the fortune of whatever fool holds it. We Vesti move on.

    Didnt look like you were moving on earlier, the thief countered. I thought you were gonna take the head of that shit-spewing piss monger.

    We do not want it back, Thesiliea pronounced grimly. But to see it paraded before ushow could one not react with wrath?

    Exactly! Wurhi gestured. It got paraded back to his house! I say react with wrath by stealing it! and everything else we can carry!

    The Vestis red eyes narrowed. Theres no honour in that. And if he wishes to unt a curse, let him. Do not go and bring it upon yourself.

    Oh, hells to that, Wurhi snorted, turning to the Sengezian. Kyembe, we robbed a dead Wizard Kings <em>tomb</em> and nothing bad happened to us! Youre not caught up in all this, are you?

    Kyembe thought back on his earlier suspicions. A mother murdered by her own son. A mother that possessed this cursed jewel. He shook his head. there is evil to this thing. I say we do not touch it.

    Wurhi snorted in disgust, throwing her hands up. Fine time for you to turn coward! Grumbling, she turned to Ippolyte. Im in a bad mood. Prepare to be poor.

    The Vesti groaned.

    Kyembeughed, directing his attention to the warrior woman on hisp.

    He did not catch the gleam of greed awaking in Wurhis eyes.

    Haldrych paced the master bedchamber in agitation. A goblet of wine trembled in his hand.

    That thing knew something. He took a long sip of the steaming liquor.

    You dont know that. Adelmar gripped the arms of his chair. His voice was tight.

    I do! They <em>know.</em> Haldrych guzzled the wine, his eyes growing distant. You shouldve seen the way that red eyed creature <em>stared</em> at me! He knew something!

    The merchants son leaned forward, tenting his fingers before a troubled brow. Red eyesmust have Vesti blood. Thatd exin the re.

    Haldrych snorted. Vesti men are thick-bodied like oxen and much lighter of skin. <em>He</em> was something else. And he was under that damn table with that big woman and the little one. Damn all the gods, they mightve heard <em>everything!</em>

    They werent conscious, Adelmar pushed, though his voice shed confidence with every word. You shouted loud enough for half the room to hear and no one said a word about it.

    not all dogs with closed eyes are sleeping, Adelmar.

    The merchants son grumbled. wed already have the Dukes Battalion on us if they knew.

    <em>Or. </em>The poet held up a finger. Maybe theyre waiting to inform the Battalion. Or ckmail us. Or some other trick. Perhaps they even mean to kill us themselves-

    Alright, alright! Youve made your point! Adelmar tugged on the end of his beard. Heres what we do. Ive arranged for us to meet with two men after your mothers funeral. Were going to go somewhere with them and, if things go as I hope, this will no longer be a problem.

    Haldrych eyed him. Where?

    I cant say. But, once were there, theyre going to do something-

    Do what? Who are these <em>they?</em>

    <em>Haldrych! </em>the merchants son snapped. You. Must. <em>See.</em>

    The young poets jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

    good man. Adelmar continued. Once its done and if things go wellyou may ask them a favour: have them take care of this.

    More shadowy talk! Haldrych grimaced. Who are these people of yours that you have so much confidence in them?

    Adelmars answering smile was positively wolfish. You wouldnt believe me if I told you.

 The Rat and the Hawk II

    The Rat and the Hawk II

    Cant believe theyre finally leaving, Wurhi the Rat muttered, blowing misting breath on her hands. Pain and numbness had seeped in from half a day standing in the cold.

    Thest of the funeral procession trudged through House Ameldans gates, their ck-d figures contrasting the snow-crusted street. Wailing a dirge, a grey-haired woman led them, her steps in time with a deep drum. Her dark veil blew in the wind and Haldrych Ameldan followed with head bowed and body wilted.

    Not a single jewel glittered upon him - to Wurhis delight. She had discretely asked after Laexondaels funerary practices: it was taboo to wear borate decoration during the rites of sepulture.

    As the line of mourners - framing an ebony pnquin borne by hulking Garumnan ves - disappeared into the rising snow, Wurhi melted into the crowd of onlookers. Standing a full head shorter than nearly every other woman in the throng, she disappeared as a fish within murky waters.

    Slipping through the narrow pass-ways between the walled manor houses, she made for the rear of the Ameldan estate. With hood pulled high and a woolen face wrap riding above her nose, she bent her back and assumed the unsure gait of an old beggar picking their way through the snow.

    Her beady green eyes studied the back-facing wall, noting how its stones came together. She spied a tree close to the rampart, with branches reaching toward it. After a furtive nce left and right, she sprang toward the stones and shot up like a squirrel bolting up a trunk.

    A leap from the top of the wall carried her to the closest branch.

    <em>Creak.</em>

    She froze, the limb swaying from her weight.

    Slowly, it steadied.

    She let out a breath, ring at the tree. Youre lucky, she whispered. Drop me and Ill be back with an axe.

    Hand over hand, the small Zabyan made her way to the trunk and slid softly into the snow below.

    As her feet sank into the cold, she held her breath for several heartbeats.

    No cry of rm went up.

    Good.

    She leaned around the tree and sought a way to cross to the manor.

    The Zabyan pces she had burgled had gardens providing lush cover for a thief. Yet here in the north, winter burned the scent from the air and the leaves from the flora, save for iron-tough needles that covered strange, lean trees.

    Thankfully, hedges of those same needled trees rose between her and the manor, woven together in abyrinth. It was as though they were asking to be robbed.

    She would oblige.

    Wurhi the Rat plunged into the maze.

    <em>Crnch. Crnch.</em>

    <em></em>Her cracked lips thinned in irritation. Trudging through snow was simr to deep sand but - while sand muffled her footfalls - snow made an infernal crunch she was sure half the north could hear. She rose onto her tiptoes, stepping lightly and with cial pace.

    Through the hedges, the manors towers rose against iron grey clouds.

    Wurhi strained to hear over the rustle of needles in the wind.

    A womans giggle froze her in ce.

    Silently cursing, the Zabyan pressed herself to the base of a stone statue. A granite centurion raised a short sword over the crest of its helm, with icicles jutting from a stony arm. The icicles partially reflected movement from the adjacent path.

    This is wrong, Halgothe mistress is not even entombed, a woman whispered.

    But <em>we</em> are alive, my dearest, a man whispered back And life can be sadly quick.

    Butwe need to guard-

    Were close enough to heae, let me taste your lips.

    The voices grew muffled.

    Wurhi nearly snorted as she slipped away.

    The tiny Zabyan crept through the maze - her body low and flush to the hedge wall - until she spied an exit close to the manor.

    Peering through the green needles, her eyes scanned the building: the shutters were fastened on all windows. No doubt they had been barred from within. She looked for another-

    She froze and had to fightughter. A double doorway rose a mere ten paces before her. One of the great oaken doorsy slightly ajar. No doubt the lovers had left it open in their haste.

    Ox-witted lechers, she whispered. But thank the gods for fools, eh, Kyembe?

    She nced over her shoulder.

    Her smile faded.

    Only the empty pathy in her wake.

    Wurhis face soured and she shook herself. Get your head right.

    Darting across the snow, she slipped into the manor.

    Alone.

    I dont like this, Haldrych muttered. They could be at the manor even now.

    Not this again, Adelmar whispered, ncing back and forth along the line of ck-d mourners. None looked at them. I told you, it will be taken care of.

    By then it could be toote, the poet hissed. I shouldve left more guards.

    Do you <em>want</em> to raise suspicion? Adelmar nearly tore off his veil. Its <em>tradition</em>. You left behind a couple: anymore and youd look like you cared more for your house than her soul.

    And?

    The merchants son groaned. By the gods, Haldrych, even now the priests of Morloi spread the incense in your halls. Your home is defended.

    Defended? Haldrych scoffed. By priests? Priests and a pair of guards?

    Haldrych-

    Im done with this, the young poet broke the line, pushing through his mothers mourners to their shocked looks and gasps. He came to a dual line of warriors marching dutifully behind his mothers death-pnquin. Fangolf.

    A tall, steel-limbed man pped his hand over his heart. Bronze chain rattled beneath his ck mourners robe. Master Ameldan? the guard captain asked.

    I want you to take ten guards and go back to the manor.

    The older mans face paled. Masterthe mistress must have her guard stand with her on her final journey.

    <em>I</em> am here. That is all she needs. No one loved my mother as I did. Ensure that my he caught himself. that <em>her </em>wealth and home are not left open to vile opportunists.

    Fangolf cleared his throat, his breath puffing beneath a heavy moustache. Iall of us would see to bidding the mistress a safe journey.

    Then bid it <em>now</em>, Haldrych snapped. And go defend her home.

    The grizzled warrior gave the young man a look that could have boiled ice. very well.

    Haldrych put his hand on Fangolfs shoulder. Ensure that none despoil my mothers legacy.

    He failed to notice the man stiffen at his touch.

    Wurhi peered from behind a door cracked ajar.

    With breath held, she watched a ck-d priest shuffle through the hall, his head bowed and voice lifted in tremulous death-song. A copper censer, bleeding fragrant smoke, swung beneath his wrinkled hand. The hood of his cowl was pushed back revealing brown splotches and liver spots mapping his bare scalp, while a ck cloth masked his face from nose to neck.

    <em>Clink</em>.

    The censers chains jingled as he shuffled past.

    Wurhis nose - sensitive even in human form - tickled at the smoke. She pinched her nostrils shut until the priest disappeared down the next hall.

    Slipping from the room, she eased the door closed behind her and crossed the hall to another doorway. The manor was all but deserted save for a few priests anointing the halls with their song and smoke.

    No matter how many rich fools the Zabyan thief had burgled, she had always found their greatest prizes in one of three ces. Vaults barred by locks crafted by the trove guardians of Laexondael, grand halls where they would lord their prizes over their guests, or close to the heart: master bedchambers, where they might gloat over them at all hours.

    They all had wealth inmon and all seemed to share ack of imagination. Wurhi promised herself that as her fortune grew, she would not be like them. That amount of stupidity could get a person robbed! But, for now, understanding the minds of dull-witted nobles would be to her advantage.

    She surmised this braggart would skin himself alive before cing the jewel beyond gloating range. Hed made it <em>rain </em>silver after all. Shed also bet her own teeth that hed want it close at hand.

    That made the most likely ce

    Wurhi crept to another doorway, cing an ear against the oak for ten heartbeats. When none stirred within, she drew a small sk and poured two generous dollops of olive oil onto the copper hinges, silencing them.

    Slowly, she eased the door open.

    A smile took her lips. There you are, you pretty, pretty shiny.

    Silk tapestries flowed along the walls of the massive bed chamber, each portraying a scene of glory in battle. Taxidermied heads of hunting beasts jutted from the stones between: savage bears, cave lions, tigers with fangsrger than daggers, and a dire wolf with shining ss eyes. A hint of perfume danced with faded woodsmoke in her nostrils.

    No stink of incense; the priests had note yet.

    She could hear the wind blowing low against the balconys double doors. Through the smoky ss she saw a light snow falling, swirling gently onto the gallery. Before her rose a great bed wrought of bronze and joined to precious woods she could not name.

    Above the ostentatious bed - hung on a gilded hook: The Eye of Radiin.

    Shuffling footsteps came from the hall behind her. Death-song rose close by.

    Stifling a gasp, Wurhi darted through the doorway and peered around the edge of the door. A different priest shuffled through the hall where she once was. While a cowl obscured his face, he moved as a younger man. Sandy hued hair fell to his jawline and his oversized grey eyes never shifted in her direction as he passed.

    The stink of myrrh followed him.

    She let out a held breath when his song faded into another hall. Her heart shuddered like a frightened chick. The little thief missed her partners reassuring presence more by the heartbeat.

    Id best be gone, she whispered, darting across the room.

    She leapt onto the bed and lifted the grand ruby from the hook. It dangled from its golden chain, refracting the light of the grey day and washing it crimson. Its darkened spot turned toward her like the point of an eye.

    She chuckled. Youreing home with me, little pret-

    The reek of incense stung her nose.

    <em>Whishwhishwhishwhish!</em>

    She dived to the floor.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    A pair of bronze bs struck the wall where legs once were.

    In a blink, she was on her feet, her dagger shing in her hand. Her lips pulled back in a snarl.

    The blond priest came at her in a blur.

    He clutched a mace in one hand.

 The Rat and the Hawk III

    The Rat and the Hawk III

    Wurhi leapt back.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    The bronze mace swept the air just before her nose. She skittered backward. The priest rushed to the right, cing himself between her and the door.

    The Zabyan cursed. Let me be.

    A voice like scratching ss answered her. Leave the jewel, and go.

    The jewel? Her scowl deepened. Youre no priest!

    Hisrge, grey eyes narrowed. There was a coldness to them. Like a falcons. Doesnt matter who I am. Ill crack you good in the head and leave you for the guar-

    She ran the hell away.

    A curse hissed behind her as she sprinted through the double doors and onto the balcony, throwing the jewels chain around her neck. A leap carried her onto the rail and toward the wall of the manor.

    She caught the nearest window sill. The thief scaled the building, her flexible fingers finding cracks and holds in the cold stones. Scrambling onto the roof through swirling snow, she gained her footing and spun to peer over the side.

    The balconyy empty below.

    <em>Whishwhishwhishwhish!</em>

    She flew back. Another set of bs spun through the air where shed been.

    The man in priests garment was already on the roof and rushing toward her. Wurhi scrambled to gain her feet, but lost bnce on the snow-slicked stone.

    The mace came down.

    She rolled.

    <em>Crack.</em>

    The bronze head crashed against the roof.

    Snow kicked up. Wurhi tumbled toward the edge with lungs stinging from the cold. Her hands clutched at the shingles, skin chafing as stone raked her palms.

    She slid to a stop before the edge and leapt to her feet in liquid agility.

    Her eyes met those of the man in ck.

    Both gazes lowered toward the ruby; it glittered, unmarred by the scuffle. Dual sighs of relief swept over the rooftop. Two sets of eyes met each other once more.

    Wurhi bolted, her feet struggling for purchase.

    The man cursed behind her. Stop running, Zabyan. You dont know how to move in snow.

    She startled and whirled as she reached the peak. Slowly, she backed away, her eyes searching for a route to the ground. How do you know where Ie from?

    He gave a low, gutturalugh. You think Wurhi the Rat enters <em>my</em> city and all the thieves of Laexondael dont know? Drop the gem and Ill let you go.

    He stepped onto the peak, stalking toward her.

    Her mind raced.

    She wished to all the gods that Kyembe hade.

    The man moved as surely as a cat gliding over t earth, while the snow and slick stones betrayed her footing with every step. He perched in a half-crouch much like a

    Wurhis eyes widened. Hawk! She jabbed a finger toward him. Merrick the Hawk! Ive heard of you, even in Zabya!

    He slowed a half step, but did not answer.

    She snarled viciously, trying to keep fear from her face. I know you now! <em>You </em>walk away! Quick! Quick!

    Not going to happen.

    She backed further away. If you knew I came to this city, then you know who Im bonded with. Her grin turned sharper. You ever heard of The Spirit Killer? The Solidde Knight?

    He snorted. No saints gonnae for a thief over a jewel.

    Maybe, she gave anguid shrug, trying her best to imitate Kyembes easy confidence. You so sure about the Spirit Killer? I once saw him gut a man like a ughtered pig. That man was three times your size.

    The Hawk slowed. His cold, raptor-like eyes narrowed. That was stupid of you to tell me that. Now I cant let you go.

    Her heart jumped. Helle looking for methen you.

    Merrick gave a scraping chuckle. Maybe. But Id bet my salt Id have a hell of a lot easier time hiding in <em>my</em> city than he would searching me out.

    His body tensed.

    Wurhis eyes searched desperately for escape.

    They spied a tree growing near the manor.

    <em>Thieves!</em>

    The Rat and the Hawk whirled.

    ck d warriors rushed toward the manor along the front path, some whipping slings above their bronze helms.

    Shit! Shit! Wurhi cried.

    <em>Whooshwhooshwhooshwhoosh!</em>

    Both thieves reacted in a blink.

    The Hawk kicked his legs back, sliding down and catching himself on the roof in one fluid motion. Flying stones sailed over his head or sunk in the snow as he used the roof for cover.

    Wurhi lost her footing on the unfriendly terrain. Her arms wheeled.

    <em>Whoosh! Crack!</em>

    <em></em>A stone nced off her shoulder, sending an explosion of pain through it. She screamed. Her body hit the roof and slid. Desperately, she tried to gain her bearings. Her hands wed at the stones.

    The edge rapidly approached. She glimpsed the tree again.

    Its branches were close.

    She rolled toward it.

    <em>Whoosh</em>.

    Her body was airborne. The wind roared in her ears.

    In an act of inhuman agility, she flipped in mid-fall. Her hand reached out frantically.

    <em>Creak!</em>

    Her fingers caught a branch. The full weight of her body jerked violently against her arm. She yelped. The branch slipped through her fingers.

    She hit the snow.

    <em>Thump</em>.

    The world spun. Pain writhed through her. Utter fear forced her to her feet.

    The thief broke for the wall at a sprint.

    Ahead, the lovers burst from the maze, their spears glinting. Stop! the woman cried.

    Wurhi turned, keeping her face wrapping pulled high and stuffing the jewel down the front of her shirt. She winced at its chill against her sweaty skin.

    <em>Crnch. Crnch. Crnch.</em>

    They closed on her.

    A leap shot her partway up the wall. She clutched the stones, gritting her teeth as her body screamed against the movement. The guards running footsteps grew louder behind her. She forced her arms to haul her body up. Blood hammered in her ears. Her breath rasped. Sweat stung her eyes. In what seemed like all of eternity, she cleared the wall and slid onto the street.

    Cries erupted from the estate. She ran.

    Fur-wrapped heads swivelled toward her as she tore through crowds. Her breath grew more ragged as her heart screamed. There was no reckoning of how long she ran. Her flight was a blurred chaos of turns and alleyways until, finally, the buildings around grew unfamiliar.

    Only then did she duck into a deserted alley.

    Her body barely supported itself with a shaking hand pressed to a wall. The cold raked her face and burned her lungs. Her ears throbbed. Her free hand trembled from exertion.

    The pain came as her fear abated.

    Cringing, she turned, sliding down the wall. Her backside sunk into the snow.

    Wurhi the Rat made ount of her injuries: one shoulder swelled and the other arm felt like an elephant had tried to rip it from her body. One of her knees ached badly and her ankle burned. Bruising mostly. A lot of bruising. Maybe a sprain or two. All in all, it could have been far worse.

    And in return for her trouble

    She drew the ruby from her clothing, her eyes glinting at its shine.

    Not a scratch she whispered, turning it over. Chuckling, she slipped it back into her clothes. Close and safe she would keep it, until they went to some other city. Only then would she barter it for a kings ransom in coin. Her mind swam at the possibilities.

    Yet, her victorious spirits were short-lived.

    The Hawk knew who she was. Likely, he knew where she was staying. One word from him would have the guards marching to Paradise. Or, he could slip in one night while she slept and-

    She shuddered.

    This couldnt be allowed to stand. Itd be as if she lived with a sharp knife to her neck. Yet, what could be done? Leaving the city would be madness. The snowsy heavy on the old Tigrisian highways and any smaller paths would be worse. The rivers were frozen as well. She chewed her lip.

    Wurhi grimaced. There was only one thing for it.

    First, she would need to find an apothecary to balm her wounds and slow the swelling. Then, she would need to hide somewhere until night fell; it would be too suspicious to go back to the wine house so soon after the theft. Especially with obvious injuries.

    And then?

    Her grimace deepened.

    She would need to tell Kyembe, and she doubted that he would be pleased.

    Groaning, the Zabyan thief rose and limped toward the end of the alley.

    Fear dogged her steps.

 The Wolves of Lycundar

    The Wolves of Lycundar

    Haldrych raged silently beneath his blindfold.

    The theft had been an utter humiliation.

    An heirloom of his house - only recently freed from his mother - <em>stolen</em> while he attended the wretched womans funeral. He wondered if her spirit cursed him from whatever whirling ck pit it now haunted.

    His only sce had been having the guards whipped for their carelessness.

    It ruled his mind as he followed Adelmar and the two men theyd met through this darkness. Haldrych gripped his friends shoulder for guidance while the merchants son gripped the shoulder of one of the men ahead. Despite this, the poet stumbled through what he assumed was an underground passage. Where he was, he could not reckon with any certainty.

    Shortly after his return to the manor, Adelmar had insisted they don heavy cloaks and make for the Pantheons za - where dozens of temples honoured twice as many deities. There they were met by two men in ck robes - their only ornamentation being bronze bracers bearing the same sign as Adelmars: a wolf consuming its own tail.

    They had been blindfolded, led down a flight of stone steps and into a passage. For a time, they walked, until exiting somewhere in the wilderness from the sound of it. There, they were loaded into a wagon and - after a long, ufortable ride - hade to another ce underground.

    Strange sounds echoed from all about. Moans of misery. Growls of beasts. Quiet feet and low humming from many voices. During all of this, their guides had instructed Haldrych:

    As soon as you hear the prayer, one of the men spoke in low tones. His footsteps echoed from ahead. You must not utter a single word until <em>he</em> speaks to you. Do not break this.

    Haldrych bristled, but bit back heated words. Nerves stopped his tongue while the profoundest desire for vengeance kept his feet moving forward. Were it not for Adelmars utter faith in these individuals, he would never have agreed to this.

    His breathing slowed as a strange sound reached his ears.

    A chant writhed sightlessly through the dark.

    The hairs on the back of his neck crept up.

    A dull, distant roar formed an undertone to unnatural words. Words which echoed over each other like hounds fighting for scraps:

    <em>Lycundar! He who consumes himself! He who is destined to consume the sun! Bless us with your curses! Through strife we are made strong! Through struggle we are forged! The primal that was lost is gained once more through your bite! Your children who fall will feed those who survive! Their strength begets our strength! Our strength begets your strength! The pack lives, and tonight we witness ascension! Lycundar! He who consumes himself! He who is-</em> It repeated endlessly, with each beginning consuming the previous ending.

    <em></em>Voices in multitude surrounded Haldrych as he stepped into what seemed to be a colossal chamber. Fear doubled in the young poets chest with every heartbeat. What sort of cult had Adelmar gotten himself involved in?

    Stand here, one of the leading men ordered. Haldrych could hear him stepping away.

    Youll do fine, Adelmar whispered, tapping him on the shoulder before slipping off.

    Slowly, the chanting died.

    The tang of old rust hung in the air.

    You, a mans baritone rocked the chamber.

    The young poet, held sightless, froze.

    Spoken with low volume, the word had been quiet but seemed to roll off of every wall before crashing upon Haldrychs head. The authority it held matched an emperor or high priestess. There was <em>power</em> in that one word.

    Youngmb, the voice continued. What brings you to our sacred den?

    Haldrych swallowed. He knew that he could not lie. I seek membership. My friend has told me of you. How I, you, and your brethren could ally.

    We do not ally with <emmbs</em>, the voice pronounced.

    Haldrych nearly fell to his knees.

    <em>We do not ally withmbs!</em> a hundred voices roared.

    Haldrych promptly fell to his knees.

    He ced his hands on what felt to be sand. Small, sharp objects pressed into his palms. I do not wish to be amb!

    The din quieted.

    Oh? Is that so? the powerful voice held a note of amusement. Then what do you wish? What is best in life?

    The poet swallowed. I wish for glory! To be a warrior and write of my own deeds! To rock the firmament with my legend!

    The note of amusement became a barking chuckle more lupine than human. You are soft,mb.

    I was caged! Haldrych snarled, the memory of his mother bringing a heat, despite his fears. Caged by a woman with no spirit! Yet in death she gues me with thieves and dishonour! I beseech you! I know I am destined for something great! Help me reach it!

    And how will you seek it?

    Through struggle inbat! the young poet cried. Through the sword!

    Just the sword? the voice rumbled. What will you do if they take your sword?

    I will use my knife!

    Hah! The bark pped the young poet in the face. If theyve taken your sword, they own your <em>knife</em>,mb! What else?

    II will use my fists if need be!

    With those soft hands? That would be a sight! And what if they bound your hands?

    Haldrychs mind raced. I would use my teeth if I have to!

    A towering silence filled the space.

    It was as though a titan had sucked in a breath and held it.

    You would not break the skin the voice said with a note of approval. But that can be remedied. You can be forged. You can be given <em>fangs</em>.

    A roar filled the chamber.

    You are worthy of Lycundars pack! the voice boomed as it drew closer. Haldrych resisted the urge to crawl backward. The sharp things dug into his knees.

    The deep voice continued. I have been told of your deeds! You slew your very mother-

    Something stung deep in the poets chest, but he pushed it away.

    -to free yourself from a cage! That is struggle! That is <em>primal</em>! Remove his blindfold!

    A rough hand pulled the blinder away. The young man blinked, his eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. He gasped at where he was.

    Haldrych knelt in a vast arena carved into the heart of a mountain. Moonlight poured from a great shaft in the caverns ceiling that led to the peak. The moon hung in its midst - radiant at its midnight apex. Carved stone seats rose above the arena pit, filled to bursting with figures in dark robes.

    Wolf-masks obscured their faces. Bronze bracers glinted on encircled forearms.

    A ring of ck cloaked figures stood in the arena. Each of their faces were revealed, some familiar to him; important members of the city were gathered here.

    Inexorably, his eyes went to the source of the powerful voice.

    The man it belonged to could have been chiseled from marble.

    Steel-like muscture formed his body with the scars of a thousand battles disyed by his open robe. An iron jaw-line gave way to a savage face and the eyes of a predator. His dark hair was cropped short, leaving nothing for an enemy to grip.

    I am Milos of Crotonia. He strode forth, crunching unseen things beneath his bare feet. Behind him, a colossal statue filled the back of the chamber - so hideously wrought that it sickened Haldrych to look upon.

    A mass of stone flesh writhed into a dozen serpentine necks terminating in the heads of snarling wolves. Their granite fangs glinted in the moonlight.

    The young poet was afraid. There was none tofort him.

    Milos turned, regarding the entire chamber. I am sacred alpha to this pack of Lycundar! I answer only to him and the council of twelve! I dere that young Haldrych Ameldan is no longer amb! He shall be made acolyte! What say you?

    A roar of approval answered.

    He nodded, turning to another figure kneeling in the sand. Haldrych had not noticed it before, despite its position in the chambers midst. It too wore a robe, bracer and wolf mask; the midnight moon drew a circle of cold light around it.

    Adelmar Horvoth, Milos said.

    Haldrych startled.

    You have brought a fine acolyte! With this, you have begotten progeny and your hands are washed in the blood of threembs: you have served the pack. Lycundar is pleased! he turned to the ring of robed figures The struggle has washed away young Adelmars weakness! I say he is atst primal! What say the pack?

    <em>Aye!</em> the ring spoke in one voice. Those that were masked remained silent.

    Milos turned to Adelmar. Tonight, young cub, you will ascend. You will join the pack.

    I am honoured, sacred alpha, Adelmar raised his head.

    Milos of Crotonia removed the merchant sons mask.

    He grasped the young mans bracer and - with a surge of impossible might - bent the bronze open with bare hands, revealing pale flesh beneath. I now bestow upon you Lycundars curseand his blessing.

    Milos took a deep breath. His lips parted, revealing gleaming white teeth.

    Teeth that <em>changed.</em>

    <em></em>They writhed in his maw: shifting, shuddering and lengthening. Like swords breaking through flesh, they grew into a beasts fangs. Haldrych cried out, but only knowing snickers came from the ring and seats above.

    With a rumbling growl, Milos drove his fangs deep into Adelmars flesh where the bracer once was. The young man flinched, but did not cry out. Milos rose and backed away, licking red from his lips, his eyes alight in primal hunger.

    The moonlight shone down on Adelmar, bathing him in its kiss.

    <em>Crack!</em>

    Haldrych gaped, terror stealing his voice.

    His dearest friend <em>changed</em>.

    Bone twisted and shattered to hideous popping and a liquid crunch. Flesh writhed. Adelmar screamed, casting off his robe. His contorting body was naked beneath. All others in the ring cast off their garb, save for Milos and Haldrych.

    The rings breathing deepened, rising and falling in unison. Their eyes shone in the dark.

    Aaaargh! <em>Aaaaargh!</em> Adelmar fell to the earth, his limbs contorting. Arms and legs lengthened and thickened. His thews swelled in a wet ripping noise. A beasts fangs burst from his maw. Hair erupted from his flesh like maggots escaping a corpse. His voice coarsened until it was no longer a mans. His countenance lengthened - the jaw stretching and bursting with fangs.

    With a shudder, the creatures form solidified. It panted. Then lifted its muzzle.

    Adelmar - if that was what this thing was - loomed an unnatural monstrosity that was as much wolf as man. The creature looked upon the sky.

    The beasts eyes fixed on the moon.

    A howl erupted from its throat.

    A chorus of howls answered

    Haldrych turned to the circle.

    He shook like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf.

    Where the ring of men once stood on the arena floor, now there were only monstrosities. Transformed creatures. Wolfmen that walked as humanity did.

    We are now one, Adelmar of Laexondael. Wee to our pack, Milos ced a hand on the wolf-creatures shoulder. The sacred alphas gaze turned to Haldrych.

    Now then, young acolyte. His eyes shed dangerously. You are under the protection of the pack. You will serve and grow toward ascension through struggle. In return, we shall protect you.

    Haldrych swallowed, his eyes falling to the ground. Bones. The arenas floor teemed in flecks of broken and dried bone. He closed his eyes, finding his tenuous grip on courage, and forced himself to speak. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Milos.

    Sacred alphatoday thieves desecrated my home.

    Milos eyes shed inhumanly. Then they have desecrated the pack.

 Trouble in Paradise I

    Trouble in Paradise I

    The Eye of Radiin hung heavy upon Wurhis neck.

    Though balms and poultices numbed her wounds, the ruby seemed a burden whose chain ground into her flesh. As the thief burned the sacrificial flowers to enter Paradise, she wrestled a desperate urge to cast the stolen jewel into the me.

    Are you unwell, Mistress Wurhi? Jeva peered at her in concern. You are pale.

    Fine! Fine! she insisted, throwing an agitated nce at the entrance door. She half-expected it to burst open and a tide of guards toe boiling through. Just cold. Very cold.

    Ah, yes. The seneschals gloves creaked as he stroked his beard. Our winters are considered rather mild for the north, but to a soutnder their bite must be fierce. It would not do to have you catch a chill while you are staying with us. I shall be returning to my quarters for the night, but I will have some heated towels sent to your room before I do.

    Yesyes, thanks, she muttered.

    Wurhi entered the cleansing chamber to scrub away the days sweat. The soothing aromas ofvender soaps, lemon balm and rose oils greeted her nostrils, but she found nofort in them.

    She quickly disrobed and sat beneath the hot showering-fountain facing the door, her eyes fixed on the handle. Every noise made her twitch. The sound of a guest passing near had her looking to bolt for the exit.

    She shook her head. Her room. She needed to get to her room. Wasting no time drying herself, she quickly donned Paradises robe, hid the jewel deep within, and rushed upstairs.

    With the door locked behind her, she looked about, inspecting the chamber for anyone lurking in the dark. She searched every nook and every corner thrice until convinced that she was indeed alone. Next, she needed a ce to conceal The Eye.

    Wurhis eyes darted about: the clothing chest would be the first ce shed look. Beneath the feather stuffed sleeping pad would be the second. Where could she hide it? The room offered few choices, but she could notpromise. What was needed was somewhere inconspicuous. A ce no one would want to go rooting through. Somece dirty. Unappealing. Somece only a mad person would ce a priceless gem.

    Her eyes settled on the firece. There, she whispered.

    Coating the jewel with soot, she pushed it down among the cold, grey ash. The little thief stepped to the middle of the room, examining her hideaway. It would do.

    For now.

    Wurhi wiped her hands with one of the warm towels sent by Jeva. She pushed open the shutters on her window and, leaning outside, drew a deep breath of the frosty night air. The fresh chill filled her chest, yet she felt as though she were suffocating.

    Paradises estate and the buildings beyond its walls spread before her, with each snow-smothered roof reflecting moonlight. Her eyes drifted skyward. To the north rose the southern tip of the Midgard Mountains. Their peaks were sharp. Unnaturally so. In a wild instant, they seemed to be the fangs of a colossal beast, eager to tear into the sky.

    The little thief shuddered. Youre imagining things. Get your head right.

    They were only mountains. There was no giant beast. No one wasing to get her for now. She was safe. She was-

    Chilling howls drifted from the mountains, deeper and more menacing than any jackals she had heard in Zabya. She stiffened, quickly mming the shutters. Her breath came hard and ragged.

    Youre jumping at <em>dog</em> sounds now, she chastised herself. Youre acting like this is the first piece of bread you ever stole! Whats wrong with you!? Get. Your. Head. Right!

    A panicked thief was soon a thief missing a hand, foot or their life.

    Yet, like an unwanted pox, Thesilieas words of massacres and curses returned to her.

    Slowly, Wurhi looked toward the firece. Though buried in soot, she imagined the gems pupil pointed to her. Staring at her. <em>Through </em>her.

    ncing to a side table, she snatched up a decanter and gulped wine until her hands stopped shaking

    She made for the baths.

    <em>Sniff.</em>

    <em></em>A wiry man crouched beneath the outer wall of the Ameldan estate.

    His greying hair betrayed his age, but his movements - sleek and agile - were those of a young predator. Here lies another scent, he pronounced, wiping a finger on the snow and holding it to his nose. His nostrils red. The first smelled of incense, but this smells of

    <em>Sniff.</em>

    <em></em>His eyes narrowed. lemonand lc.

    Paradises flowers! Adelmar mmed fist to palm. That red-eyed demon and those two women! It mustve been them! By Lycundar, Haldrych, you were right!

    His eyes shed in the dark as they shifted to the poet. Ice crawled up Haldrychs spine and he pulled his robe tighter. Nerves chewed at his belly like rats in a grain house. He reminded himself that the man looking at him was his friend. His closest friend. A man like a brother to him.

    Not a beast that wore his friends skin.

    He swallowed. YesI was. His voice cracked.

    Adelmar let out augh that rumbled like a beasts growl. Theyll regret crossing us, wont they?

    Yes, Haldrych murmured.

    He nced about, trying to hide his unease. ck robed men stood out in the snow and moonlight. Most wore wolf masks - acolytes, like him now. His bronze wolf-bracer itched where it enclosed his forearm and his mask felt tight, stifling.

    He wondered just what he had be a part of.

    <em>Sniff. Sniff.</em>

    <em></em>The wiry mans eyes narrowed at the odour. There is something strange about the second. Like a vermins pelt Berard! Come, take this scent!

    Yes, hunt-leader. A towering man stepped forth and sniffed the spot he was shown. Even in human form, he seemed a beast. His shaggy brown hair and beard nearly smothered his brutish face. Haldrych could better imagine him as a bear than as a wolf.

    I will hunt the one who left the scent of incense, the hunt-leader announced. Take your pack-brothers and half the acolytes. Go to thisparadise. Capture the vermin thief and make an example of any who stand against you.

    The bear of a man grinned, revealing teeth long and yellowed. Thisll be a good night.

    Haldrych gasped. The faces of those he had caroused with at the wine house swam through his mind. The guests. The servers. The singers.

    Juliana Her smile. Her scent. Her heated touch.

    He swallowed, preparing to step forward. To save her from massacre. There had to be another way-

    And yet

    He stopped. Why? Why save them? They had <em>scorned</em> him. Spurned him while he had granted them <em>his</em> coin. His jaw tightened. They did not wish for his presence? Then they would not have his protection!

    Hunt leader! Adelmar cried. Let Haldrych and I go with them. We will join the hunt!

    Bitterness drove Haldrych forward as well. Yes, hunt-leader. We know Paradise. We can show Berard how to get in quietly.

    Berards grin widened. I like these pups.

    The hunt-leader gave them a piercing look. Its good for the young to be eager. Go, then. Taste your first hunt. Find your quarry and show them their folly.

    The merchants son grinned and pped Haldrych on the shoulder. Lets go have some true fun in Paradise.

    Haldrychs smile grew beneath his mask. Revenge would soon be his. Revenge and the excitement he had always yearned for. Perhaps joining these men would prove a good decision after all. I suppose this will give me inspiration for my next ode, he said with the sort of easy, flippant tone hed always tied to his image of the confident warrior.

    He paid no heed to the slight tremble in his voice.

 Trouble in Paradise II

    Trouble in Paradise II

    Wurhi broke the hot springs surface.

    Suffused in its heat, the Zabyan breathed the steam deep to clear her senses.

    Her eyes immediately sought the grand baths entrances - open passageways framed by carven marble and lit by oilmp. Nothingy out of ce to her eye. Next, she scanned the balconies above. They ringed the darkened spring in a circle far above the bathhouses ck and white mosaic floor. Paradises finest roomsy through their doorways.

    No Merrick the Hawk emerged onto a balcony. No stream of guards poured from the lower entrances. Only the low ssh of wall-fountains and the rush of a steaming waterfall greeted her ears: not the irate cries of an overbearing young patriarch.

    She sighed in relief, cautiously ncing toward the opposite end of the pool.

    Kyembes lithe form reclined against shimmeringpis and white marble tiles - his wiry body half obscured by steaming mist from the waterfall. Thesilieas athletic figure leaned against his chest. They whispered to each other. The wall mounted oilmps left little dancing mes reflecting upon the water around them, leaving them lost in their own secret world.

    A world of lechery, Wurhi thought bitterly.

    Earlier, she had worked up the nerve to confess to him, only to find the lusty bastard so upied. Part of her wished to wade over anyway and tell him that angry guards might be en route to kill them.

    Yet, how would she put it, exactly?

    You gotta bit, Kyembe? she imagined. I just wanted to stop you both from plunging into carnal bliss cause I wentpletely behind your back and robbed that little whiny shit spewing maggot spawn of a noble! Yeah! And I took that jewel you think is cursed and someone nearly killed me and knows who I am and where I am and maybe hes gonna show up tonight! Or next week! Or next month! And hes gonna try to kill me in my sleep, and you and the crazed knight too because Im <em>the vige idiot</em> and told him you were with me! Or hes gonna tell the guards and theyre gonnae throw us in a hole or cut our heads off and well find out if the crazy knight can <em>actually</em> jump back up after shes <em>dead</em>! You know? Like we will be! <em>Dead!</em> Maybe! Because maybe theyre not gonnae! Or maybe theylleter and-why are you strangling me, Kyembe?!

    And then she would make choking noises and then-

    Wurhi shook her head rapidly.

    No, no, no, no, no!

    She forced herself to breathe. It was time to take stock of her situation with a clearer head. That was the reason shede to the baths. She needed to get her head right. Caution could be a thiefs friend, but paranoia could kill or catch one as surely as any cobra.

    For now, she was safe, she decided. If anyone wanted toe for her tonight, they would have already kicked the doors down. She nced back at Kyembe and Thesiliea.

    Why trouble the Sengezian now?

    Whatever brewed between him and the Vesti was about toe to a climax, so to speak. Tonight, of <em>all</em> nights, of course. Why interrupt and irritate him? She could abide until the morning when he would sport an enormous, foolish grin and unbearably high spirits.

    Yes. That was it. Best to give bad news to someone in good humour.

    No doubt things would go well that way. He would simply give that easyugh of his. Or make his normal jest: that she had rescued the jewel from its owner. Then they would n their counterattack. Just as they had against Cas. Just as they had against Lukotor.

    It would be as it always waswouldnt it?

    Troubling images shed before her: Kyembes face, twisted in betrayal. St. Cristabels countenance darkened by disappointment. Their backs receding into the distance, leaving her alone and to her fate. Just as Kashta had.

    She bit the inside of her cheek.

    No! It would not go that way, she promised herself. The saint might leave, but Wurhi and Kyembe were oath-bound. They would protect each other and they had never promised to stop going after things on their own. No faulty in what she had done.

    She nced at him again. None at all.

    The Zabyan made a sour face; even <em>she</em> couldnt convince herself of that.

    Are you troubled? St. Cristabel asked from behind her.

    Water in the ear. Wurhi muttered, pping the side of her head.

    The saint leaned back on the edge of the bath, her wet curls pouring over her powerful shoulders. Beside her Ippolyte floated across the steaming waters surface, her feet fluttering like butterflies. She wore only closed eyes and a rxed, dreamy smile.

    Wurhis gaze was drawn to the Vestis lean, strong form. Firelight danced over droplets on the warriors glistening skin. Her well-developed limbs swept into curves that quickened the little womans breath. With her blood racing from nerves, it took little to heat it.

    She tried to shake such thoughts away. Focus was needed now.

    Atst it begins. Cristabels full lips curved in amusement.

    What? Wurhi startled with an abrupt ssh.

    The knight indicated the opposite side of the bath with a thrust of her chin.

    Kyembe and Thesiliea strolled toward an exit, arms wrapped around each others waists. Wurhi had not noticed them leave the water. Their bodies still dripped as they walked, and they paused briefly to exchange quiet words.

    The Sengezian gave a wide, coy smile and leaned down to whisper something into the Vestis ear. She gasped, and the look she gave him might have boiled blood. Wurhi was sure it boiled his. In the low light, they swept each other into a hot, lingering kiss. After, their exit from the room was swift.

    Wow, Ippolyte rose to her feet with a ssh. Water streamed from her skin and Wurhi fought the urge to stare. Well done, Thesi, the Vesti chuckled. Thought youd never get it. Good for you, its been too long.

    Aye, and not just for her.

    <em>Ssh.</em>

    The saint climbed up onto the pools edge; her eyes fixed on another entranceway.

    Wurhi startled as a lean figure suddenly appeared in the passage. She prepared to bolt from the pool. Wait she thought. He looks familiarand harmless.

    Taking a calmer look, she sighed in relief. She recognized the beautiful young man that peered into the bath uncertainly: he usually sang on Paradises stage. The performer seemed out of ce outside his silk garb decorated by peacock feathers. He looked somewhat awkward, but waved as the knight smiled at him. Even in the poor light, Wurhi could see his brilliant blush.

    Wait, what? Ippolyte blinked. Are you She looked back and forth. You mean youre going to-

    Share a cup of spiced wine with a beautiful man that has the voice of a nightingale? Absolutely. St. Cristabel wrapped herself in a towel. Perhaps more if all goes well.

    Arent you some kind of holy woman? the Vesti cocked her head.

    The knight chuckled. I swore oaths of valour, glory and bravery to Amitiyah. No vow of chastity was amongst them. Her freckled countenance clouded. And when one passes so close to death, one learns to take lifes little joys while one can. In the next breath, her cheer returned. Never mind such grim thoughts. I shall see you both in the morning. Possiblyte morning.

    St. Cristabel left Ippolyte and Wurhi alone.

    The saints words lingered in Wurhis mind: take lifes little joys while one can.

    She swallowed. How would things be for her tomorrow morning?

    Drawing a deep breath, she turned to Ippolyte. Listen-

    You going to bed? The Vesti eyes were already lingering on Wurhis lean form.

    Uhno? the little thief muttered, caught off guard.

    Oh. The taller woman ran a hand through her hair, looking away. Youummhave nimble fingers?

    The Zabyan stared at her. <em>what</em>?

    Ippolytes cheeks grew flushed. Im sayingare you as quickyou knowgood asyou know when you cheat at dice-

    I dont cheat at dice.

    whatever. Soyoualways so good with those fingers?

    Wurhi gawked at her. What in all hells are you talking about?

    Well, the warrior looked away, her face reddening further. weve nothing to do andif youre as nimble on your back as...on your feetyou know

    you been eating those funny mushrooms?

    <em>Wurhi.</em> Ippolytes face burned scarlet. Everyone has taken someone to bed. Im asking if <em>you dont want to be left out.</em>

    Whatre you-Oh. <em>Oh! </em>Yes. Yes! Wurhi nodded vigorously. Id like not being left out <em>a lot.</em>

    Thank the gods, Ippolyte muttered, climbing from the bath and offering Wurhi her hand. Shall we?

    The Zabyan grinned.

    She took Ippolytes hand.

    Warmth spread through their joined fingers.

    The guardsman brought his hands closer to the fire.

    His breath misted as he breathed in the odour of burning cedar. ncing at the moon hovering above Paradises roof, he noted its position. Looks like were near done. Shifts changing soon, he reported to his partner.

    <em>Crackle.</em>

    Only the me answered.

    He scowled. Hey, whatd I tell you about dozing off in the cold-

    A massive hand pped over his mouth.

    <em>Schnk.</em>

    A bronze dagger sank into his neck. Agony burned. The de opened both jugr and windpipe, sending the guardsman toppling in a shower of spurting blood. The snow dyed crimson around his body. The sweet scent of burning cedar met the tang of rust.

    Berard wiped his dagger, watching his pack mate finish the other guard. Sweep the grounds, he ordered in low tones. Ensure all is clear. Then we enter.

    His nostrils red in exhration.

    And we hunt.

 Trouble in Paradise III

    Trouble in Paradise III

    Wherere you going? Ippolyte rose from beneath the nkets. Her face flushed and her lips curved in a dreamy smile. Themplight danced along her sweat moistened skin; it was all Wurhi could do to tear her eyes away.

    Let me breathe for a heartbeat, the Zabyan chuckled, slipping on her tunic. Just a heartbeat.

    Oh, <em>now</em> you want to breathe? And I thought <em>I</em> was greedy in lovemaking. Ippolyte stretched like a tigress after a full meal. From the way you talk of the Sengezian being a lecher, its a surprise to find you and he so alike. A <em>good</em> surprise. A teasing smile yed on Ippolytes lips. Or is it that cheating caught up with you? Was this yourst night before your execution?

    Wurhi fought the urge to wince. Like the crazed knight said: live while you can.

    Silence followed.

    I can barely see you. The Vesti began to move toward the firece. Lets light the me. Its starting to get cold.

    <em>No!</em> Wurhi rushed over, catching Ippolyte by the wrist.

    What are you-

    The little thief stole the taller womans lips. The warrior stiffened for a heartbeat, then leaned into her smaller partner, her eyes closing. The Zabyan nced toward the hidden gem. She pushed all thoughts of it from her mind, focusing on their dancing tongues.

    Pulling away, her green eyes held Ippolytes red ones. Stay there. Im stepping out for a bit; when I get back, <em>Ill</em> heat you up again.

    Ippolyte stared at her. move like all the wolves of hell are behind you.

    Wurhi giggled. Ill be quick.

    She slipped through the door, easing it shut behind her.

    A cringe ripped through her body. Ill heat you up again? Really? she muttered. Ive been spending too much time with Kyembe.

    Bearing a small ymp before her, she crept down the hall in a ring of wan light. Beyond that, a wall of darkness suffused the passage. She forced her mind not to consider it; enough troubled her without imagined phantoms.

    Her steps quickened toward thevatory.

    Moving quietly down the hallway, she reached Kyembes door. Her tread slowed. Joined voices and headyughter seeped from his room. Good. That would put him in the best mood in the morning.

    Passing the saints door across the hall, she continued along until she reached the balcony that overlooked the wine room below. She made for the closest staircase, padded down the stone steps and into the dimly lit chamber.

    Four of Paradises guards sat around a table  a flickering circle ofmplight between them - and looked up at the Zabyans entrance. Do you need anything, patron? One rose, his chair scraping against the stone.

    Wurhi shook her head, and the guard nodded, returning to his seat. The group quickly lost interest in her and continued the game of dice with which they were upied.

    Thevy near the front of the building  ensuring foulness was as far removed as possible from the rest of Paradise. Wurhis sensitive nose wrinkled as she approached it. For all the cleaning with scented waters that was done, it still smelled like what it was: a ce to relieve oneself doused in barrels of floral water.

    She pinched her nose and pulled her tunic tighter around her. The front foyery ahead, admitting winters chill into the hall. As she made to open thevs door, she caught an insistent sound.

    A pounding on the doors of Paradise. Vigorously.

    She froze - her earlier paranoias awakened.

    Her heartbeat quickened.

    Stepping into the room, she cocked her ear toward the entrance.

    <em>Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!</em>

    <em></em>Iming, Iming. The doorkeeper waddled from his stool to the outer door. He slid the slot open with a yawn, blearily peering out.

    A symbol of Paradises membership hovered before the slit.

    He yawned once more. Wee to Paradise. Whos there?

    Someone shuffled outside. The familiar countenance of a certain young poet came into view. Ah, Master Ameldan. The doorkeeper blinked drowsily. Forgive my challenge - itste in the night. All the fires have been snuffed ou- Hold now. He peered at Haldrych closely. Master Jeva has informed me that you are in mourning. You cannot enter.

    I left something here. Haldrychs voice was taut. I need to fetch it at once.

    His eyes flitted to the side, but the doorkeeper failed to notice in the poor light.

    A hundred apologies, Master Ameldan, He nced to the idols to his back. Its the gods edict, after all. Describe what you lost and Ill look for it when theres some light.

    Its important. Haldrych frowned.

    The doorkeeper remained impassive. Surely youre not suggesting we go against the gods?

    Now see here- The young poet began, but more shuffling interrupted him.

    Adelmar Horvoths face appeared at the slot, recing the poets. Im not in mourning, my good man. The merchants son offered. Let me in and Ill search it out.

    Hrm, dont know how youll search in the dark. But if its that important The doorkeeper utched the entrance and pulled the door open.

    He yawned once more. Wee to Para-

    <em>Schnk.</em>

    <em></em>His breath died in his throat where the de sank in.

    Adelmar twisted the dagger before the twitching body dropped in a pool of red. He looked to Haldrych; his blue eyes alight. You should take the next one! It felt even better this time!

    The young poet fought a wince, bringing his mask back to his face.

    Berard rushed over the body, his nostrils ring above his beard. I smell vermin! he growled, moving like a roused beast. Very close! Adelmar! Stay and guard the entrance. You four acolytes, stay with him!

    The merchants son stiffened. Guard the entrance? I can help!

    You are. Therger man grinned, his teeth bared. The wolf corners its prey, cutting off escape. This is your task. He looked to the others. The rest of you who took the scent, find the thief and the jewel. Kill anyone who sees you.

    The cultists brandished their weapons hungrily.

    With a growl, therge man threw off his robe, revealing his bear-like frame. Bone crunched and flesh writhed as his powerful bulk swelled and stretched. Haldrych gaped. When Adelmar transformed, he had been massive, but Berard was muchrger as a man. As a beast, his lupine head towered above the doorway. The creature was immense.

    Others embraced the change - save for Adelmar - and soon Haldrych found himself pressed within a tide of ck robed rogues and snarling wolfish abominations. He took a step back toward the wall, fighting the urge to scream.

    <em>Rip!</em>

    The great beast that was Berard tore the door from its hinges. The frame imploded; shards of wood exploded with the force. Haldrych recoiled, covering his head with his arms.

    Baying to the pack, the leader crouched through the doorway.

    The wolves of Laexondael flooded Paradise.

 Paradise in Trouble I

    Paradise in Trouble I

    <em>Rip! Bang!</em>

    Wood tore asunder, crashing to the stone behind Wurhi. The little thief gasped.

    What in all hells was that?

    Her nerves screamed.

    While hidden in thev, she had heard the doorkeepers bloody end. It had frozen her in ce, yet set her thoughts racing with horrifying possibilities.

    Had the Hawke? Was it the Dukes guard? Had they murdered the doorkeeper to gain entry? No, that made no sense. Why would either murder to gain the stone? For the former, it would cause unwanted attention; no master thief would be so clumsy. Thetter would have wielded their authority, not the de.

    This must be something else.

    Whatever it was - she needed to be far from it. The stairs. If she reached herrades, she would be safe.

    Stamping down fear, she had warily stolen toward the wine room.

    She had hardly gained five paces before something had ripped open Paradises front door. Winters chill - like a demons breath - had roared into the passageway. Winters chill and something else. A thing alive, unnatural and immense - bearing the powerful musk of some wild creature. A creature that snuffled in the dark.

    The rusty tang of blood filled her nostrils. A stink of raw flesh overcame the hallway.

    Wurhi gagged. Hermps light seemed as bright as noon, and she struggled to cover it with her hand. The me stung her skin. Biting back an oath, the terrified thief drew palm to mouth and licked it.

    <em>Sniff. Sniff.</em>

    <em></em>She held her breath in dread.

    <em>Sniff. Sniff.</em>

    <em></em>It paused. The thing was close. Wurhis heartbeat filled her ears. The unseen creatures breath rumbled too deep and coarse for the chest of any human.

    The breaths ceased.

    There was a moment of dead silence.

    A monstrous howl filled the hall.

    It reverberated off of every stone and struck in Wurhi a fear so primal that her knees nearly buckled. Her hair stiffened. Nerves and reflexes honed by years in the Zabyan alleys - further sharpened by her recent encounters with the sorcerous - were all that kept her upright.

    She whirled on her stalker and threw themp.

    <em>Whish!</em>

    It lit the passage as it flew.

    Now she screamed.

    Never had she seen the like of the abomination before her - a beast at once lupine and human. It was an immensity - ck-coated like a wild beast - and bearing thrice the bulk of a man. Even the towering Sengezian would have scarce reached its powerful shoulders.

    At its back stalked more of the vering beasts: titans in their own right. Their fangs and eyes shone with malice. Figures both ck-robed and wolf-masked crowded the passage behind them, with bronze des poised in their hands.

    des that shone with blood.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    Themp shattered on thergest beast.

    Oil and fire bathed it.

    <em>Whoosh</em>!

    me roared. Burning hairs stench filled the hall. The devil yowled.

    Wurhi spun away, dashing down the hall at full speed. <em>Kyembe! Kyeeeembe!</em> she screamed as she never had.<em> Cristabel!</em><em>Demons! Demooooons!</em>

    Shouts and bestial growls followed her. The sharp click of ws drummed as they loped across stone. Scrambling from the dark hallway, she broke into the dimly lit wine room toward where she remembered the closest flight of stairsy.

    The chambers guards had risen, rushing for the doorway with bronze cudgels in hand. You! their leader cried, his face pale. Whats-

    <em>Flee!</em> she screamed, not slowing a step. <em>Flee! Flee for your lives!</em>

    The guardsmen looked to whence she came.

    They saw what followed.

    They screamed.

    What in the name of the after-world? Thesiliea gasped, her red eyes turning to the door. Do you hearanimals? And screaming?

    Kyembey frozen beneath her, his pointed ears hearing far more than hers. A familiar voice reached them, filling him with dread. By the stars! Somethings attacking Wurhi!

    The mercenary cursed, scrambling off the wizard. He leapt to his feet.

    Did you hear Ippolyte too? she asked, her voice tight.

    No. Not at all!

    Both shrugged on their tunics, responding with the efficiency of warriors long experienced with attacks during encampment.

    Our arms are locked way, Thesiliea went to the firece, drawing a pair of brass pokers. Here! Thisll have to do! she tossed one to the Sengezian.

    He caught it, giving it an exploratory swing. Unbnced, but not the only weapon at his disposal. He nced to his ring: its head consisting of a skull with jaws parted. The face of a horned woman emerged from between its teeth, bearing a heated beauty. Her eyes gleamed - at the ready to bring forth sorcerous wrath.

    He made for the door at a run.

    Thesiliea followed. I need to check on Ippo-

    <em>Bang! Bang</em>! <em>Bang!</em>

    Thesi! Thesi! Ippolytes voice sounded through the wood.

    Before another knock could sound, Kyembe dragged the door open. The mercenary stood in the doorway; her face strained. She had also armed herself with a firece poker. Wheres Thes-

    Behind me! She will exin! Wurhi needs help! he pushed past her into the hall and quickly fell into a sprint, his dark-elf eyes inherited from his mothers people, cut through the low light.

    The sound of chaos yed mockingly in his ear.

    He dreaded the sound of anguish from a familiar voice.

    By the gods! a guardsman swore.

    The pack of devils loped into the chamber, quickly spreading to cordon their prey. They moved as instinctual hunters. Individual. Yet one.

    A screaming Wurhi crashed through the dimness. Her thrashing knocked over chairs hidden in shadow.

    <em>tter! tter!</em>

    They fell in her wake. Her thoughts were bent to the stairs: if she made them, shed make the hall. If she made the hall, she could reach Kyem-

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    <em></em>The sound of rushing air and a musky miasma saved her.

    Leaping forward, a monstrous grip swept the space she had upied a heartbeat earlier. Her body crashed to the stone floor; its injured shoulder collided with a table leg. She shrieked as agony exploded through her, and only a measure of desperate will kept her from curling up in a ball. She crawled beneath the table, gritting her teeth.

    Screams rose behind her.

    The devils had leapt upon the guards. The stout defenders of Paradise brandished their cudgels with skill won from arduous careers, yet fared no better than children armed with twigs. ws swept and jaws crushed as the demons savaged them to the ground. Theirntern shattered, the oiling alight on the floor tiles. In the writhing illumination, the beasts crouched over mewling bodies, burying their snouts in steaming flesh and boiling entrails.

    Human bone cracked.

    <em>Hsssss!</em>

    A crimson pool met the me. Rust tinged the air.

    Wurhis stomach turned.

    <em>Crunch!</em>

    <em></em>ws pierced the wood above her head.

    <em>Shiiit! Shiiit!</em> She scrambled away as flinders poured over her. Robed men flooded the wine room. In their midst rose the ck-coated beast. Unnervingly, no burns marred its hide.

    Rolling beneath the next table, the Zabyan sought to lose the creatures in the darkness.

    <em>Sniff. Sniff.</em>

    Yet, their snouts pointed to her like lodestones.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    With a single w, one of the creatures flipped the massive table. It crashed away in the shadows. She screamed and curled up as they surrounded her. The leader stalked forward; its bestial jaws parted.

    <em>Wurhi!</em><em>Shut your eyes</em>! a familiar voice shouted.

    With a yelp, she squeezed them shut.

    <em>Vroooosh!</em>

    <em></em>The world turned white through her lids.

    Ash and heat followed.

 Paradise in Trouble II

    Paradise in Trouble II

    Kyembe the Spirit Killer gasped from the top of the stairs.

    Masked men and lupine demons surrounded Wurhi. They had cornered the little thief. Death was no doubt heartbeats from her.

    Gritting his teeth, he channeled his inner magics. His ring red. Burns slithered up his arm as the eldritch energy extracted its terrible price.

    <em>Wurhi! Shut your eyes</em>! His aim was circumspect. Too close to the Zabyan and the hellfire might leap to her. His ring levelled at the devils feasting on the guards. He shut his eyes.

    <em>Vrooosh</em>!

    Hellfire leapt forth and - even through his lids - it shone like the Lighthouse of Pharos. Its crackle was the sound of bone bursting. Bestial yelps swept up with the screams of men and an acrid tang of ash. His eyes opened.

    One of the demons and several robed men had immted into clouds of white soot. The rest stood paralyzed, clutching their faces: hellfires unearthly brightness and heat had stung their eyes shut.

    Kyembe did not waste the opportunity.

    Brandishing his improvised cudgel, he took a running leap. One step carried him onto the balustrade. The next had him soaring toward the ring of creatures surrounding Wurhi as he roared a battle cry in Gezi: <em>Ukufa Kuza!</em>

    Death-bringer. And death dide.

    Hended on the shoulders of a masked man, riding his copsing body to the stones. Kyembes cudgel came down.

    <em>Crunch!</em>

    It caved in his struggling foes skull. An upward sweep of the poker caught another half-blind man on the chin.

    <em>Crack.</em>

    <em></em>Teeth, blood and bone exploded; the masked mans jaw crumpled, his head arching backward through the dark. His neck twisted unnaturally as Kyembe snatched the corpses dagger from its limp hand. The Sengezian twisted his body with all his prodigious speed and power, casting it toward the beast closest to Wurhi.

    <em>Sk!</em>

    The de plunged into the lupine devils eye.

    Howls of agony shattered the air as the creature reeled backward, clutching at the de embedded in its eye. The attackers fell into disarray, half-blind and panicked. Kyembe darted into their midst.

    Wurhi! Get up! He sped hisrades hand, yanking her to her feet. She gasped, and her other hand clutched her shoulder. His brow creased. No wound met his eye, but that did not preclude the demons having dealt her some hidden injury.

    Come! I will heal your wound, but you must move! He dragged her toward the stairs, channeling his inner eldritch energies. A golden light enwrapped his hand as he pressed it to her arm. Is that better?

    Wurhi let out a strained breath, rubbing her shoulder. Thank you. Could barely move it.

    Good. He pressed his hand to his own arm. The magic spread through his flesh, sloughing away his burns. We need our weapons. He nced to the devils. Preferably quickly. Can you pick the lock on the vault?

    She mounted the stairs. Yes! Yes!

    He brandished his brass cudgel. Then go. I will hold them here as best I can.

    The tiny Zabyan flinched. A diforty in her still, despite her physical recovery. Kyembe, I-

    Later! he barked. There was no time to spare. <em>Go! </em>Already, they recover!

    She grimaced. Dont die.

    He brought up his ring. Hellfire red. If you move quickly, I will not! <em>Now go! Keep your eyes turned away!</em>

    Shutting his eyes, the Spirit-Killer levelled his hand at the knot of attackers.

    <em>Vroooosh!</em>

    A sh. Screams and ash filled the air.

    He pressed his healing magics to the burns rising on his arm then dropped low like a stalking cat. He rushed forward, his bare feet making not a sound on the stones. The beam had struck no wolf-men, but four robed figures were no longer a threat.

    He swung the poker.

    <em>Crack!</em>

    Now five.

    He fell upon the attackers. With each of his strokes, a man fell. He blurred through their ranks, and soon the tiles were littered with their dead.

    <em>Sniff.</em>

    <em></em>He heard nostrils re behind him. One of the beasts leapt toward his scent.

    ws swiped with inhuman celerity, but the Sengezian proved faster. He spun, dancing to the side and aiming a strike at the devils outstretched w.

    <em>Bang.</em>

    <em></em>Brass quivered in his grip. It felt as though he had struck stone.

    By the stars he murmured.

    The creature snarled and came at him again.

    <em>Whish! Whish!</em>

    <em></em>Its ws tore the air, but Kyembe weaved around its every blow, striking back with scorpion-like precision. His cudgel cracked across elbow, rib, knee and neck, but rebounded each time. He frowned. What manner of devil <em>are</em> you?

    <em>Crack!</em>

    He snapped the poker across its snout. The beast snorted in pain, then howled its frustration. It lunged for him with all its great mass: aiming to pull him to the ground where it could tear him to shreds like a leopard on an antelope. Yet its grasping reach caught only empty space. He had dipped low, his weapon sweeping. The pokers hook caught the beasts ankle.

    Now, its bulk worked against it.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    The devil hit the stones with the sound of a falling horse. As it struggled to rise, Kyembe leapt on its back, driving the breath from it. He concentrated. His ring red. Burns rose up his arm. The beast was already thrashing and he would not have time to form a beam.

    He would improvise.

    His fingers coiled into a tight fist. He shut his eyes.

    <em>Vrooooosh!</em>

    His hand zed like a falling star. Bracing his legs over the beasts back, he roared, driving a burning blow toward the sound of its struggles.

    <em>Crnch!</em>

    <em></em>It blew through the monsters flesh as it fought to rise, burning dense hide to reach deep into its core. The wolf-mans snarl melted into a howl of anguish.

    Innards superheated. Organs boiled.

    <em>Boom!</em>

    Its torso exploded. Thick clumps rained down on all near.

    Boiling gore shed across the half-dark elfs skin, but left no mark: he was ustomed to burns of a far greater bite. He opened his eyes to find the beast zing on the stones. His magic sloughed away his own burns.

    The masked figures  half-blinded once more  plunged into confusion.

    They shed at the dark, their daggers striking nothing or each other. They stumbled over tables. Chased empty shadows.

    A deep growl sounded, returning discipline to their ranks. The ck-coated beast squinted through the rings light, sizing up the Sengezian with sharp ears high on its head. Its snarl seemed human. It bore a note of challenge.

    Kyembe leapt back from the burning creature and raised his cudgel. Come! he called. Perhaps <em>you</em> will fare bette-

    It lunged.

    It was swifter by far than the smaller one.

    With a curse, the Sengezian dove to the side. Air parted where the beast passed mere finger widths from his skin.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    The devil collided with one of tables, shattering it. Kyembe rushed to take advantage.

    <em>Snap!</em>

    It sprang onto all fours and leapt, near-severing his arm with its jaws. Its fetid breath reeked of rotted flesh. The swordsman recoiled. As the beast loomed to its full height, Kyembe shuddered: even the hulking Eppon of Garumna seemed smallpared to this devil, yet it stalked him with liquid grace. Circling to the side, he sought to ce the burning corpse between himself and this titanic foe.

    Then he noticed something strange. What?

    The me was moving, growing dim. He risked a nce toward it.

    The burning beast was rising from the floor.

    Its monstrous body zed and its ckened ribcagey bare. Somehow, flesh renewed by the heartbeat. Sinew knit over bone. Viscera swelled like bubbles until they returned to their natural order. Stone-hard hide grew over new muscture.

    An rming possibility dawned on him. His gaze shot toward the creature whose eye he had gouged. By the stars! The bestial orb was whole in its skull.

    Deviltry, he hissed. Deviltry revives you.

    The ck-coated devil regarded him with rapt attention tinged with amusement.

    Kyembe swore. Well he knew the beasts of the south and the demons of the outer nes. Substances, tactics, and spells hed learned to be their bane. Of these fiends, though, he held no familiarity. His wanderings had not reached much of the dark, cold ces of the world. He nced to his weapon and yearned for his de. Its magics might not have ended these creatures, but its bite had always served him well against all manner of foe.

    His hand flexed. Hellfires full fury had proven their match. He nced to the balcony. He would need time and distance for a beam.

    Kyembe darted for the closest flight of stairs

    Thergest of the devils gave a short bay. By itsmand, two of the beasts loped into the Sengezians path. They stalked forward, teeth bared and snapping, herding him as though he were a cornered stag. He made to slip past them, but two other wolves circled his nk.

    Their towering leader moved to his other side. He was efficiently closed in.

    No longer did they charge wantonly like raving barbarians. Now they moved as a cold, instinct-driven pack - cautiously hunting dangerous prey. He could only give ground. Even with his swiftness, he doubted he could avoid every swipe of w or gnash of fang. Not from all sides.

    He grimly studied their natural armaments.

    It would only take one to end him.

    He took a step back.

    Immediately, a pair of beasts broke from the pack, loping for the stairs.

    He cursed.

    Come brothers! a masked man cried. The hunters surround themb! Onward! To our prey!

    They had gotten him.

    Bastards! Kyembe began to bring his ring to bear, but the beasts tensed for a spring. The moment his attentionpsed; they would be upon him. Letting loose his own growl, he studied them in frustration.

    All he could do was hold these devils attentions. Goad them. Attempt to make them err so he could slip through their encirclement.

    Unfortunately, that would leave a certain Zabyan to shepherd herself for a time.

    Run swiftly, Wurhi, he whispered.

    His eyes drifted across the beasts before him.

    War-cries sounded from above.

 Paradise in Trouble III

    Paradise in Trouble III

    Wurhi! Ippolyte shouted. Dishevelled, she bore a make-shift torch and a fire poker. Her red eyes squinted at the Zabyan in the murky light. Whats happened?!<em></em>

    Move! Wurhi skidded to a halt, attempting to slip around.

    Thesiliea seized her by the shoulder. Answer her! she demanded. We heard beasts and screaming and-

    <em>Vroooosh!</em>

    Hellfire raged in the wine room. Men shouted. A monster bellowed in agony. Thesiliea grew very still. By the ancestors she murmured.

    Thats your answer! Devils are trying to kill us! the Zabyan screamed. Kyembes holding them off and Im <em>trying to get our weapons</em>! Let me pass!

    The scratch of w on stone froze her still.

    Whatwhat in the firmament is <em>that?</em> Ippolytes eyes grew wide.

    Wurhi slowly looked back.

    She screamed.

    Two abominations loomed at the end of the hall, silhouetted by the ze in the wine room. Their eyes shed, falling upon the little thief. Unearthly growls filled the passage, ripping through her bones.

    Oh shit! the Zabyan murmured. Shit! <em>Shit!</em>

    The mercenaries expressions hardened.

    Go. Thesiliea brandished her fire poker. We will pin them down. Get help.

    Ippolyte raised her torch grimly. To battle, then. Her red eyes narrowed. Come back quickly with our weapons.

    Wait, what are you-

    With undting war cries, the Vesti charged. Their improvised armaments pointed forward like spears. Wurhi gaped at their nerve.

    The lupine devils lunged in return, their jaws thering.

    <em>Snap!</em>

    Fangs closed upon empty air.

    With striking agility, the warriors leapt back in unison. Their cudgels whipped up.

    <em>Crack! </em>

    <em></em>Brass snapped across snouts.

    The beasts yelped, recoiling in surprise, and the Vesti darted forward. Their movements were as water - so synchronized that one warriors motion bled into the other. Their weapons transformed into both whip and spear - cracking across lupine jaw to further open their guards. Then they thrust to the throat.

    Wurhi gaped. Such blows should have proven fatal to any mortal thing, yet these devils merely staggered. Recovering, they snarled their wrath and surged forth, ws shing. Skill and precision proved again a match for their preternatural speed.

    <em>Sk!</em>

    <em></em>With howls of anguish, they reared back. Each bore an eye gouged from its socket.

    <em> Yes!</em> the Zabyan cheered, her fists punching the air. You flea infested, mange-ridden filth lovers! You dont haveachanceoh shit!

    Before her horrified gaze their eyes were growing anew.

    By my mothers mother Ippolyte murmured.

    Oh shit! Wurhi cried.

    Why are you still here!? Thesiliea shouted. Go!

    Guilt twisted in the Zabyan. It felt as though she were abandoning the two warriors. A tide of ck robed killers surged into the passage behind the wolves. She doubted that even the skilled mercenaries wouldst against such fatal resistance. But what about-

    Did you not hear her!? Our best hope is our weapons! Go!

    Wurhi grimaced. Right. With a quick nce back, she began to rush down the passage. The devils remaining eyes followed her. As she drew away, the beasts dropped to all fours and tensed.

    Ippolyte! Look out! Thesiliea cried.

    The demons sprang. High into the air they leapt - each bearing the bulk of two men. The mercenaries ducked, thrusting upward. Such strikes would have skewered a charging lion, but these foes bore hides like steel, rending the fire pokers wholly inadequate. Unabated, the wolvesnded on the stones behind them.

    The ck robed men rushed from the front.

    Ippolyte whirled so the two Vesti stood back to back: ready for a nking assault. Such an attack never came. The demons - with eyes still fixed on the little Zabyan - sprang after her in a fury.

    Wurhi screamed.

    Wurhi! Ippolyte shouted, but the masked men were upon them in the same breath. They could spare no more attention for small, doomed thieves.

    <em>Shit! Shiiiiit!</em> Wurhi sprinted down the hall. Her body brimmed with vitality from Kyembes magics and moved with the celerity of terror. Yet the scrape of w on stone drew closer behind her. For all her speed, she could not match the loping stride of these beasts.

    As they ran, doors opened in the hall. Themotion had drawn Paradises patrons from their beds.

    Help! she shrieked. Devils! Devils are trying to kill us!

    I say! A portly man peered through a door. His golden sped moustache swayed below his chin. This might be a ce of frivolity but <em>your</em> unnatural acts with animals are most distur-

    <em>Let me in, you idiot!</em> she shrieked.

    How <em>dare </em>you! the old man blustered. Ill have you know; you speak to-

    His gaze shifted to what followed her.

    His scream might have woken the dead. He scrambled to shut the door.

    You bastard! she swore at him. With lungs burning, she sprinted past him.

    The creatures snarled behind her. She heard the man scream again. She grimaced and braced for the sound of his flesh being torn apart.

    It never came.

    She threw a nce over her shoulder.

    The wolf-men had charged by the half-open door without pause. Their bestial eyes - now fully regrown - were fixed upon her. Her blood turned to ice. They had note to rampage haphazardly through the pleasure-temple! They hade to hunt <em>her! </em>Why!? Didnt demons usually go after the Sengezian!? Why <em>her!? </em>

    <em></em>A heartbeatter, certain words returned.

    That gem is cursed, Thesiliea had said.

    Cursed as cursed gets, were Ippolytes words.

    Wurhi grit her teeth. The irritable mercenary had been right. She <em>was</em> a terrible listener, though she heard well the hot panting of her pursuers. They would be on her in heartbeats. Her mind raced.

    More doors opened in the passage. With each door opened, screams abounded in the pleasure-temple as patrons witnessed what horrors had entered their bower. Through one of the pass-ways up ahead peered a familiar face: a beautiful young man, looking out of ce outside of his peacock-feathered costume. Wurhis heart leapt. The singer! That was the crazed knights chamber!

    You! Wurhi cried. Let me in! Now!

    Upon sighting the beasts, the boy screamed.

    <em>m!</em>

    Her heart sank as he flung the door shut.

    She searched about frantically for another escape. Across the hall, the door to the Sengezians chambery open. Her eyes narrowed. If she could get in there, perhaps she could jump through the window.

    Racing by the knights door, she prepared to leap for it.

    A muted shout came from close by. Defend yourselves, brigands!

    The muffled sound of heavy footsteps resonated near her.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    Wood exploded.

    Wurhi shrieked and whirled about.

    St. Cristabel had charged through<em></em>her door, both red-faced and roaring. It burst apart like dry grass. The knight bore a stone table as a battering ram, awkwardly levelled beneath her powerful arm, but seemingly weightless in her grip.

    It was not so weightless to the hapless beasts it drove into.

    <em>Crunch!</em>

    It mmed them into the wall, and Wurhi could hear their bones grinding to splinters. Their yelps choked on blood. As they slid down in a twitching mass, the saint lifted the table over her head.

    Viins! You dare bring violence to this ce of- She stopped, snorting in surprise. Amitiyahs Tears! she swore. Monsters! Begone, fiends!

    <em>Bang!</em>

    She brought the weighty stone table back down on their bodies.

    <em>Bang!</em>

    And again.

    <em>Bang!</em>

    Wurhi cringed. She had once seen a vulture trampled by a panicking elephant in the Zabyan markets. When its grey feet had lifted, the bird was nothing more than a red smear studded by ck feathers. These wolf-men looked much the same.

    A sigh of relief escaped her lips. You killed them!

    Not as yet, Cristabel pronounced grimly. Her tunic was drenched in red. Look. Even now they renew themselves.

    Wurhi stiffened. With each heartbeat, the beasts reconstituted. Their bone rejoined and their flesh ran together like water. Blood mixed with musk in the air as bone cracked and flesh made a sickening gurgle. Oh shit. She recoiled. Oh shit!

    The saint looked to her, incensed. How did this happen!?

    Wurhi winced. Ithey killed the doorkeeper and came in here like rabid dogs. They had men with them in wolf masks.

    A cult of some sort, the knight glowered. But to what dedication, I have no knowing.

    Wurhi red at her. What took you so long!? We were screaming!

    Cristabels eyes fell. Shame clouded her features. Mypanion and I had enjoyed a lovely night. We had retired afterward. I must confess, I was lost in the sweetness of dreaming. Her lips tightened. At a time such as<em> this!</em>

    <em>Bang!</em>

    She crushed them with the table once more.

    Growling, she tossed the piece of furniture aside, sending it crashing to the tiles. She gripped the furred masses by what was once their throats and bodily lifted them high. Her blue eyes nced to Wurhi. Where are the others?

    The Zabyan stared at the dripping ruins of meat.

    Wurhi!

    Ah! she startled. Back there! Kyembes holding off more of these demons and Ippolyte and Thesiliea are fighting their masked little shitckeys! Im going to get their weapons!

    The saints face clouded. Then they will need aid. She turned.

    wherere you going with those?

    To reinforce our allies and- She red at the beasts. -see if <em>these</em> can be drowned. Go with Amitiyahs grace. And his speed.

    The Traemean knight marched into her chamber, carrying crushed devils as though they were sacks of feathers. The young singer screamed within.

    Wait, I thought you were going to help! the Zabyan cried after her.

    <em>Crash.</em>

    <em></em>Wurhi blinked, peering through the ruined doorway.

    St. Cristabel had kicked open the door to her balcony. The steam of the hot spring drifted through the air. Without pause, she vaulted onto the balustrade.

    In Amitiyahs name! she roared.

    She leapt below.

    Have you lost your wits!? Wurhi shouted after her.

    <em>Ssh!</em>

    The Zabyan shook her head. Madraving mad.

    Shaking herself, she peered down the hall. She had a moment to breathe, and it hade time to deal with what seemed the source of her misery. Passing the remaining doors, she made for her room.

    She dug within the firece. Her hands coated in fine grey soot as she dragged out what she hade for. A chain clinked. She lifted the ash-marred Eye of Radiin. Her eyes hardened at it. Fine, you cursed little thing. Have it your way. You go back to your shit of a master!

    Fetching a small knife from the table, she ran back into the hall.

    All about, more guests doors cracked open with cries of confusion and rm.

    Violence echoed all about.

    She grimaced and hurried toward the weapons locker.

    Guilt gnawed at her.

    First, she would get their weapons. She had to fix this.

 Hellfire and Silver I

    Hellfire and Silver I

    St. Cristabel Esnore prayed.

    Half submerged in the hot spring; she held the struggling monsters beneath the surface. There was no light save for the barest sliver escapingmps from the rooms above. Only shadows seemed to struggle in her grip. They thrashed beneath the water - regenerating - yet weakening by the heartbeat.

    Desperate ws dully scraped one of her arms. No cry arose from her.

    St. Cristabel Esnore prayed.

    The sound of running feet echoed from the hall. Her hands gripped tighter, crushing the monsters supernatural vigour. The steaming water churned.

    Stop! a voice cried.

    St. Cristabel Esnore prayed.

    Half a dozen masked men rushed into the bath chamber, brandishing torches and menacing des curved like fangs.

    Thest verse of her prayer left her lips.

    Her baleful eyes slowly levelled at them. Why have youe?

    Release the blessed ones or we end you! one of the torch-bearers threatened.

    The saint regarded them grimly. <em>You</em> cannot offer terms to <em>me</em>. Lay down your arms and I shall see you bound and ready for the justice of those who hold these grounds sacred. Advance further and the death that awaits you will make you <em>beg</em> for the de.

    We fear not! Lycundars fury and brotherhood drives us,mb! the torch-bearer roared. His children who fall will feed those who survive! Now die!

    Roaring, the men waded into the water - seeking to encircle the knight - their daggers poised.

    So be it. Amitiyahs tears sprang forth.

    An ether poured over her body, shedding golden witch-light. To the saint, its scent was sweet as summer dew upon apple blossoms. To the masked men, it burned their nostrils as the strongest vitriol. They recoiled from the sudden iridescence, seeking to shield their eyes. Still, they strode forward.

    Sorceress! one cried. Forward, brothers! Before her magic can take us!

    It was this tactic that proved their end.

    The submerged wolf-devils in her grip  quite nearly whole once more  went still in one final rush of bubbles.

    Cristabels eyes widened. No sooner had their movements ceased, than did a transformation take them. Their bodies shrank as some fell power fled their flesh. Where once she held two monsters, she now gripped mere corpses of drowned men. Men who ran like hot wax upon the touch of Amitiyahs tears.

    It was clear how her grieving god judged them.

    Rising from the pool, she strode toward the baths exit without a nce to her attackers. The tears of Amitiyah spread through the water in her wake. A golden pool broadened around her, lighting the chamber.

    Coward! one cried. Turn around and-

    <em>Hsssss!</em>

    Words disintegrated into agonized screams. The masked men writhed, washing more clinging ether onto their flesh. Vitriol burned the air and lungs. Skin, fat and thew shuddered from the bone.

    Their cries withered, dying away to a feeble whine.

    As the saint marched from the water, only a low hissing remained in her aftermath.

    She did not pause.

    The light of Amitiyah heralded her passing.

    All about was chaos. Though this hally empty, her surroundings echoed as a pitched battlefield. She heard de strike flesh and bone. Folk screamed theirst. Her frown deepened. Such a thing was not to be borne.

    She broke into a run toward the wine room.

    Cowards! came her roar. Vile interlopers! Youe in the night to y those unarmed and unready!

    Rounding a corner, she rushed one of the entrances to the wine room. From within came the growl of beasts. She thanked Amitiyah that she could not hear the Spirit Killers scream among them.

    A single robed man stood between her and her goal.

    Move aside! shemanded.

    He responded with a roar of challenge and thrust his dagger toward her. She caught him by the forearm. Her hand constricted.

    <em>Crunch! Hssssss!</em>

    The limb crumbled and the tears of her god burned the ruined appendage away until she held only a foul liquid against a spurting stump. He shrieked, and would have copsed had she not caught him by the face. Another squeeze of her hand crumbled his skull like a walnut beneath a mammoths foot.

    She charged toward the doorway.

    The pack of devils surrounded Kyembe.

    They rushed and snapped at him as though hounding a stag, yet the tall warrior was no panicked elk. He danced to the rhythm of battle, weaving through their lunges. His feet glided across the stones, and a mere twitch of his long legs cast him up onto a table.

    A wolf-man charged after him.

    <em>Crack!</em>

    He drove his heel into its snout and - in a liquid movement - swept his body low, snatching a meat knife from the table. He drove it into the beasts eye. A howl of anguish pierced the air and it reeled back, clutching at the de.

    The Sengezian dismounted the table with a backward hand spring.

    A jauntyugh boomed from his lips. He bounced on the balls of his feet like a prizefighter in the arenas of Salik. Come! He grinned. Draw a cut on me! You shame wild dogs all through the world!

    The great ck-coated beast growled in frustration and lunged for him. Another pair darted for his nks. He dropped his body to the ground in a blink, catching himself on his fingertips and rolling beneath a table.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    The beasts collided mid-leap, copsing in a tangled mass of limb, w and rage.

    He grinned, rolling to the other side of the table and kipping up to his feet. And here I thought you wolves! Instead, I fight drunken monkeys!

    His blood sang from the thrill ofbat. The beasts were quick and far stronger than he: a single w or bite would rip his limbs asunder. Yet, the Spirit Killer had out-duelled demons with a dozen arms bearing swords that danced like daylight. Hed slipped out of the bone breaking grip of hulks like Eppon the Bear Breaker, and the severing ws of a Lord of Nightmares.

    With room to move, he doubted they could catch him even if the battlested a day or a thousand days. To his frustration, though, he could not hurt them in turn. Their hide was as living iron and he had no true weapons to bring to bear. Any wound he inflicted would heal with a celerity that made him shudder.

    A hellfire beam would finish them off, but whenever he concentrated on gathering his eldritch energies, they would be upon him with a desperate vengeance. They might act as beasts, but within their rage dwelled the intellect of humanity; they knew well what dangers his magic posed.

    His ear cocked toward the stairs. From the sound of it, the Vesti were making grim work of the masked men. They could join the fight soon but, armed as they were, they would be of little help against these beasts.

    Something else would be needed to end this.

    As if in response to his thoughts, a golden light began to emanate from one of the entrances. He heard a familiar cry that brought a tight grin to his lips. Too bad for you, he said to the wolves.

    He ducked back behind a column and turned his eyes from growing light.

    The saint came roaring into the chamber. She wielded the melting body of an interloper in one hand. The ck-coated beast, having just risen from the pile, recoiled from the light.

    While it flinched, St. Cristabel drew back her arm.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    She cast the hapless body into its chest.

    <em>Bang!</em>

    The impact sent the devil crashing through the tables to m against one of the walls. Without pause, the knight roared and charged across the room, snatching up a chair by its leg. The wolf-man closest tried to swipe her with its ws, but she struck the limb aside and smashed the chair over its head.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    While it reeled, she seized its thick, hairy limb.

    <em>Hssss!</em>

    Vitriol burned its flesh. The creature howled, attempting to pull away, but it was caught as though it had wedged its arm into a mountain crevice. The knights thews, filled with inhuman power, gave a mighty twist and pull.

    <em>Riiip!</em>

    <em></em>Its limb tore from the socket. The brutes shrieks were ceaseless. Kyembe gaped.

    Filthy creature! she cursed it. Back into the cesspit with you! Tossing the limb aside, she swept the mewling beast up in a bear hug. Her arms constricted.

    <em>Crunch! Hsssss!</em>

    Its ribcage caved inward and the tears of Amitiyah burned through its ruined body. Its anguish grew so loud that hysterical wails pierced half-dark elf ears. Vitriol filled the air, and the knights arms continued to close.

    <em>Crunch!</em>

    With a shudder, the devil fell in two liquefying halves. Yet, it clung onto life - the pieces writhing in a feeble struggle.

    Vile demons! the knight growled. How much does it take to end you? Is drowning the only way!?

    Drowning and <em>this! </em>Cristabel! Move aside! Kyembe leaped out, squinting against the light bleeding off of her. His ring red.

    No! I have them! she called, looking his way. Protect yourse-

    She spotted the hungry light burning in his ring.

    -Oh.

    The knight leapt aside.

    <em>Vrooooosh!</em>

    A beam of hellfire surged forth - crackling through the air - and struck one half of the beast as it crawled toward reunion. Ravenous, it consumed the flesh and leapt to the other half, turning it to a cloud of white ash.

    Kyembe directed his eldritch energies to slough away the burns on his arm.

    Brilliant! Cristabel grinned, dropping into a low stance. Her arms spread wide. I shall bring them down! You finish them!

    He smiled viciously. I shall not be so ungracious to refuse a gift!

    <em>Crumble.</em>

    The wreckage of a table shifted. The pack leader rose against the wall, regarding the cloud of ash and the two who stood against its pack. Its bestial eyes burned with an evil sentience and calcting thought.

    <em>Sniff. Sniff.</em>

    It gave a short bay. The rest of the pack froze, listening to its call. Kyembe and Cristabel prepared for their attack.

    As one, they bounded. For the stairs.

    We cannot let them escape! Kyembe raised his ring, filling it with power.

    <em>Vrooosh!</em>

    Hellfire leapt forth.

    With a yelp, two were sted to ash. Three remained. They made it halfway up the steps.

    Halt, cowards! Cristabel roared, lifting a massive table above her head and hurling it across the wide chamber.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    It ploughed into one of the wolf-men, bringing it down. The devil tried to regain its feet, but Kyembe levelled his ring.

    <em>Vrooosh! </em>

    It burst into ash. He tried to gather his energy once more but the two remaining wolfmen - one being the ck-coated beast - scrambled onto the balcony and disappeared down the hall.

    By the stars! Kyembe shouted. They could kill half of Paradise! We must stop them!

 Hellfire and Silver II

    Hellfire and Silver II

    Wurhi cursed beneath her breath.

    A trio of swords rattled in her grip as she raced through the hall. The two bronze leaf-des were the Vestis, while the long ivory hilted sword, belonged to Kyembe.

    Her own sword was shoved through a belt at her waist.

    The lock had posed no problem; it opened with a single twist of her knife. On any other night, she would have enjoyed foiling one of the trove guardians prized contraptions. On this night, even the short time it took to open, was unbearable.

    Throughout the building the din of violence grew, but seemed to have changed for the better. de spat against de now. Atst, some of Paradises other upants had joined in mounting a resistance.

    Now, if only herrades had survived.

    Calm down, Wurhi, she told herself. Kyembe and Cristabeltheyll be fine. Theyre both mad. And basically unkible. The two mad Vesti wont drop dead so easy either.

    Yes. It would be so. Shed hand everyone their weapons - except for the saints; the small Zabyan didnt even consider trying to lift that giant de - and then theyd chop these monsters into dog meat.

    Afterward

    The thief cringed. There was no way that she could tell the Sengezian about the jewel now. He would abandon her in a heartbeat. Her teeth ground. <em>She</em> would abandon her in a heartbeat if she could. But who could have predicted that stealing it would have brought the abominable hounds of hell down on her?

    Damn all the gods! she cursed.

    At first light, she would march back to that spoiled brats estate and toss the jewel right over his wall.

    Light shed at the end of the hall.

    Hellfire. A good sign. How strange had her life be when seeing hellfire had be a boon?

    Let go of my leg! she heard Ippolytes voice. Die! Damn you!

    <em>Crack!</em>

    <em></em>She reached the Vesti just as they stove in the head of thest masked man in the hall. Wurhi nced to the floor. Bodies littered the passage.

    Here! she pushed their des toward them.

    Atst! Thesiliea cried, dropping the poker and taking up her sword.

    You took long enough! Ippolyte snatched her de.

    I almost died! Wurhi snapped.

    As did we! the Vesti fired back.

    The Zabyan drew her sword. Forget it! Lets just get down there and-

    <em>Vrooosh!</em>

    Hellfire roared close to the stairs. Close enough to sting her eyes and send all three women reeling back.

    <em>We must stop them!</em> she heard Kyembe cry.

    <em>Stop what?</em>

    <em></em>She quickly had her answer. Another pair of<em></em>devils crested the stairs and were upon them.

    The first lunged at Wurhi: bounding over the heads of the Vesti. The second - the monstrous hulk of ck fur - mounted a savage assault on the two warrior women. Yelping, Wurhi raised both swords - Kyembes and her own - toward the beast attacking her.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    The monster barrelled into her on all fours, its jaws nearly snapping off her nose.

    She screamed.

    <em>Schnk. </em>

    <em></em>The beasts weight impaled the des through its chest as it bore her to the ground. It stiffened, but Wurhi knew well such injuries would not hold it back for long.

    Yet, its attack ceased. It stared down at her, seemingly transfixed.

    <em>Squelch.</em>

    <em></em>A strange liquid sound came from its flesh. She looked up at its wounds and gasped. Kyembes sword had driven deep - no doubt due to the beasts great bulk and the des magic - but she could see its flesh closing around the wound.

    Her own de was dealing an altogether different effect.

    The flesh surrounding her silver sword was writhingand shrinking. Fur retreated and sinew withered. The area around her de softened. What formed - spanning about the size of a fist - was human flesh. No fur, nor beasts skin, nor sinewy mass.

    Blood spurted freely. The wound showed no sign of closing. With a groan nearly human, the light left the beasts eyes. It slumped down on its side; its full weight fell across her legs.

    Whatwhat in all hells!? she cried.

    The creatures form shifted. Bone broke and knitted together. The scent of canine fled, leaving only the scent of man and death. In heartbeats, a mans bleeding corpsey over her.

    The transformation had frozen her blood to ice. It was familiar. Too familiar. Theyretheyre like me, the rat-shapeshifter whispered.

    <em>Rip!</em>

    A scream broke her from her reverie.

    Ippolyte! Thesiliea cried.

    Ippolyte stumbled back, her hands pressed to her belly. Wurhis head shot up. ws had torn the mercenarys flesh to tatters. Crimson poured through her fingers like a waterfall.

    Thesiliea roared in anguish and charged the beast, her sword poised. The de stabbed just beneath the armpit, but the creature gave it no heed. Ippolytes de still protruded from the monsters neck, having the same effect as a fly on an elephants back.

    The beast pulled away, ripping the sword from Thesilieas grip. Its ws shed forward.

    <em>Sqnch!</em>

    They rent her body. The force of the blow threw the warrior into a wall. Red streamed down the stone.

    Panicking, Wurhi slid her sword from the dead man and tried to kick him off, but - as quick as she was - the ravaging beast pounced upon her and pressed her down with a great hairy hand. Its other hand mmed her sword-arm into the stones.

    Its jaws parted.

    Wait! Wait! Wait! she cried.

    Her free hand reached for the only thing she thought might save her. She dragged the Eye of Radiin from her clothes. Here! This is what you came for, yes? Take it! Take it!

    The wolf paused, looking directly at The Eye.

    Yes! Thats it! Thats what you want! Ill give it back! Ill-

    It snorted. With a single w, it hurled the corpse off of her, flipped her over and caught the back of her tunic in its teeth.

    What!? Whatre you doing-

    The beast lurched forth on all fours.

    No! she shrieked, fighting to escape. <em>No!</em>

    It crashed through the closest door. The upants - hiding from the violence - screamed as it passed, but the wolf did not slow. Before Wurhi could react, it dove through the open shutters.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    Cold air and moonlight struck her.

    The wind roared past her ears as they fell. In her fright-stricken mind, one thought stood clear: at all costs she must keep grip on both the jewel and her sword.

    Wurhi! she heard Kyembes voice shout from the pleasure-temple.

    They monsternded upright. Her sword shed backward. The impact of her de shook her arm. A poor blow, but enough to surprise the beast. Its jaws parted in a yelp and, freed, she rolled through the snow and to her feet.

    Her breath came hard, misting in the cold. Blood and desperation surged through her body. Each heartbeat mmed in her chest. Shed never outpace this thing. All that could be done was hold it at bay until Kyembe could arrive. It was a feat beyond her.

    At least while she was like this.

    While it stared at the wound bleeding on its shoulder, she snarled at it.

    Ill have your throat! she howled, tensing as animal desperation took her. Anguish tore through her body. Her bones shattered and reformed. Fur sprouted; her jaw lengthened.

    By the time its eyes returned to her, a monstrous rat-thing stood where the tiny thief had been. Still, one thought burned in her mind - she must keep her grip on her items. So strong did it remain, that even the bestial instincts raging through her could not shake it.

    She leapt at the beast, iling her sword and gnashing her jaws. It flinched in surprise, yet easily stepped out of reach of her de. All her lessons from Kyembe had evaporated in her bestial state.

    Meanwhile, the wolf-devil had long married its instinct and intellect.

    It feinted a lunge to the side. When she turned, it surged forward to smash its fist into her snout. The blow jarred her and left the world spinning. Wurhi stumbled in the snow.

    The beast let loose a long howl that brimmed with purpose. Catching the thief by her ripped tunic, it loped for the wall surrounding Paradise.

    Stop, dog! Stop, damn you! Through a haze she heard Kyembes cry.

    The world blurred around her. The jarring blow, the fright filled night, and her rodents panic-frenzied instincts were too great a burden to bear. Though her grip remained tight on the jewel and weapon, her vision dimmed.

    The world began to fade.

    Thats Berards signal! Its time to leave! Adelmar cried, rushing from the building.

    But what about the others? Haldrych managed to force his mouth to say. In truth, the violence he had heard from within had broken his nerve some time ago. He lifted his robe as he ran.

    Well regroupter! We must go, now! Adelmar cried again.

    There was no need to tell Haldrych a third time.

    Kyembe let out a shout of dismay when he crested the stairs.

    Ippolyte and Thesilieay in spreading pools of their precious blood while thergest devil burst through a door ahead, disappearing from the hall. Wurhi struggled in its jaws. He heard another crash from the room beyond.

    Wurhi! he cried, sprinting after them. He spied his sword gleaming on the stone near a dead man. He snatched it up.

    Amitiyahs Tears! St. Cristabel immediately went to the Vesti. She knelt over them. They yet live! My gods mercy may still heal their wounds! She raised her hands to spread the tears of Amitiyah. I must see to them! Go! Get the viin and rescue Wurhi!

    That dog is mine! Kyembe pronounced.

    He pursued the ck-coated beast with long strides. The upants of the chamber screamed once more as he rushed by, and a long howl issued from outside. He peered through the window.

    The devil snatched Wurhi in its jaws and raced through the snow.

    Stop, dog! Stop, damn you! He leapt onto the windowsill and plummeted to the snow below.

    <em>Whoosh! Thmp!</em>

    <em></em>Landing in a half crouch on the balls of his feet, he bounced up and sprinted after them. His teeth grit. The snow sucked his every step, robbing him of swiftness and bnce.

    The ck-coated monster shrank in the distance.

    Stop! he roared, but knew it was futile.

    Ahead, the beast reached the wall of Paradises grounds and vaulted to its top in a single bound. It gave him a quick nce, its eyes shing.

    Then, disappeared over the wall.

    <em>No!</em> he cried. No! No! Wurhi!

    He redoubled his speed, calling on every reserve he had ever used in the wilderness. A jump carried him halfway up the wall and he scaled the rest, leaping into the street below. He peered about. The beast was nowhere in sight.

    Cursing, his eyes fell to the snow.

    <em>There!</em> Tracks that were a cross of wolfs and mans.

    He tore after them. There is no escape for you, beast! he roared. Drop her and I will consider letting you die quickly!

    His roar echoed through a night that was slowly turning to dawn. None answered. Growling, he continued to follow the tracks. Prints of hoof, boot, and wrapped feet covered the road, but the monsters tread was unique: impossible to miss.

    <em> Schnch. Schnch.</em>

    <em></em>His bare feet stung in the snow, but he bore the pain. It would only be a matter of time until he found them. The wind whispered through the sleeping city.

    An odd change came over the tracks. What? he cried.

    They shrank. The mark of the w disappeared. They sank shallow in the snow.

    Nonono

    Now he followed the prints of bare human feet. Shortly after, the bare footprints vanished, reced by cloth covered ones, like others on the road. Anger burned in Kyembes breast, but anger could not make his quarry easier to follow. As the trail weaved through the roads more traveled, they became harder to discern.

    He came abruptly to a massive crossroad.

    He stopped. No. <em>No!</em>

    The tracks blended with countless others that had churned the snow throughout the day.

    All looked simr. The tall Sengezian turned in ce, peering desperately down each road.

    Any of them could have been the one his quarry had taken.

    Shaking with anger, The Spirit-Killer gripped the hilt of his sword. Damn you!

    He charged down the eastern road, trusting his path to luck.

    Yet, such good fortune did not walk with him this dawn. As if mocking him, fresh snowkes began swirling from the sky, gently hiding what he sought. His wanderings took him deeper and deeper into the maze of Laexondael. Yet, no matter how hard he searched, he could find no sign of wolf or rat.

    Wurhi of Zabya was gone.

 The Pit of Despair I

    The Pit of Despair I

    <em>Rumble. Crack!</em>

    A wooden groan and jarring motion jolted Wurhi of Zabya back to consciousness.

    The thief moaned. Her skull throbbed as though trampled by camels, while her belly churned like a barrel of pickled plums roiling in a tempest at sea. An icy wind raked through great rents in her tunic, sting snow over her trembling body. Something creaked around her. An odour of animal musk, the stink of horse and a familiar incense filled her nostrils.

    Her face ached - swollen from a great blow - and her mind moved as though in quicksand.

    Blearily, she forced her eyes open.

    <em>Whooosh.</em>

    <em></em>The sight that greeted her only brought further confusion.

    She found herself in the back of an open wagon on a snow-crusted path. Wind blew a white haze through croaking trees lining the sides of the road, their dark needles heavy with nkets of white.

    Above those

    She gasped.

    Mountains filled the horizon, and she gaped at their size. At such proximity they seemed to eat the sky itself, dwarfing all things she had ever encountered. Zabyas high walls and grand pces - and even the trees of the Forest of Giants - would have shrunk to insignificance beneath these titans of skyward stone.

    Her mind whirled. Were one of those summits to crumble, they would crush half a city. A tiny, trivial little thief would not even leave a smear.

    She shuddered, attempting to turn away and push such thoughts aside-

    Ngh! she grunted.

    -but found herself bound in ce. Her heartbeat doubled in swiftness as she looked over her shoulder. Something had brought her wrists behind her back and twisted a bar of bronze about them, looping it through a metal ring hammered into the wagon frame.

    The tight binding left her hands swollen and she could barely feel them. Terrible strength would be needed to bend bronze so thoroughly. What was happening? How did she get here?

    Now did her mind begin to waken.

    The previous nights horrors returned: images of a great, ck-coated beast dazing her and snatching her in its maw. Its powerful form loping over the walls of paradise. shes of city streets. A tunnel.

    Horror transfixed her. She had been taken. Why in hells had they <em>taken</em> her?

    Hey, you. Youre finally awake, came a voice like scratching ss.

    Stiffening, she whirled toward the voice.

    She nearly screamed.

    A wiry, familiar man was curled up, shivering on the opposite side of the wagon. His grey eyes leered above a beak of a nose that would have suited a falcon. Even though she had not seen his face unmasked, Wurhi could never forget the murderous, raptor-like gaze of Merrick the Hawk.

    Swelling and dark red bruising marred his sharp features while only a ck tunic hugged his wiry frame against the cold. His hands were bound in the same way as hers. For that, she was grateful.

    Whatwhats happening? she whispered. Howre you here? Where in all hells am I?

    Merrick gave a mocking chuckle. Thats it, I reckon. Were on our way to hell.

    Exactly, you thieving scum, came another voice, both familiar and foul.

    Wurhi whirled toward the back of the wagon and recoiled.

    A young man smirked astride a beautiful steed, his wretched satisfaction radiating from every movement. Haldrych Ameldan basked in his victory as he had the morning hede to Paradise to spread his silver. He touched his chest to draw her gaze to a familiar red jewel; the Eye of Radiin once again hung upon his neck. An irrational rage boiled in her at the very sight of the thing.

    And so, my precious heirloom returns to her master. The young poet gloated. His rust-coloured hair whipped about his shoulders like poisoned me tainting the whitendscape. While the vile interlopers who despoiled my house will gain theireuppance. His mirth boomed over cold, snow-crusted wind. A fine day, is it not, Adelmar?

    A blond-bearded man rode at his side, smiling with Haldrychs deration, but there was a tightness to it. His eyes were empty of the mirth apparent on his lips; instead, they burned with the vicious resentment of a beaten hound. His ire seemed fixed entirely on Wurhi. Itll be a fine day when these two are dead. Especially the rat-thing. Many brothers paid for her capture.

    Haldrychs cheer faded somewhat. Yesof course. He nced furtively to the front of the wagon.

    <em>Crack!</em>

    A vicious snap drew Wurhis eyes toward the fore.

    Only a whip could make such an evil sound. She had heard its like from caravans of the ve-City of Salik, and The Maws hidden chambers, where agony was artistry. Its victims were a pair of shaggy geldingsbouring mightily through the snow to avoid its cruel ministrations.

    Their driver was an evil-looking, weasel-thin slip of a man who worked the bullwhip as though he had been birthed with it. Its ck leather shone with each undtion before it blurred down to snap across the geldings backs.

    On his left rose the jewelled hilt of her sword. Instinctually, she leaned toward it, cursing the futility of the action.

    On the drivers right lounged a bear of a man, filling the seat with his bulk. Heavy furs obscured his powerful form, and though he was not quite as colossal as the barbaric Eppon of Garumna, he bore a bestial menace that made her hair stand on end.

    Her nostrils red.

    Scents struck them that brought shivers to her spine. The driver and his hulkingpanion stank of a predators musk and thetters bore a foul familiarity. Her memory of the ck-coated beastits scent belonged to this man.

    Her eyes returned to her silver de, tantalizingly close, yet impossible to reach. It had pierced one of the devils chests the night before, withering away the wolf until only a man remained. A dead man, at that. His passing had brought revtion: the wolf-demons were shape-changers, just as she was.

    Now they walked in human skin. The very thought filled her with a revulsion akin to self-loathing, and the notion that these devils could be some kin of hers brought with it a wilting horror. She had never truly considered her own beast within.

    It hade on shortly after her first bleeding.

    Cramps had grown until they enveloped her body, heralding a crumbling of bone, shattering of skin and melting of flesh that changed her into a creature both rat and human. Transformation always bought her agony, but her first change came with a peak of anguish she had gratefully never experienced since. Or perhaps she had simply grown more ustomed to it.

    Both bestial instincts and pain had drowned her young mind until she had awoken terrified in her mothers arms, with a calloused hand petting her hair. Herself once more, she might have thought it a vivid nightmare had her mother not given insight by way of brusque exnation:

    You got it from your father.

    And that had been all.

    Never again did she speak of the man who had sired young Wurhi, and the girls further questions had been met by harsh words and dismissal. The child had been intent on wearing her mother downbut a few monthster, it mattered not at all.

    gue had ravaged Zabya, brought by horse-traders from the steppes of Kherlen. Food had grown scarce. The dead had filled boarded up houses and bloated the ditches beneath the zing sun. Crocodiles in the River of Scales had fattened indeed.

    To their horror, she and her mother had found swellings on their own skin.

    Her fever broke after several days.

    Her mothers never did.

    In the lonely years afterward, she hade to rely on the change as a tool of survival. A way to be quicker than the violent men lurking in the alleys. A way to slip into spaces far too narrow for any woman to pass. A way to fight off the stray hounds in the dark.

    A tool of desperation and nothing more; she greatly feared its body-shattering agony and the rodents instincts that attacked her thoughts to overwhelm her mind. Unnaturally, they rose even now, balking from the giant man as prey would before a predator.

    She grit her teeth even as her heartbeat raced. Now was not the time to lose oneself to panic. Her wits would need to be in order if she had any hope of survival. Still, her eyes flicked toward the snow, and she wished she had a hole to burrow into.

    What are you going to do with us? she asked warily. Where are we going?

    Therge man said not a word.

    <em>Crack!</em>

    The driver snapped his whip hard and one of the geldings snorted.

    I would not test them further, little knave. Haldrych sneered. They are wroth as is.

    Wha-

    Best listen to him. Merricks eyes watched the two men uneasily. You had them as mad as badgers with splinters in their feetst night. The big one wanted to kill you straight away.

    Wurhis mouth closed and she eyed therge man. A multitude of cultists and beasts had attacked Paradise, but she had seen many of them dead before her capture. She could almost feel their hunger to avenge theirpanions.

    And she was their only present avenue.

    Keep quiet. They had sacks over our heads for the longest time. Merrick squinted up at the mountains. Theyve taken em off, so I reckon were almost wherever theyre bringing us. His eyes narrowed on something. Look there.

    Wurhi turned, craning her neck. Mountains rose to her back as well. Toward the peaks she spied several thin lines of smoke undting into the grey sky. Had they not been pointed out, she would not have spied them. Beneath eachy a flickering light - thergest of which burned in the bowels of an ancient ruin.

    At this distance, the Zabyan could discern few details, but each of its stone blocks looked asrge as the very wagon around her. In a dead age, it might have served as some temple to a forgotten god or grand tower for the Tigrisian Empire.

    Theyre watching us, the Hawk murmured, hisrge eyes drifting all through the mountain tops. His words came quietly and slowly - low enough to blend with the churn of horses hooves and rumble of wagon wheels. Fourfive fires there. Five on the other side. Bold as bucks in springtime. He nodded, half to himself. Theyre not worried about the citys watchtowers: whole valley must be theirs.

    She nced back to the two young men trailing them. They were distracted now, chatting excitedly to each other. Both seemed thrilled. Her lips tightened sourly. If only she had her de.

    Youre right. No ones wearing those shit-looking wolf masks, Wurhi muttered. If theyre not bothering, it means theyre home. Her brow creased. Hey. She took a deep breath. What she wished to say now nearly stuck in her gullet. You tried to kill me, and I wanted you hung by your guts-

    Thanks. He scoffed.

    -but if were going to make it out alive, I say we drop all that for now. Thiefs Truce until were out.

    He snorted. Whatre you, slow? Why do you think Ive been telling you all this?

    Wurhis eyes narrowed at his mocking. Once again, she wished she had her de.

 The Pit of Despair II

    The Pit of Despair II

    The darkest of moods held Kyembe of Sengezi as he returned to The Lovers Paradise. Cold stung his body, his feet had long numbed and within his belly stoked a fury as strong as hellfire.

    He had fruitlessly pursued the ck-coated beast until his lungs began to burn. Dawn had brightened to morning, then noon yet he had found not a single step of their trail. As the streets grew crowded upon the turn of midday, he forced himself to admit that his quarry had long escaped.

    All he had gained for his trouble was a mounting ire that found no release. It was by no means improved by the cries ofment that struck his ears as he approached the pleasure-temple

    His countenance soured further.

    The front gatesy open, but blockaded. Guards swarmed the grounds; atst, the Dukes Battalion hade.

    Their bronze breasttes gleamed, iid with a twin-headed griffin - its wings spread beneath the Anemoi of the four cardinal winds. Red tunics contrasted sharply with dull coloured furs wrapping their shoulders and legs. Scarlet crests rose above their helms and their hands hovered close to the hilts of their broad-ded falcatas.

    Some stood about Paradises doorway, guarding its entrance or muttering grimly to each other. Others dragged forth the stiffened corpses of cultists to pile in a bloody heap on the grounds.

    Many of Paradises patrons sat outside, wrapped in wools and nursing bowls of hot broth. Their eyes turned away from the heaped dead and they shivered from cold and strain. Some wept openly into their steaming dishes. Kyembes jaw tightened.

    As he strode toward the entrance, many eyes fell upon him.

    Two members of the Dukes Battalion came together to bar his way.

    Move along, ounder, one barked. The pleasure temple is sealed under the dukes order.

    Kyembes crimson eyes rose to meet the guardsmans flinty gaze. The man flinched.

    I am a guest here and a patron. His deep voice bore his weariness with a hint of steel. The Sengezian rose to his full height, towering over the soldiers. I ask that you let me pass.

    Gloved hands fell to sword hilts. Other soldiers began to make their way over, crunching over the snow. <em>Whatever</em> you are - I told you once to move along, the first man barked. Now Im telling you twice. There wont be a third time.

    By the stars. Kyembe gave a bitterugh, his eyes flicking toward the heavens. What foolishness must I bear now? His voice grew hard. I am cold. I am thwarted. And I am in <em>no</em> mood for this. He eyed the approaching guards. I asked once to let me pass. I will ask once more. Try me<em></em>a <em>third</em> time, and I will break all of you over my knee before I enter.

    The guardsmans face purpled. Who do you think-

    Thats enough! an iron voice brought them short.

    Heads turned, and quickly the guards parted to allow a lean form to pass among them; Jeva spared them not a nce while they stepped away with upmost respect in their movements. Kyembes brows rose.

    Were it not for the brave efforts of Master Kyembe, there would be thrice as many in inst nights attack, the seneschals voice never rose, but it struck as a mace. He is wee here. He is <em>always</em> wee here.

    He gestured, his gloves creaking. Walk with me, Master Kyembe.

    Kyembe looked to the soldiers as they grudgingly parted. He stalked past, sparing them no more attention. How is it that you canmand members of the dukes army sopletely? They look ready to line up and wash your shoes.

    Jeva looked up at the Sengezian carefully. His eyes seemed distant. Ones life can take many routes, Master Kyembeand I was not always a temples seneschal. He sighed. But, more to the point, I see your hunt bore no fruit.

    It could not have been a greater waste, Kyembe growled in disgust. He nced to the heap of corpses. None of Paradises patronsy there, but no doubt they had been left inside. His belly twisted as he remembered a certain bloody scene from the night before. Myrades he began with dread. Ippolyte and Thesiliea of Vestulonare they

    He paused.

    They are fine, Master Kyembe, the seneschal smiled weakly. The saint saw them hale once more.

    Kyembe let loose a great exhtion. Thank the stars for that.

    Jevas countenance grew pained. Indeed: a small blessing in all of this tribtion.

    The Sengezian winced, ncing to the crimson-stained entrance way. I am sorry. how many fell?

    The older mans eyes closed and his iron-straight posture bowed as though he were twice his years. He gazed sadly over the grounds. A score, but it would have been much worse were it not for Saint Cristabels healing touch - may her god bless her eternally. I fear that ours shall not.

    Kyembe frowned. What do you speak of, Master Jeva?

    Jeva sighed. This ground is no longer under their favour. Too much violence happened here. Terrible, terrible violence. Many sacrifices must be made to soothe the deities once more.

    Crimson eyes narrowed. And why would that be? Is now not when you need them most?

    The Seneschal gestured all about. Look at this. All of this. He said in disgust. Master Kyembe, this a temple of love - physical and spiritual. It is a sanctuary of joy. Yet joy has fled here. Now there is only death, maiming and bloodletting. The deities will have turned their gazes away from such things.

    Kyembe scoffed. Then they are useless. Keep your sacrifices.

    Jeva stiffened. You spheme!

    Do I? the Sengezianughed bitterly. Your deities have taken your praise for many a summer now, yes? You built this great house to them, let their spirits dwell in its stones and when you need them most, they flee like cockroaches under torchlight! Let them stay gone, I say!

    Master Kyembe! Such talk will not make our appeasement any easier! Please, I beg for your courtesy!

    The Sengezian gave a wry look. It appears I have been a poor guest. He bowed his head slightly. I shall leave you to your deities and apologize to you alone. Now, I must find my friend. And the beasts His eyes narrowed. They and I are due for a reckoning.

    They and we as well, Jevas countenance turned steely. Such despoilment cannot be unanswered. I shall assist you in any way I can.

    Kyembe!

    St. Cristabel emerged from Paradise, pushing through the throng of guards. Though her massive de, armour and shield were absent, she had dressed in her gambeson, trousers and boots. A great dagger was thrust through her belt and her eyes burned with blue balefire. Did you find little Wurhi? Or the viins?

    No. He shook his head bitterly. We must find another way. Jeva told me you healed Thesiliea and Ippolyte. Are they within?

    No longer. They departed for the enve of the City of ss near as soon as they could stand. St. Cristabel pointed to the east. In light of this vile attack, they thought their charge in need of more protection. They asked after you and Wurhi though, and wished for you both to see them as soon as you are able.

    Hrm, his brow furrowed. They might see me soon, then, but first

    Kyembe strode toward the piled bodies, past the line of guards. Without a word, he began to sift through them.

    Oi! a soldier barked. What in hells are you-

    Let him work, Jeva said quietly.

    The Sengezian flipped through the corpses of ck-robed men - now unmasked - until he found what he searched for. A single body - und and left discoloured by death. He remembered it from where ity beside his de the night before. This is one of the wolves, unless some our enemies thought to strip before they died.

    Aye, St. Cristabel knelt beside him. Something finished him while we fought downstairs, though I could not discern what.

    He nced to her. Did Thesiliea or Ippolyte witness anything?

    Unfortunately, no: their own battle upied them utterly. She sniffed in distaste at the corpse. I thought to examine this wretch myself with more care, but the Dukes Battalion moved it while I tended the wounded.

    Kyembe shrugged. It is good that they did not move him far, then. His body may still have tales to tellsuch as this. See these wounds?

    Indeed, She squinted. They never closed. Amitiyahs Tears, do you think one of these thrusts finished him? Perhaps the enchantment on your sword or Wurhis proved his doom?

    Hrm. Perhaps. His crimson eyes narrowed. Look here. My de is thin, but it bites somewhat broader than Wurhis. This is its wound. A lean finger circled one of the punctures. The flesh around swelled before he died: it was healing and seeking to force out my de. Yet here

    He touched the wound left by Wurhis sword. It is clean. A perfect thrust. No healing. He tapped the wound. Something about the Wizard-Kings sword finished him.

    Some of its magics, perhaps?

    I cannot be so sure for now. He looked to his own sword. Its sky iron de seemed to shimmer in the grey light, but Wurhis de was crafted of a different metal. But I may have something we could try for now.

    She snarled viciously, pping him on the shoulder. Good enough! We draw one step closer to dispensing their doom!

    Yes, but we must take the other steps at a sprint. He stood, looking to the saint. That creature would not have bothered taking Wurhi if it simply meant to kill her right away, but every moment they have her is a moment they could end her life.

    He gazed grimly upon the crimson snow. His eyes narrowed. White coated the earth instead of green and brown, but it yet reminded him of a scene from a certain vige long dead. One nestled on the edge of the Sengezian rainforest, with milk that had been as sweet as berries and water that sparkled like sapphires.

    A young boy had wandered into the trees with a curious ring in his hand many seasons ago. He had sprinted back hourster, drawn by the dying screams of his home. For the first time, a certain ring had gleamed like fire on his hand.

    The boy had been so small. And so slow. So utterly, utterly slo-

    <em>Crunch.</em>

    <em></em>St. Cristabel cracked her knuckles. Amitiyahs wind to glory blows swiftly. So does his wind of vengeance. I shall not rest until little Wurhi is made safe and those devils are pushed back into their spawning pit. She looked to the Sengezian. We will recover her, Kyembe.

    Kyembes look turned warm. He touched her shoulder. Thank you, Cristabel.

    She cocked her head. For what? I merely state truths.

    He chuckled, despite himself. Please never change. Alright, I say we go to the enve of the City of ss: the wizards gather lore on many things. Perhaps they have knowing of these lupine devils, and perhaps I can convince Ku-Hassandra to share their knowledge with us.

    Then that is where Amitiyahs wind blows.

    Jeva stepped forward. I pray you move with some care, he looked down toward the ashen faces within the ck robes. His look turned dark. I know some of these faces: sons of old, powerful families. They will have an interest in ensuring that this tragedy besobfuscated. But Paradise has not stood this long without gathering its own allies. If you need aid, please ask, and we shall be at your disposal.

    Thank you, Master Jeva. I will ask now. The Sengezian nced at the corpse a final time.

    Bring me something made of silver.

 The Pit of Despair III

    The Pit of Despair III

    Look now, thieves! Haldrych Ameldanughed. Your tomb awaits!

    Oh shit, Wurhi swore.

    Bloody piss, Merrick swore.

    A mountain rose ahead - a fang to the rest of the ranges duller teeth. Many fires flickered upon its snow-dusted sides - their lines of smoke leaning in the wind. At the roads end rose a wooden palisade that sported grisly trophies: animal heads impaled on spikes and skeletal remains bound together and left to hang free.

    <em>Roar.</em>

    <em></em>A great river passed between the mountains to sweep beneath the tall summit, swallowed by some hidden cavern in the earth. Where it came out, Wurhi could not see.

    <em>Rattle.</em>

    <em></em>The wind dusted the dead bones in frost and carried the rusty scent of ichor on the air. Beyond the palisade yawned what appeared to be the mountains mouth: a cavern opening immense enough to swallow a herd of elephants, and with stctites hanging like stony fangs poised to grind all beneath into oblivion.

    ck robed figures - wrapped further in furs - patrolled atop the walls.

    I would gaze on the sky while you can. Haldrych grinned, caressing the Eye of Radiin. Youll not see it again while flesh yet still clings to your bones! He paused at some unknown amusement. Or perhaps you mightonce. But not in the way you wish-

    <em>Bang!</em>

    A ham-sized fist struck the wagon.

    Will you be <em>silent</em>, pup! Berard whirled about, his lips pulled back in a snarl. Merrick winced. Wurhi recoiled.

    Haldrych gaped. What do you mean? I am merely-

    Squawking the entire morning with a big stupid grin on your face! His eyes dropped to the red jewel, burning in resentment. Have some respect! Do you know how many brothers we lost? How many lie dead to get that little bauble around your neck? Would that it was a noose instead!

    The young man cowered, but his blondepanion spurred his horse forward. Berard, we were protecting an acolyte of our pack! He had been dishonoured and our brothers knew the risk!

    <em>Knew</em> the risk? Berard gave a nasty smile. Youve got a bad sense of humour. What we <em>knew</em> was that there would be one littlemb to grab amongst a herd. His eyes grew distant. There was nothing said about <em>two of the most vicious warriors Ive ever bloody seen!</em><em>And </em>sorcerers too! <em>And</em> lets not forget about <em>two </em>Vesti! That was a <em>bad</em> hunt, Adelmar, and its <em>his</em> fault! He jabbed an using finger toward Haldrych. The young poet dropped back further behind the wagon.

    Berard, the only two to me are the thieves- The merchants son pointed to Wurhi and Merrick. -and their vile friends. And is it not the will of Lycundar that the weak fall so that the strong thrive? Is that not hisw?

    <em>Weak!?</em> You walk our brothers into the maw of the abyss and then you call them <em>weak</em>!? The giant snarled. When all you did was stand <em>outside</em>!?

    On <em>your</em> order! Adelmar bit back.

    An order that saved your life and the life of your irresponsible little whelp of a frie-

    <em>Thats enough!</em> the wiry man barked. He whirled about with fury in his eyes.

    Berard and Adelmar fell quiet. The driver looked between them, making a noise of disgust. Is this what passes for Lycundars chosen these days? Wolves that bite and me each other when a hunt goes ill!? And in front ofmbs? Honour our brothers by cleaving to each other!

    Both men withered like scolded boys caught brawling by their father. Sorry, hunt-leader, they muttered.

    The driver snorted. We will see what the Sacred Alpha decides. Bring the thieves to the pits while I deliver an ount to him. He looked to the captives with a snarl. Ill see if he wont let me feed them to my pets.

    Sacred alpha? Pits? Pets?

    Wurhis trembling worsened, but she fought to keep her nerve and wits.

    Now in grim silence, the procession passed through the palisade and the Zabyan tried not to stare at the bones hanging over the gateway. Masked men paused on the grounds and upon the wall.

    So few have returned a close one muttered

    Wurhi doubted they needed them. She counted at least half a hundred here.

    <em>Rumble.</em>

    The wagon came to a halt.

    With tremendous strength, Berard unbent the bars binding the thieves to release them from the wagon, then rebent the bronze so tightly that their wrists near cracked. Grimacing from pain, they were pushed into the cavern at de point.

    The air changed as Wurhi stepped into the stony abyss, feeling as though she had crossed a portal to some dread underworld. Wind died, leaving a slight warmth but also a foul staleness. The cavern reached so deep into the mountain she could not see its end.

    Voices chanted within - echoing words rolling through abyrinth of branching side-tunnels interlinked by paths and scaffolds. She heard the river rushing beneath their feet: its roar formed an apaniment to the chanting as though a great monster burrowed beneath the earth. She bit her lip.

    This was no hidden shrine where a few folk could gather to sacrifice goats and birds. This was a fortress capable of holding an army of devils. She could well imagine hundreds of the lupine beasts stalking through hidden caverns with burning eyes.

    ck-robed men weaved through side tunnels bearingnterns to light the endless dark within the heart of stone.

    Wurhi cringed.

    The musk of predators and stench of blood emanated from each rock. Mustering every bit of will, she fought hard not to surrender to blind panic.

    Thats far enough, the hunt-leader ordered a halt. He turned on them grimly. You have now witnessed the futility of escape. This mountain is ours. This valley ours. You do not know where you are in these mountains. He leaned forward, looking each of them in the eye. And we have your scents. Think on this before you try anything foolish.

    He nced over their shoulders. Blind them.

    A bag came down over Wurhis head.

    She knew better than to fight. Instead, she focused on memorizing where they were led. She counted every step and every turn as they sloped downward into the bowels of the earth. All the while, the chanting never faded - resonating through passages and burrowing into her ears. Several times they were halted and spun about before a hand would push them forward. She lost track of direction, but still had her nose.

    She focused on scents. The changes. The growing staleness as they descended. Soon, she smelled the sour rank of unwashed bodies. Filth. Spoiled food.

    And beasts.

    A massive hand dragged her to a halt. I want you to see something, Berards voice growled.

    The bags were torn free.

    Wurhi blinked, her eyes adjusting to the gloom.

    She gasped.

    A cavern spanned before her - the ceiling towering high overhead. Murky light suffused the chamber, provided by a set of natural shafts that grasped for the world above. They were narrow enough to trap a fox, but provided air and dim illumination.

    Pits<em></em>lined the floor - each covered by a grate of logs tied with cord and sealed with massive stones weighing down their edges. Wurhis blood ran cold.

    No locks to pick. No bonds to untie.

    Down there. Look. Berard grabbed her and Merricks heads, forcing their gazes toward the hollow nearest their feet.

    It took a breath for her toprehend what she saw.

    She screamed.

    As did Merrick.

    Three beasts sullenly paced the pit below, their leonine bodies gliding with powerful muscle coated in tawny fur. Each matched the size of a small horse, and crimson manes covered their heads.

    Their tails - curled and twitching in sinuous motion - were those of scorpions.

    Thorns suffused the length of their ebon carapaces, terminating in curved stings as long and deadly as any dagger. Viscous liquid shone on their points, and Wurhi knew too well the horrors such a substance could work.

    Those south of the Sea of Gods knew to fear scorpions. Yellow and gold devils - norger than ones little finger - would crawl into fields, houses and beds to wait, seemingly out of nothing more than malice. A single sting was deadly.

    One of her ymates of childhood had taken a strike to the foot. In some nightmares, she still heard his wails. Death refused toe for him for days, waiting patiently for his screams, weeping and retching to melt into a twitching, hideous silence.

    <em>Cough</em>.

    One beast cleared its rumbling gullet - a strangely human sound - and slowly looked up.

    She gasped in horror.

    These beasts had the faces of men. The coarse features of an evil old man framed feline eyes that sparked with malicious intellect. One snarled, its mouth parting far too wide, revealing curved lions teeth.

    Wurhi tried to step back, but her captor held her in ce.

    These are the pets of the hunt-leader, Berard said through a nasty grin. Raised from cubs to be man eaters. He chuckled. Not that it took much: these are beasts born with a taste for blood. The Sacred Alpha will have you thrown into the arena with them, Im sure of it. What do you think will happen to you? Hmmm? Try to guess with me! He grinned nastily. Chewed to death? Flesh torn by ws? Poison? Doesnt matter, I suppose. Youll be dead all the same.

    His face clouded. Just like my brothers.

    He shoved them forward.

    Get a pit open! he roared.

    Two gaunt ves, d only in stained loincloths, shambled forward and heaved aside several stones around a pit. Together, they lifted the wooden grate.

    Oh the hells with this! Merrick swore. He twisted from Berards grip and tried to dodge around therger man.

    <em>Whoosh! Crack!</em>

    <em></em>A meaty backhand sent the thief sprawling and groaning to the stone.

    With a mighty heave, the giant untwisted the bronze confining his wrists and kicked the Hawk into the pit. He looked to Wurhi. You going to try something stupid too?

    The Zabyan shook her head rapidly.

    Good. He untwisted the bronze from her hands. In you go.

    <em>Crack!</em>

    The blow struck her in the back, sending her careening into the hollow with a cry. She groaned as she hit straw over densely packed earth. Mildew and rot wafted into the air, stinging her nostrils.

    <em>Chitter!</em>

    <em></em>Rats rushed from the straw and she recoiled, scampering away until she hit a wall with her back. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

    Well look at that! You have friends! Berardughed.

    She sat on the filthy straw, hugging her knees while the grate and stones were reced.

    But dont bother gettingfortable! You wont be staying long!

    His uproariousughter echoed as he left them alone. Wurhi of Zabya continued to sit in a tight ball, her teeth gritted and her eyes squeezed shut.

    Her mind threatened copse.

    A night ago she had lodged in a pce. Now, it was a squalid hole in the earth.

    A night ago she had made love to a handsome warrior-woman on a bed as soft as a cloud. Now, her onlypanion was a man who tried to kill her.

    A night ago she had more wealth than she had ever had in all her years. Now, it was reduced to a single torn tunic.

    And worst, a night ago stoutpanions had risked their hides to save her.

    Now, she was alone. All by her own doing.

    Her jaw clenched. Hot tears sprang to her eyes. Even when Kashta had betrayed her - leaving her indebted to The Maw - she had her wits and her freedom to bet.

    Now? She had nothing.

    Her body trembled violently.

    She cursed the name of Haldrych Ameldan. She cursed The Eye of Radiin. She cursed these vile wolf-devils.

    Yet, most of all?

    A choked sob escaped her throat.

    She cursed herself.

 Manticore I

    Manticore I

    Merrick the Hawk coughed as though he would spill half his lungs onto the straw. With each hack, his face reddened and his body shuddered violently.

    The thief pulled himself unsteadily to his knees, waiting for the fit to pass. He took a quick nce at Wurhi. Youalright over there?

    Wurhi the Rat sniffed, wiping her nose and remaining tears on her ruined sleeve. Am now, she grunted sullenly.

    Good. He groaned, rising slowly to his feet and giving a ginger touch to his side. Think that bastard burst half my ribs. Must be metal bricks in those shoes of his.

    The Zabyan shook herself and stood to examine their prison. It rose high above their heads and stretched to a width that would have stabled several horses. The great hole proved far too vast to serve as a prison for merely one pair of thieves. She nced about it in suspicion. Why would-

    <em>Sniff.</em>

    Her nostrils red as the sour reek of decay wormed its way in.

    Ugh! she grimaced. Were not the first ones here!

    Whatre you on abou-Argh! The Hawk recoiled.

    A tangle of discoloured skeletonsy piled against the pits wall with a veritable nest of rats swarming through the bones. From the heaps size and sheer number of skulls grinning from its confines, the pit must have held a dozen captives at one time.

    She approached the bones with caution; mouldy straw squelched beneath her bare feet. She could not help but imagine what filthy beneath, as rodents skittered from her path to burrow back into their bedding.

    Halting a few paces from the bones, she crouched. A lot of these have been chewed on.

    Merrick groaned. You think they got some beast down here with us?

    Wurhi peered at a thick thigh bone, noting the rough indentations that ran its length. One spot made her recoil. Ugh. Theres a tooth stuck in that one. II think its human.

    Oh, balls. Merrick moved beside her apprehensively. He sounded sick. They damned well ate each other!

    Shit, <em>shit!</em> She stared up at the cross-section of logs above. Each spanned thicker than a strong mans arm and lengths of hemp rope bound them together cross-ways. A ramp in the stone spiralled up the pits side, forming a wide path where one could walk - or be dragged - to the top.

    They would never be able to lift the logs: the stones weighing them down looked massive enough to crush Wurhi into a red smear.

    Merrick let out a sardonic chuckle. A hole in the ground. Merrick the Hawk unravels any knot, picks any lock, undoes the most devilish traps and what finally does him in? A bloody hole in the ground!

    Wurhi snorted in ord. She had been right when she first saw the pit; none of her skills would help here. Damn all demons and gods!

    With grinding teeth, she snatched the chewed thigh bone and heaved it into the logs above.

    <em>Thwack</em>!

    It rebounded tond with a revolting squelch in the straw.

    Thats helpful. Merrick kicked the bone away. Do that a time or two and maybe the guardsll get pissed enough toe stick us with spears. Might spare us from all the fighting and tearing at each other when we get hungry enough.

    The Zabyan threw him a withering look before climbing onto the ramp.

    <em></em>Wooden boards covered its surface to provide solid footing while - beneath them - the earth was packed hard enough to support an oxens weight. Shit. She touched the walls. The ramps dirt, but the walls are stone. She nced to Merrick. Check the floor.

    The Laexondaelic thief looked down upon the filthy straw as though it were hot coals. If you want to root through that unwholesome mess, go ahead. Ill not be touching it. Probably full of fleas and maggots.

    She blinked at him. How long do you think itll be until that big, mange-bearded bastardes waddling back to feed us to those lion-man-scorpions? You being squeamish <em>now</em>?

    If Im dying, Im dying with clean hands.

    Oh, by the gods, she groaned in exasperation. Jumping down, she carefully shifted aside the straw. Moist things slithered across her hands and a rats furry body brushed her palm as it scampered away. She grimaced, thankful it didnt take one of her fingers for its next meal. Shit, its stone too.

    Well of course it is, its a bloody mountain, isnt it?

    She whirled on him. Whats wrong with you!? Outside you were counting all the damn fires in the valley and figuring our chances! Now, youre just standing there like a useless, weak-handed fool!

    Aye, and I figure our chances are about as good as a frog in a falcons beak right now. He stepped onto the ramp - by far the cleanest ce in the pit - and eased himself down against the wall. Save your strength. Maybe get some sleep. Well try somethingter.

    Wurhi paused. So, we wait for a better chance?

    Thats the way Im thinking.

    She considered the top of the pit for a few breaths - her beady eyes squinted and her mind attempting to conjure some miraculous escape. None came. With a sullen snort, she climbed back onto the ramp and seated herself close to the top. Furry, filth chewing bastards.

    Aye, that they are. That they are, at that.

    The two thieves sat in silence. From the cavern came the low din of groaning men and grumbling beasts. A gnashing utterance spread through the air as though some lesser thing had gained the perverted rudiment of speech. Wurhi shuddered, wondering if such foulness came from the human-faced lion creatures.

    Above all, the chanting resounded through the mountain.

    So, what brought Wurhi the Rat here? Merrick peered at her appraisingly. Thats the thing I havent been able to work out. When someone first told me theyd seen you, I didnt believe it: I thought hed had too many mushrooms. Sowhats one of Zabyas best thieves doing in Laexondael?

    Why do you want to know? She eyed him in suspicion.

    He shrugged. Dont quite feel like sleeping  what with all the filth and looming death and all - what else am I to do to pass the time? Im curious is all, so Im asking. Last thing I expected was to run into The Rat robbing the same stupid rich boy I was. He gave an amused snort. Course I didnt expect a damned wolf-devil toe bursting through the shutters of my hideout either. Wrecked my ce up good before they grabbed me, the bastards.

    Her face grimaced with bitterness. They tore up Paradise and came at me hard.<em></em>Right after Id been with a woman for the first time in months!

    Ah, so thats how it is. Well, you got lucky, Id say.

    Wurhi looked at him incredulously. How is <em>this</em> lucky?!

    Oh, this? All this? He gestured to the rot-infested pit. <em>This</em> is piss poor luck, but they couldvee at you <em>before</em> youd been with yourdy friend: you got to have a tumble before all this. Me, on the other hand He sighed, looking toward the ceiling. When I get out of here, Im going to the finest pleasure-temple in-Oh piss, they tore up Paradise, you said! Damn flea-bitten shits wrecked the best ce in Laexondael!

    Killed a lot of people too, she growled. I liked it there.

    Aye, so did I, Rat. So did I. His face took a wistful look. But you never answered my question. Why Laexondael?

    For a few breaths, silence hung between them.

    Its a long story.

    He gave a chuckle like scratching ss. You think I got somewhere to be?

    She shrugged. This could be thest time she got to talk to anyone. Alright, you asked. So, back in Zabyamonths ago now, my partner, Kashta - may demons chew on his spirit until the seas dry - owed a lot of coin to The Maw. Well, one day this princees to the city and he-

    Surprising herself, Wurhi told Merrick everything. She detailed the deaths of Kashta of Mabatia and Aparis of Illia. She painted her meeting with Kyembe of Sengezi and their conflict with the Merchant Prince Cas.

    Bloody piss, the bastard had hold of everyones <em>dreams</em>? Merrick gawked. Damned sorcery: that stuff always scared the spit out of me!

    Same. She scratched her head, quickly looking at her hand. Good. Nothing crawled in her hair. Yet. But then I found myself up to my eyeballs in it. After we gutted Cas, Kyembe found a ship and a lot of Cas guards were wandering around Zabya, probably wanting me dead. So, I decided maybe I should get on board too. And then-

    She detailed the journey north over the Sea of Gods and their ill-fated capture by Avernix the Blood-Bearded in Garumna. She went into their bloody sojourn through the Forest of Giants, including their meeting with Saint Cristabel.

    Wait, so the Solidde Knight was trapped in a pit too? He roared withughter. Strongest woman in the north nearly dies to a hole! Thats too much!

    Wurhi smiled, despite herself. Yeah, and she <em>wouldve</em> been dead if Kyembe and I didnte along. But then we got found-

    She finished her tale byying out their encounter at Gergorixs Tomb and their quiet journey to Laexondael by river. -after that, it was just drinking, feasting and gambling for months. She shook her head. We had it good. I shouldve left that damned jewel alone.

    Aye, Ive been wishing that too. He snorted. But Id been watching that rich boy for months. Bloody <em>months!</em>

    Why?

    Cause he was the easiest mark Ive ever seen! He threw up his hands. <em>Look</em> at him! The boy prances about with two reeds rattling about his skull and acts like hes richer than the Emperor of Cymorillia! Did you know the bastard shoes that big horse of his with <em>gold</em>?

    She snorted. Youre <em>lying.</em>

    I swear on my fathers grave! Little pissantd probably <em>wed</em> that bloody beastie if he could!

    Thats <em>some</em> love - letting gold get pounded between dirt and hooves. Once again, she wished she could break that boys nose. And what do you mean he <em>acts</em> like hes rich?

    Ooooh, thats just the thing, Rat. He gave a dark chuckle. I paid some folk. Had them ask about: his familys well off and <em>old</em> but not half as rich as he makes it look. They gotnds and jewels, sure, but theyre not the bloody duke. And since his mother got murdered, hes been throwing around silver like its water. Foolll empty his family coffers in months, so I thought it better to get the prize while there was still a prize to get.

    No way. Then hows he got a horse like that? The damn thing looks like it should have an emperor on its back! <em>And</em> he shoes it in gold!

    His ma. Merrick tapped the side of his head. She was sharp, from what I heard. Knew how to wield the family fortune proper and keep it going. Of course, she spoiled her boy worse than milk left out in summer, and now shes dead: nothing stopping him from getting robbed buying a hundred horses like tha-

    Wait! She held up a hand. Listen!

    What?

    Shhh!

    Merrick fell silent.

    Somewhere toward the caverns entrance movement sounded. Low voices muttered. Rocks shifted. The thieves looked at each other. They silently crept up the ramp to the pits mouth and tried to peer through the bars, but the logs were bound too close for either to slip their heads through. Instead, they listened with held breaths.

    <em>Thnk. Thnk. Thnk.</em>

    <em></em>Footfalls treaded up one of the ramps.

    <em>Scrp.</em>

    <em></em>Bound logs were dragged back in ce and the anchoring rocks soon followed.

    Bloody piss, you think its those lion things?

    Wurhi sniffed the air. NoI only smell humans.

    He gave her a look as though she had three heads, but she gave no heed. Footsteps approached their pit, the closest walking with a heavy tread.

    A familiar face appeared at the hole, wearing an evil smile. Well, Ive got some good news for you! Berard chuckled through his beard. A clot of wolf-masked cultists framed him, all with vicious bronze spears clutched menacingly.

    <em>Scrp.</em>

    Grunting, downcast ves moved aside the stones and shifted the bound logs.

    The thieves tensed for an opportunity, but a pack of cultists moved to block any possible escape. They filled the top of the ramp and levelled their spears toward the two captives.

    Good news is you might get to live today! The giant man stepped forward with bags in his hands. If youe with us quiet, the Sacred Alphas deemed you get a chance for your lives. You resist, and we <em>will </em>skewer you right here and now. He looked down at them with a hunger that made Wurhi shudder. Well start with your feet and work our way up. Make itst.

    We wont trouble you! Wurhi blurted. She nced at Merrick, who nodded quickly.

    The big man sighed. Too bad. No sport. Bag em.

 Manticore II

    Manticore II

    Wurhi startled as the sack was ripped from her head.

    What in the gods? she eximed.

    Never had she seen a chamber like this. The closest she could liken it to was the foyer at Paradise: an area to hang ones cloak and shed ones shoes before entering somece. Yet - while this had benches for seating as well - there was no doorkeeper, hook or wee.

    Instead, there was weaponry.

    Dozens of arms and pieces of armour hung from the walls or stood on racks that ran through the centre of the room. The bronze had dulled and some pieces sported the beginnings of verdigris, yet a group of eight men and women pawed through them as though they were the most precious of gems.

    Some, hesitant, picked up items with trembling hands before quickly discarding them and seeking something else. Others carefully eyed the equipment, examining it with an expert eye before confidently choosing what they would wield.

    A pair of men simply took down spears from the wall without hesitation, gripping them as though they were old friends.

    What is <em>this?</em> Merrick demanded.

    <em>Thoom.</em>

    <em></em>The bronze-shod door mmed behind them with a heavy bar sliding into ce on the outside. Berard grinned through a grate near the doors top. I said youd get a chance. Heres your chance. Fight or die. Or fight <em>and</em> die.

    With a jaunty knock on the wood, he disappeared down the hall.

    There goes our moment, Wurhi grunted.

    "They gave us a pair of runts this time, a heavy baritone remarked in ented Laexondaelic.

    A tall man approached the two thieves with an appraising look, eyeing each as a horse trader might examine new stock. Old scars formed a canopy on his pale scalp and a ck moustache drooped below his chin. You two look quick of hand, at least. You stand with good bnce.

    What in the name of every damned god is happening? Wurhi demanded, her eyes darting across the room for some avenue of escape. The only other door rose higher than a gallows pole and was immense enough to fit a set of oxen through, yet it sported no handle.

    Youve been given a chance to fight. The moustached man gestured to the seven folk strapping on belts and dented pieces of armour. We all have.

    Hey, I saw this first!

    A squat man tried to drag a warped breastte from a reedy youth. Get your own!

    I had my hand on it, and I used itst time! the thin young man snarled. Shove off!

    <em>Hey!</em> the bald warrior jabbed a finger toward them. Save all that for whatever beast theyve brought out! Im not going out there with two of my men already bruised! He pointed to the squat man. Agron, you get the te. Youre slower. Gannicus. He pointed to the thin man. Take a helm, those pauldrons over there, and that shield. Youre quick on your feet.

    Both men red at each other, but Gannicus dropped his grip and trudged toward a shield on the rack.

    What in all hells is this? Merrick demanded.

    The armoury for the arena. The bald warrior turned back with a grim look.

    Wait Wurhi blinked. <em>Arena? </em>Like a fighting pit in Salik?

    Her heartbeat quickened.

    Ive never heard of a Salik, but if theyve got fighting pits, then you got the right idea. He looked them up and down. You two as quick as I think you are?

    Merrick and Wurhi looked at each other. Yes, I- the Hawk started.

    Good. The warrior jabbed a thumb toward the racks. Armours rare here, so you wont get that until I see youre not just gonna die as soon as the gates go up. Try to take any and Ill thump you good, he warned. Youve got short reach so fetch a couple of spears and whatever hand weapon you got experience with. If thats none, take a club. He pointed to a set of cudgels piled in a corner of the room. Keep your head straight, follow mymands and you might live through this.

    Who in the hells are you? Merrick demanded.

    Crixus of Garumna, the moustached man gazed down at him levelly. Corded muscle filled his bare chest, shifting with every movement. I was bodyguard to Queen Oligara before the Blood-Bearded slew all the n-chiefs. I know war and battle. Youd be wise to listen to me. Names?

    Uh, Merrick of Laexondael.

    Uh, Wurhi of Zabya.

    <em>What?</em> A young woman rushed toward them with a bronze helm bouncing on top of a mop of ginger hair. The Rat <em>and</em> the Hawk?! <em>Here?</em>

    Crixus looked at her sharply.

    You know these runts, Saxa?

    She stared at them with wide, green eyes. Theyre only some of the best thieves ever to trounce the trove guardians! she cried. If I had half their skills Ida left Tick Bottom years ago! Damn <em>me</em>, these wolves caught <em>you</em>?

    Wurhi looked about, entirely overwhelmed. I-

    <em>Brooooooooaaaaaam!</em>

    A monstrous horn blew, and its st shuddered her soul.

    It shook the handleless door and reverberated through the stone. The pit-fighters froze as one, looking toward the immense door.

    Crixus cursed. Damn it, theyre ready to open the gate! Saxa, save your questions forter! All of you! Get your arms ready! He looked to Merrick and Wurhi. That means you too!

    Wurhi looked at Merrick before rushing to grab a spear.

    Turning in ce, she darted for one of the racks and snatched up a bronze sword as well. She gave it a few test swings. It was heavier than her own and had piss poor bnce, but their lengths were simr enough. She felt slightly more confident in wielding it.

    Silently, she thanked Kyembe for all those lessons hed forced her through in the cold snows on Paradises grounds.

    Her belly twisted.

    A memory returned: thest lesson he had given her. It had devolved into a snow battle as they chased each other like children. What a pure joy that had been! A first for her as well. Only a few days had passed since, but they now felt like months.

    A snarl took her lips, fuelled by a rage toward both herself and her lupine captors. She remembered well the ck-coated beast and Berards smirk as he left her here. Im gonna live through this. I swear Im gonna live through this and then Im going to split open that big, hulking mange-ridden bastard.

    <em>Croom. </em>

    <em></em>The gate shifted so loudly that she nearly dropped her spear; it began to rise, lifted by the clink of massive chains buried in the ceiling above.

    This is it! Crixus barked. Some of you are new! Some of you are <em>very</em> new! But its the same as always! Follow my lead, watch each others nks and stick whatever bastard theyve brought for us as hard as you can!

    The captives, their nerves taut as bowstrings, nodded.

    Merrick took up position behind the group with a spear in hand and a bronze mace strapped to his waist. Wurhi quickly joined him. How much fighting have you done? she whispered.

    Enough. His shrug was casual, but all the colour had abandoned his face. Sometimes guards see you and youve got to cut or crack your way out. You?

    Enough. She echoed. Enough.

    Her heart pounded so fiercely that she thought it would burst. Her mind raced like a terror-stricken horse with starving dogs closing in.

    Youve done this, she told herself. You fought in alleys most of your life. You fought Cas guards. You fought Avernixs dogs. You survived all this time. And if things get tough, you can transform. Youve done this. Youve <em>done</em> this.

    The ear-crushing roar of a beast sounded ahead as the gate continued rising.

    A crowd erupted in a deafening din. There must have been hundreds of them.

    Wurhi cursed, clutching the spear lest her trembling hands lose their grip. A cold sweat stood on her skin.

    I feel about the same, Merrick muttered with shaky tones.

    <em>Thoom.</em>

    The gatepleted its rise.

    Here we go! Pray to whatever gods you pray to! Crixus pped down the visor on his helm.

    He stepped forward.

    The other ves followed.

    Wurhi flinched as evening sunlight abruptly struck her eyes.

    The captives exited a stone passage into an arena within the mountains heart. A massive channel opened in the ceiling, illuminating hundreds of ck robed figures in the stands above. A line of cultists ringed the arenas floor from atop the surrounding wall; their spears stood ready to impale any who attempted to climb toward the seats for escape.

    Were all dead. Merrick muttered.

    Silence.

    A voice as deep as thunder struck the chamber. It was not raised, yet smote down the crowd to immediate stillness. Squinting, Wurhi rapidly looked toward it.

    A man sat in a throne iid with ck onyx upon a rising dais; the sight of him nearly made her nerves fray in fright. His torso was bare, disying a powerful build sculpted as a marble statue and crisscrossed with scars. His dark hair was so close-cropped that it seemed chiseled smooth above eyes as hard, cold and dead as diamond. He was slighter than Berard -but only barely - and only in physicality.

    Wurhis rodent instincts screamed at her to flee. Her body began to tremble violently. This man seated above all others exuded an immense savagery so primal that the air itself seemed to recoil from it.

    A titanic statue of a beast rose above him - its multiple lupine heads writhing - and he was framed by several familiar figures. Berard and the hunt-leader gazed down with animalistic excitement that bordered on hunger. Adelmar grinned and whispered excitedly to a masked cultist that seemed to nearly bounce with glee. The Eye of Radiin hanging from his neck left little doubt to his identity.

    I am Milos of Crotonia, Sacred Alpha to this pack. Their leaders voice filled the chamber. And you all have been chosen by Lycundars grace. He pointed toward the statue of the monstrosity. You will undertake The Struggle. Seed, and you may live. Perform well and you will please He Who Consumes Himself. You, in turn, shall be fed well. Perform poorly? You shall die, and be our gods feast in the afterworld.

    Oh, <em>gods</em>, Merrick moaned.

    We will perform! Crixus raised his spear. We will be fed!

    We shall see. Milos casually waved a hand.

    <em>Crnk.</em>

    <em></em>A gate began to rise on the opposite side of the arena.

    <em>Thoom.</em>

    Beyond it yawned a passage in the stone. It appeared immune to lights touch, for only a consuming cknessy within. Something moved heavily in that dark.

    Wurhis nostrils red.

    Her blood chilled.

    Oh no, she murmured and stepped back trembling. Her hand squeezed the spear like the coils of a serpent. <em>No, no, no, no, no.</em>

    <em>What!?</em> Merrick demanded.

    <em></em>Steady, I say! Crixus barked.

    <em>Scrrrrrrrp.</em>

    <em></em>Something sharp scraped against stone. A crackling growl reverberated with the low pitch of a war-drum. A shape began to materialize from the darkness, itsing heralded by the sh of scarlet, shining eyes.

    Were dead. Wurhis breath came rapidly. Were all dead.

 Manticore III

    Manticore III

    Stop it! Agron whirled on her. Or Ill cut you down myse-

    By the crowns of kings, Crixus murmured, his powerful voice hobbled by horror.

    A massive, tawny paw emerged first.

    The face of an evil, ancient man materialized, twisted with the countenance of a beast. A crimson mane framed weathered features and a shining stinger flicked back and forth above its bulk. One of the three leonine beasts prowled into the arena, driven by a perverse hunger born of savage instinct and humanitys vile cruelty.

    Merthy one young man gasped.

    Wurhis eyes widened, recognizing the word in Makkadian.

    Merthykhuwar he moaned. <em>Manticore!</em>

    Formation! Crixus barked. Shield bearers up! Anyone with a pole-arm get in back! Weapons down!

    Gannicus surged to the front with three others, raising mismatched shields - some bronze and some wood. Crixus moved back with Agron, Saxa and the frightened young man. He threw an agitated look at the two thieves. That means you! <em>Get your heads right or we all die!</em>

    Wurhi grimaced<strong>, </strong>biting down her dread to coax her feet forward. Merrick - wan as a corpse - pushed up beside her, and the two reluctant pit-fighters lowered their spears over the shield bearers shoulders. The Zabyan had seen such formations practiced by the mercenary armies in her homnd. She desperately hoped she mimicked their motions with <em>some </em>proficiency.

    Crixus looked to the young man. Varro! What in hells is a manticore!? What are we facing?!

    A hells spawn Varro moaned. One ravaged a neighbouring vige when I was a boyit didnt even leave the bones

    Their foe drew a breath.

    Its jaws parted, revealing three rows of leonine fangs that dripped onto the sand, and it shook the arena with a stone-ravaging roar.

    The jubnt crowd exploded above.

    Behold my beast! Ive trained him well! the lean hunt-leader shouted over the din. He pointed directly toward Wurhi. Go, my pet! Kill them!

    The manticore snuffed, its massive thews tensing.

    Its going to spring! Keep those spears lowered! Crixus cried.

    Its muscles merely twitched. It shot forth like a ballista bolt. Sand kicked up in the wake of pounding ws.

    Brace! the Garumnan shouted.

    Wurhi tensed.

    <em>Skrrrrr.</em>

    <em></em>The monster skidded to a halt.

    Spikes red on its tail.

    <em>Crack</em>.

    Its sting struck the air.

    <em>Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!</em>

    <em>Bang!</em><em>Bang!</em><em>Bang!</em>

    A man screeched.

    Its spines had shot out, driving into the formation to crack off bronze and burrow into wooden shields. One had pierced a shield bearers knee, splitting bone and washing his leg in crimson ruin. The man copsed to a screaming heap and hisrades shouted in horror.

    Wurhi shrieked.

    Saxa, pick up that shield! Crixus ordered. Back, all of you, back!

    But what about- Agron reached for the fallen man.

    Hes dead! the Garumnan pped him on the shoulder. Leave him or well all follow!

    The captives stumbled backward, their formation shaking with every step. They varied in experience and fellowship, some only having hefted a spear or shield since their capture. Every movementcked the practice of trained soldiers and some nearly fell over their own feet.

    The manticore stalked after them, its muscr form gliding across the sand with supple motion. Its sting waved sinuously over its body and its lips drew back in an abominable snarl that seemed a smile. Wurhis nerves threatened to snap.

    Spikes red once more on its tail.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    <em>Crack! Crack! Crack!</em>

    Saxa yelped as one impaled her wooden shield, driving a full finger deep through the oak. The crowd roared.

    This isnt going to work! Merricks spear shook.

    Hes right! Agron lowered his stance behind the shield bearer positioned before him.

    Its just going to keep flinging those things until we cant keep up the shield wall! Weve got to split up! Hunt it like a mammoth!

    Crixus grunted. Everyone! On my mark, spread apart and circle it! Move fast!

    The beast stalked forward.

    Three

    Its face twisted in low amusement.

    Two

    Its spikes red.

    Crixus stiffened. Its going to loose! Not yet! Not ye-

    His words came a step toote. Gannicus and Saxa broke to the right and the others scattered. Spears tangled in shields and feet tangled in feet. Agron rushed to the left and Merrick barely leapt from his path.

    Wurhi was not so fortunate. The squat, powerful man ploughed into the tiny woman like a fleeing bull, the impact flinging the spear from her grip and hurling her to the sand.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    Spikes whipped through the air just above her head. Screaming, she scrambled to her feet. Before her, the manticore snarled and sprang.

    Shit! Shiiiit! she jumped aside as it barrelled past, crashing to the ground. It began to turn, with eyes shing and breath hissing through bared teeth.

    Wurhi ran the hell away.

    Pumping her arms, she raced across the arena with every bit of her speed while drawing the bronze sword from her belt. Behind her, paws pounded on sand and her heart galloped like it would burst in her chest.

    Zabyan! Crixus roared. This way! Draw it in!

    She nced back. Crixus, Agron and Gannicus were forming an encirclement with Saxa and Merrick rushing to fill the gaps. The young man whod identified the beast edged his way forward, trembling as a sapling in a storm.

    Wurhi zig-zagged across the arena, using a tactic that served her well when fleeing alley hounds in Zabya. It served her here as well. The manticore pushed to follow, yet its great bulk barred it from cornering as cleanly as the tiny Zabyan. With its speed countered, it began to fall behind. The creature released an almost human cry of frustration.

    Thats it! its master screamed from the stands. Chase her down!

    Go to all hells! she shouted up at him, diving to the side just as the beast sprang for her. Itnded where she had been, skidding on the sand, but she was already sprinting for the encirclement.

    The pursuing beasts eyes unexpectedly narrowed at the ves spreading before it, shing with a human cunning. With a derisive snort, it changed direction to leap for Varro.

    No! the young man cried out, turning heel.

    Stop! Crixus shouted. Hold posi-

    The manticore moved with the celerity of a hunting lion, and in mere heartbeats drove the boy to the ground. Its sting shed high above its body, whipping back-

    <em>Shnk.</em>

    <em> -</em>and driving deep into Varros chest.

    Bone cracked. With a hideous gurgle, torrents of venom rushed into his body.

    The effect was immediate.

    Varros cry sealed in his throat as every muscle tautened to the limit, contorting his form grotesquely beneath the beast. His lips peeled back from his clenching jaw so tightly that they tore apart - painting his teeth in a crimson slurry that blended with yellow froth pouring from his throat.

    The young mans eyes rolled back as his body gave a final shudder so violent that it tore his muscture and heaved him off the arena floor.

    When he fell to the earth, he was dead. The cultists roared in approval.

    Wurhi bent double and heaved.

    Bloody <em>piss!</em> Merrick backed away, nearly dropping his spear.

    The monster watched them with amusement, padding away from the corpse and circling the captives. It would abide until one moved again and then would spring. In this fashion, it would whittle their numbers down until only the small human that smelled of rats remained. The manticore would then toy with its prey to its content. A snarl - like a smile - consumed its face.

    Wurhi bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted the rusty tang of blood. This would not work. The beast was too strong to fight like one would a man and too crafty to hunt as one would a beast. Her mind raced, thinking on what herpanions would do.

    St. Cristabel would have simply cleaved it in half and asked for seconds.

    Kyembe would have sheared its face in twain or sted it with hellfire.

    Her look turned sour. Neither example remotely helped. She needed to think in her own terms. Fight like Wurhi the Rat.

    And Wurhi the Rat never fought fair. Not if she could help it.

    Merrick, she muttered. Im going to do something very, very stupid.

    And why in all the gods sakes would you do <em>that?</em> He looked at her as though shed said the clouds were purple and green.

    Remember what you did when you first found me in the boys manor?

    Whatattacked you? Oh, you mean throwing bs?

    Yeah. Im going to do something like that then go for Varros spear. Try and nk it. Well keep distant. Stick it like a couple of cutpurses on a guard in an alley.

    Bloody <em>piss</em>, he groaned. That bald bastards going to get us killed the way thingsre going. Alright. Im with you.

    She sighed, steadying her feet. Good.

    Wurhi the Rat shot forth.

 Manticore IV

    Manticore IV

    Crixus cried out behind her. Whatre you doing!? Get back in formation!

    She lowered her centre and charged swifter, screaming with sword poised. For a breath, the manticore froze. Its mind worked to reconcile this small, frightened prey suddenly rushing it.

    With a growl, Wurhi took up her sword in both hands and - with all the momentum and power her little body could muster - cast it at the beasts vile countenance.

    It was a poor throw. The de wavered as it flew end over end and-

    <em>Thawck!</em>

    <em> -</em>struck the beast with the mere t. The manticore startled, and Wurhi whirled and sprinted for Varros body. Merrick - no less agile than she - leapt in with all haste.

    His spear shot forward, his natural dexterity aiming true.

    <em>Schnk.</em>

    <em></em>A roar of agony split the air.

    No! The wiry hunt-leader leapt from his seat in the stands above.

    The spear shuddered in a vile socket: it had snuffed the light from a shining, scarlet eye.

    Merrick froze for a heartbeat, disbelieving what he had managed to do. The beast howled in anguish, blood spurting from its eye socket. It tossed its head to and fro as though gnats stung it to madness. Enraged, its remaining eye burned on the Hawk as it lunged at him. The thief sprang aside, his agility proving its master once again as he opened distance while harassing it with his spear.

    The manticore snarled.

    The spikes on its tail red.

    Just try it, you bastard! Crixus charged from its blind side, his spear jabbing into a tail joint. The exoskeleton resisted much of the blow, but enough bronze prated to draw blood. The monster whirled to swipe at the Garumnan, but Merrick darted in as it turned, stabbing its tail with his spear.

    It whirled again, barreling toward the Hawk with fangs bared.

    You filthy, codger-faced son of a goat!

    Wurhi came screaming back into the fight with Varros spear poised. The Zabyan was out for blood and her weapon drove ferociously into its side. The manticores hide proved tougher than a crocodiles, but her spear sought the softness beneath its ribs.

    The point plunged deep enough to scrape entrails.

    The monster yowled and whirled about but Agron was there, hedging it in on its blind side. Crixus nked it and Merrick followed after, jabbing at its haunches. Wurhi roared, stabbing her pole-arm again and again into the beasts vile countenance, painting its face the same deep scarlet as its mane.

    Now the others ran forward, their courage bolstered by theirpanions. They darted in and picked at its blind side each time it turned. The crowds din diminished to stunned silence as the beasts roars wilted to low, broken cries.

    Dozens of tiny wounds soon stained tawny fur. Blood poured down its brow to run into its remaining eye. The hunt-leaders pet panicked, its movements growing frenzied as it went blind. It sniffed the air, but its cries were intive.

    When a shield bearer came too close, its thrashing tail knocked her from her feet.

    It leapt upon the fallen tormentor. Her screams died quickly beneath shing ws and jaws mped around her head. It mauled her with abandon; the beast had passed through pain to drink deep of its rage.

    This proved its undoing.

    Merrick the Hawk darted forth in a blur.

    Leonine ears twitched, but toote. The thief rammed his spear into its side and bit deep, skewering an arms length of wood and bronze into viscera.

    The manticore stiffened with a deafening cry.

    Crixus and Agron sprang upon it, impaling their spears through its nks. Its shrieks ebbed, drowning in a gurgle of blood. The once fearsome beast toppled to its side as the captives rushed in to hew the abomination.

    <em>No!</em> No! Stand up! the hunt-leader wailed. Stand, my pet!

    Berard stared, transfixed. Adelmar gaped. Haldrych cursed and whinged for all to hear.

    Yet, the Sacred Alpha only watched from above, his face as impassive as marble. He raised his hand.

    <em>Croom.</em>

    The gate that brought forth the manticore rose once again.

    Oh, <em>shit!</em> Wurhi cursed. There would be no reprieve.

    Tawny ws cut trenches into the sand beneath the rising gate. When it ascended high enough, the remaining two manticores squeezed through, snarling in near-human wrath.

    No Merrick murmured.

    A grave mood descended upon the survivors. Their breaths were heavy and stricken with effort. Their numbers were diminished by near one third. One of those beasts had in three while they had been fresh. Two would annihte them now.

    Roaring their pleasure, the crowds bleak mood shifted.

    Yes! the hunt-leader cried. See what those <em>filthymbs</em> did to your brother!? Punish them, my pets! Punish them for all to witness!

    The manticores snarled.

    Wurhi snarled right back. She was beyond fear now, and hope had died within her. The Zabyan prepared to charge. If one of these things was to make a meal of her, she would be damn sure it would plummet to the hells in her wake.

    <em>Croom.</em>

    The thief froze, ncing to the side. Another gate slowly ascended, revealing a darkened passage. All froze. The cultists slowly fell silent. The ves stood rigid and transfixed. Even the manticores froze.

    The Zabyans nostrils red. Fear returned. A new predators scent filled her senses.

    S the hunt-leader stuttered. Sacred Alpha? Whatwhat is this?

    The iron-built man did not spare him a nce. It is punishment, Hunt Leader Jairus. Your punishment. Something stirred in the dark of the grim passage. Something immense.

    P-punishment, Sacred Alpha? Lord Milos?

    Milos of Crotonia leaned his chin against his fist. Your failure has cost the pack in great measure. Your pets lives will pay that price.

    Sacred Alpha, I-!

    Enough. Milos deep voice held a note as final as the crack of doom.

    Jairus shuddered and slowly sank back into his seat.

    The dark shifted. Eyes shed within.

    A beast silently emerged from the passage.

    Bloody <em>piss</em>! Merrick swore. Look at the size of it!

    Wurhi recalled members of Avernixs horde who boasted of trapping sabre-toothed tigers: great hunting catsrger than lions with fangs so lengthy they jutted beneath their lower jaws. This was the form of cat that prowled into the arena.

    A thick brown coat sheathed a body that radiated a culmination of physical power.

    Primal grace marked its every movement as it stalked forward with ears lowered against a skull that would have suited a battering ram.

    Curving ws that shamed daggers dug deep into the sand, and a stubby tail extended behind. Shining upper fangs stretched down beneath its lower jaw, their points surpassing those of steel spears.

    The cats sheer size balked Wurhi.

    It loomed as enormous as a rhinoceros; with shoulders rising higher than many men at full height. The great, muscr mass that drove it exceeded the bulk of all three manticoresbined.

    Worst were its eyes. They were the familiar yellow orbs of a tiger or lion, but they gleamed with an intellect unlike any beast Wurhi had encountered. Even the manticores craftiness seemed lowpared to the cold sapience in its terrible gaze.

    The beast stalked forward until it stood between the ves and the two lion-bodied monstrosities. It slowly raised its head toward Milos of Crotonia. For a brief moment, a sh of anger showed in its calcting eyes, but that quickly fell away to subservience.

    Sacred Alpha, the hunt-leader moaned. Please, show mercy. My pets are like yours! I raised them from cubs-

    The Sacred Alpha waved indifferently toward the manticores.

    y them.

    The fanged cat shot forth.

    Wurhi had hardly seen it move: a fact made all the more terrible by its great size. The manticores bared their fangs and rushed to defend themselves.

    <em>Schrrrrrip!</em>

    With a sweep of w, the tiger tore apart one human-like face, shredding it like parchment. Blood sprayed through deep gashes that exposed bone.

    The other monster snarled, jabbing forth its tail, but its massive opponent pounced sideways with impossible grace. Without hesitation it charged, its bulk knocking the manticore from its feet. Mighty jaws swept down.

    <em>Schnk.</em>

    <em></em>Those awful fangs pierced through the mane and deep into the manticores skull. The beast stiffened.

    <em>Crnch.</em>

    <em></em>Its skull crumbled like decayed walnuts beneath an avnche. Whirling, the fanged cat sprang onto the other manticore as it writhed on the bloody sand. With a single paw, it flipped the hunt-leaders maimed pet, and sank fangs deep into the beasts belly.

    Its ws came to bear, raking across tawny flesh to split the tough hide as easily as papyrus. Crimson spread in a pool beneath the struggling beast as jaws and ws tore their way deeper until-

    <em>Stter!</em>

    <em></em>-purple-grey entrails wormed onto the sand, steaming in the cold air.

    A stunned silence filled the arena, only broken by dying gurgles.

    Well done. Milos pped. You may return, my pet.

    The beast rose, brown fur soaked from its bloody work. Without a second nce at the twitching manticores, it glided back toward the passage it had emerged from

    <em>Sniff.</em>

    It paused.

    Slowly, those sapient eyes drifted over the ves to settle upon Wurhi the Rat.

    <em>Sniff</em>.

    Its nostrils red again.

    The Zabyan backed away with a choked cry.

    Snorting, the cat turned and glided back into the darkened passage.

    <em>Croom.</em>

    <em></em>With a groan, the gate lowered behind it.

    Byby all the gods. Crixus murmured.

    I think I near pissed myself. Merrick copsed to the ground.

    Wurhi thought she would fall senseless.

    The Struggle is finished, the Sacred Alpha dered. Punishment has been meted and Lycundar is fed. Jairus shuddered beside him, his head buried in his hands.

    Milos rose and pointed three times.

    Once at Crixus.

    Once at Merrick.

    Once at Wurhi.

    Bring those three to my chambers, hemanded.

    The Zabyan stared as the cult leader turned and made his way toward the closest passage. All about, res of rage burned in the eyes of every cultist.

    All were directed at the hapless captives below, particrly at a certain little soutnder thief.

    Wurhi shuddered.

    Kyembe, she gasped. Where are you?

 A Pact in a Poison Garden I

    A Pact in a Poison Garden I

    The enve of the City of ss rose as an ominous jewel over the surrounding temples.

    An obsidian wall - so lofty that a mastodon would shrink beneath it - protected its grounds with a sinister resilience. The rampart gleamed as a colossal gemstone - eternally polished by things most dared not name - and its sides held an unnatural smoothness that proved too slick for a fly, let alone any human interloper to cling to. Death rose at its top: a forest of jagged ebon ss that would split stone if one were to bear down upon it.

    Yet, beyond the outer barrier, stood a vision of beauty.

    A flowing tower of fluted ss held the sheen of fine crystal. In the light of the clouded day, it shone with a majesty akin to diamonds among the stars. Its structure appeared so delicate that it would shatter in an errant gust, but in truth, even a band of enraged giants would break their fists before marring its walls.

    I had often wished to visit this ce under happier circumstance, St. Cristabel remarked, gazing up as they approached the grounds. I would rather have enjoyed singing of its beauty to Amitiyah.

    They would never allow it. Kyembe eyed the tower, tensely toying with his ring. The ss city does not trust outsiders. Especially ones as dangerous as The Solidde Knight.

    St. Cristabel frowned. Then I pray they trust us now. She stopped at the foot of the wall and pressed her knuckles to her hips. A line of footprints lead through the snow but abruptly disappeared into the embankment before her. Her eye discerned neither gate nor door. Where may we gain entrance? She frowned. Do wizards magic their guests over the wall?

    In a manner of speaking. Watch, Kyembe stepped forward, pressing his palm to the volcanic ss. His crimson eyes peered into the ck surface, and he drew in a breath.

    I bid greetings to the City of ss! he projected in clear voice. May it eternally shine above the sands! Kyembe of Sengezi hase to speak with the wizard Ku-Hassandra!

    His words sank into the ckness.

    Silence followed.

    The wall shuddered.

    Amitiyahs Tears! St. Cristabel jumped back, her hand falling to her dagger.

    The rampart rippled, as though eels swam beneath its surface, and began to swell. Obsidian writhed and twisted, bulging out before Kyembes face and - gradually - the protrusion sculpted itself until a womans beautiful countenance formed in its ebon surface.

    Obsidian eyes slowly opened to peer at the Sengezian. Though no pupils or irises were apparent, they seemed to have no trouble with sight.

    Greetings to you, Spirit Killer. We meet again, the clear voice of Ku-Hassandra streamed from the image.

    <em>Crnk. Crnk.</em>

    <em></em>The ring of ss gliding upon ss apanied her every word.

    Greetings to you as well, Ku-HassandraIe for a favour. Kyembe grimaced, his worry heavy upon his brow. Mypanion was taken by devils: Wurhi of Zabya. She was the little one at my side in Avernixs camp.

    So I have been told by my bodyguards. You were set upon by shapeshifters that wear both the form of wolf and man, bearing the resilience of hydras.

    Yes! Kyembe leaned further forward. Their bane I have possibly identified, but I know nothing more of these creaturesnot their purpose. Not how to track them. Please, I ask that if any knowledge is possessed by the enve, that I might share in it and end these abominations!

    The obsidian face was impassive save for a slight tightening of the lip. Certain knowings cannot be shared, Kyembe. Its crystalline tones slid through the air. No breath misted through its lips. They must be bartered for.

    Iam aware, the half-dark elfs eyes dropped down. But if you speak of bartering then there must be some ount! Even a little knowledge would be of aid!

    The face studied him for several heartbeats. I have had the annals searched. There is something that might aid you. But only a little.

    I must see it! Kyembe pressed his other hand to the wall.

    Precious knowing must be paid for-

    -lest all value is lost, he finished the expression. I have wealth.

    We have little need for jewels and goldbut enter, and we may discuss terms. Stay on the path until the break in the trees to your right. Follow that to the bower and we shall speak there.

    <em></em>Her countenance receded into the ebon surface.

    <em>Crack. Rumble. Whoosh.</em>

    <em></em>Stone ground.

    Liquid rushed.

    The wall began to separate like oil fleeing water. Obsidian roiled in the fashion of hot tar as it flowed aside to leave a gap in the rampart - wide enough for a carriage to drive through in ease.

    Amitiyahs Tears! St. Cristabel cried once more.

    No winter-boundndscape met her eyes.

    Instead, a verdant oasisy beyond the wall of ck.

    Palm trees and bushes heavy with ripe berries swayed on a bed of white sand. Flowers carpeted soft undergrowth, pollinated by a myriad of sandy-hued desert bees, while song trilled from birds that had never flown Laexondaels skies. A hot wind bore the musical tones, apanied by the scents of oranges, honey and cane sugar.

    White marble formed a path curving deep into the green.

    What wonder is this? St. Cristabel took in the desert flowers with shocked eyes. I have drunk in the vineyards of Olubria and made merry in the royal orchards of Riyen, but never have I seen such as this!

    She stepped onto the path, reaching down to touch one of the flowers.

    A dark hand grasped her shoulder.

    Stop! Kyembe pulled the knight back. The strength hidden in his lean limbs caught her by surprise. It is poison!

    What? She whirled in rm. <em>Poison?</em>

    He looked to the trees. Oh yes, the clever bastards. Stepping through the portal, the frigidity of Laexondael vanished around him. In its ce burned the simmering heat of the deserts of Saba-Aful, drawing forth sweat beneath his heavy furs.

    Yet, he knew what smothered his skin was a mere lie. His mind - sharpened by years under the Archwizard Kmarks tutge - discerned the holes in the sensation.

    He glided along the stone tiles, carefully staying clear of the tantalizing branches. It is near perfect. <em>Near</em>. He gestured around himself. But, there are ws. Notice the flowers fragrance. It is thin, is it not? He sniffed. The air bears the scent of honey, but I hear no hives. Trust me, I have only seen so many bees once before: in a nymphs bower in the Olubrian wends. A disdainful chuckle poured from his lips. Their droning might have woken a world-serpent.

    St. Cristabel blinked. Woken a <em>what?</em>

    He waved her off. That is of no concern: the one in our seas is long dead.

    I do believe that is of <em>great</em> concern!

    Another time. He waved her off again. Listen to the sound of the wind on the branches. It seems as though they are farther than they appear. And the heat on our skinit burns but it is only the pain of cold turned about in our minds.

    St. Cristabel scrutinized the Sengezian. One day she would have him exin just what in Amitiyahs name a world-serpent was. She turned back to the greenery. Strangeto me the trees look as real as you or I.

    Give it time: now that you know, your mind will begin to find the gaps.

    But what of the poison? How might a trick of light and sound be venomous?

    Kyembe gave a bitter smile. The City of ss is home to some of the mostplex minds ever to grace or curse the world: their perversions are profound. He peered at the illusion carefully, opening his eldritch channels and drinking with his senses. Yes, as I thought. It is just the same as the protective gardens in the city itself. How can I exin it

    He frowned. Have you witnessed sunlight shatter as it passes through ss or crystal?

    I have. The temple of the Weeping God in Laexondael has such crystals. It also has coloured ss that stains the light when it passes through.

    Even better. He gestured all about. What you see, hear and feel is born of a hundred mirages captured in a prism of dream-ss. No doubt it sits at the towers summit.

    She frowned. And what is dream-ss?

    Kyembe pointed to the white sand. Crystal formed from melting the sand of dreams in an Ifrits morning me. It is able to capture light, sound, breath and thoughtit could even catch a soul if one knows the right incantations.

 A Pact in a Poison Garden II

    A Pact in a Poison Garden II

    The saint snorted. Magic of the darkest kind.

    Agreed, but dream-ss itself is by no means light or dark: it is simply useful due to how spiritually porous it is. One can press nearly anything into its being. Then - just as the colour in the ss of your temple stains the light - that captured essence will suffuse any mirage caught within and any illusion that it births.

    He looked appraisingly toward the tower through the breaks in the illusionary canopy. I do not know what they use here in their enve, but in the citys prism they have pressed the essences of dragons bile, strychnos, and deaths bedonna.

    St. Cristabel gasped. A thimble of one of those might fell a horse! This whole garden is <em>made</em> of that?!

    In a sense, yes. Ah! The fork. We must turn here. He followed a branching path to the right, continuing to avoid the reaching boughs. Though just as this illusion is but an echo of what it captures, the poison magic is not as fell as the true venom. Standing among the images might cause merely itching or rash at first.

    He gave a low, darkugh. His eyes grew distant. Wizards can be bastards, Cristabel. In the city, the illusion tricks you into thinking that your skin is merely irritated from sweat. As you press deeper into the image, its poison seeps into your flesh while you merely think you are sweltering from the heat. So, you throw off your cloak. Perhaps even your shirt.

    Ducking beneath an illusionary branch, he continued his exnation. Here, such an action is twice as devilish. The heat in the City of ss is true, for it lies in the heart of the desert, but that of this bower is a lie. You think you are cooling yourself of the heat, but you are truly opening your body to winters full grip. It bites into your flesh even as the poison coils its way toward your heart. By the time you have grown too weak to press on, the cold and venom have robbed you of all faculties.

    A tree with a wide trunk loomed to their right. Look there. You pause before that tree, thinking to rest yourself for only a few moments, and once you let winter clench you tight, you will go to sleep and He sighed. Well, that is the devil of this illusion: it strikes when you have let your guard down. That is when one can be cut deepest.

    St. Cristabel sniffed. Dishonourable. Wizards <em>are</em> bastards.

    Are we truly, Solidde Knight? a voice called from ahead. The poisoned garden may kill, but quietly and without suffering. Yet, from the ounts Ive heard, <em>you</em> split folk asunder and melt them with your gods vitriol. A mocking note entered it. I know which <em>I</em> would call the more bastardly death.

    St. Cristabel growled, her face reddening beneath her freckles.

    Steady, Kyembe pressed his hand to her shoulder. Ku-Hassandra, I cannot see you!

    Can you not?

    He blinked. What are you-By the stars!

    The path utterly vanished as though it never were.

    Kyembe and Cristabel whirled about within a hidden clearing, their hands tight on their weapons. No pathy through the trees where one could escape.

    Even the track they had entered by was gone.

    A white arbour rose in the clearings midst, enclosing a marble dais upon which stood a round, stone table. A map of the continent was etched into its stony surface - split in half by the Sea of Gods - and surrounding it were strange spheres chiseled in a circle. Each bore a symbol that the knight did not recognize, though the Spirit Killer did.

    Ku-Hassandra was seated on the far side, with the white furs of a snow bear sheathing her lean form. A river of ebon hair poured down her shoulder.

    Three tablets of weathered stoney before her, more ancient than the table itself. And you were mostly correct, Kyembe - though you missed nearly as much as you gathered. For one, the poison does not touch those invited in. You and the Traemean knight are quite safe. She looked toward Cristabel. Though such a privilege may be revoked if guests unwisely turnrude.

    St. Cristabel sputtered, but the Sengezians eyes were fixed on the stone tablets. Are these what you have found?

    Ku-Hassandra indicated a pair of chairs opposite her. These ounts most matched your enemies: chiseled by the Philosopher Peronius seven centuries before the rise of the Tigrisian Empire.

    He did not move to sit. What are they written in?

    Eastern Byblosic.

    Kyembe made a noise of disgust. Anguage so dead that its <em>bones</em> are dust. He looked to Cristabel, who glowered at the wizard. Could you read it?

    She nced to the tablets. I fear not. I have mastered a handful of tongues, but I am no grand scribe; I cannot read dead scripts.

    His eyes fell to her mouth. Though he heard the saints speech in Gezi - his mother tongue - the words her full lips drew were entirely different in shape. What about your gift of tongues?

    It is no use here, she sighed. My words are understood by any ear as all words be clear to mine, but Amitiyah has not graced me with theprehension of scripts. My apologies.

    That exins what I was hearing, Ku-Hassandra mused. I had wondered how you had Putong-Dai with such fluency. But no matter.

    She drew an elmwood scroll-case from her furs and ced it before her. Our archivist has studied thenguage and tranted it to Makkadian. She tapped the scroll. The ounts reveal no weaknesses or origins, but they do mention habits of these shape changerslycanthropes, they were called.

    That is helpful enough, the Sengezian eyed the scroll case. And the price?

    It will not be much.

    Kyembes eyes narrowed. Ku-Hassandra, we have only met once to drink and barter for spells. I do not think we are so close that you would part with lore for not much.

    You helped me regain my object of power. She touched where her chest met her throat. It must have hung beneath the furs - a mummified hand dripping in sapphire rings. I owe you for that.

    The Spirit Killer was unmoved. We owe each other nothing, Ku-Hassandra. It was <em>your</em> spell that aided Wurhi and I in escaping Avernixs camp: you saved our lives as we saved yours. We are equal now.

    For a heartbeat, he caught a flicker of guilt across her face.

    It was gone with the next breath.

    Perhaps I feel I owe you more. She looked away as though some aspect of the illusion caught her eye. Your journey through the Forest of Giants nearly imed your life while <em>our</em> trek after Avernixs camp was quite safe.

    I cannot say I trust-

    Kyembe. Cristabel ced a hand on his shoulder. Perhaps you should hear what this not much is before resisting. We are pressed for time, and we have a friend to save.

    Ku-Hassandra raised a brow. You have some sense to you, Solidde Knight.

    I caused you offence and you caused mine. We are equal now. The Traemeans tone was as stiff as her words polite. And <em>we</em> have a friend to save, she repeated.

    The Spirit Killer nodded to her appreciatively, and turned back to the wizard. And what do you wish?

    Nothing much, as I have said. Ku-Hassandra lifted her chin. I simply would ask for a favour at ater time.

    And what would that be?

    I do not know, yet. But being owed by the Spirit Killer is good enough, I think.

    He snorted. I have dealt with enough demons to know that an unnamed favourter is the most costly of prices.

    It does not have to be. Ku-Hassandra leaned forward. Hear this: She raised her hand, folding her delicate fingers into a fist. She kissed her knuckles: the beginning of oath-making in the soutnds. In return for this needed knowing, I - Ku-Hassandra of the City of ss - will call upon you, Kyembe of Sengezi, for a service. You may choose what service you wish to perform. I have <em>many</em> needs, and I am sure <em>one</em> of them will be eptable to you.

    Crimson eyes narrowed. And I may refuse if it is not?

    Yes. She said simply. I will merely ask for something else. A smile took her delicate lips. Eventually.

 A Pact in a Poison Garden III

    A Pact in a Poison Garden III

    Kyembes mind raced.

    At any other time, he would have outright refused such an offer. Open favours made for bad oaths: she could demand he do anything from stealing a gods crown to murdering an entire viges children for a blood rite.

    Or she might ask him to pour her a cup of chilled wine on a hot day.

    There was his right of refusal to consider, but deals with wizards and demons always bore hidden daggers. The final option was that he could break his oathbut the very idea made his teeth itch. Kyembe the Spirit Killers word was bond. It would be as long as he drew breath.

    He sighed.

    The longer he tarried, trying to negotiate or hope for some other clue to appear, the more likely Wurhi would suffer any number of grim fates. Steeling himself, he lifted his hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. I, Kyembe of Sengezi, wille to Ku-Hassandras aid in return for her knowledge. While I may deny any request, I will fulfil a favour to her that I approve of.

    His fist came forth and pressed to Ku-Hassandras knuckles.

    The oath is sealed. She pronounced, handing him the scroll case. I hope it is some use to you. Oh, and there is also this.

    She reached again into her robe and drew a wooden card. Another tablety with the others: too worn to trante. However, it did bear this symbol.

    His gaze drew to the card.

    He froze.

    Upon it was etched a grim hieroglyph: a wolf consuming its own tail.

    Crimson eyes grew wide. Crimson eyes that saw with the rity of a hawk and the night-sight of an owl. Crimson eyes that had spied a symbol on a bronze bracer coiled about the arm of a certain blonde youth who plotted horrors with hispanion.

    Apanion named Haldrych Ameldan.

    A vicious smile took Kyembes lips. Oh, it already has.

    Already? Her brows rose.

    He sped her hand. Please pass my greetings to Thesiliea and Ippolyte.

    Without another word, he turned. The illusion began to fade before him, revealing a straight path through the snow and to the wall whence they entered. Come Cristabel, we have a path!

    The Traemean followed eagerly, with a final re toward Ku-Hassandra. Truly? Where?!

    To the Ameldan Estate. I have a feeling you might be using your gods tears on a certain young patriarch, after all.

    He quickened his steps.

    Fate only knew what horrors were being inflicted on his friend even now.

    The scent of roasting meat filled Wurhis nostrils, its delicious aroma wetting her tongue.

    Wee.

    Milos of Crotonias calm, yet thunderous voice issued from somewhere before her, quickly ying her appetite. Mortal terror tended to do such things.

    Take off their bags.

    Rough hands dragged the sack from her head, and the sudden light stung her eyes shut.

    Groaning, she squinted them open - lest deathe unseen - and gasped, as did Merrick from her side.

    Another cave spread before them, but this one was marked by an ostentatious chaos. Zabyan carpets - disying golden pces upon red thread - softened rough stone floors while Traemean and Riyenian tapestries filled walls so utterly that the disy crossed over into the realm of the bizarre.

    Colours and scenes shed as though some madman had caught a rainbow, butchered it, then sshed it about in a blind frenzy. Battles, flowers, birds and beasts were skillfully woven on the overabundant tapestries. They smothered the wall writhing together in an attempt to shoulder each other aside.

    Much the same was true of the floor: carpets piled together with no care for direction or flow. Even the furs of bear and cave lion were syed about haphazardly.

    A great window yawned open on a wall, revealing the white peaks of the Midgard mountains. Beside it rose a skeleton of a sabre-toothed tiger - bound together by bronze wire - in a pose of ferocious attack.

    The frigid mountain breeze was held back by the ze of a massive firece carved into the stone. It bore no mantle, but instead was sculpted in the visage of twelve wolf heads writhing upon grotesquely long necks.

    They howled silently at the soaring ceiling.

    Upon a long oaken table steamed a kingly spread; a massive roast encased in a charred crust that sealed in its juices. Loaves of fine ck bread were piled in copper bowls about it, surrounded by tes of butter, peppercorn, salt, mint and thyme.

    Milos of Crotonia rose at the head of the table - d in a brilliant white toga - with the fire lengthening the shadows on his chiseled countenance. A weing smile spread across his lips, but his eyes remained those of a dead man.

    Wurhis bestial instincts screamed at the sight of him, but half a dozen cultists nked her, Crixus and Merrick. Their swords were already poised for violence, and several more stood in the entrance behind them: only deathy in that route, and she doubted shed reach the window either.

    Only one passage from the chamber remained, but it was behind Milos and obscured by a silk curtain. It rose twice Wurhis height, and she did not wish to learn <em>why</em> it had been carven sorge.

    Come, you have fought like wolves, and battle makes for a mighty hunger. Milos gestured to the curule seats lining each side of the table. A hundred scars coiled about his forearm. Sit. Drink. We wait for other guests. Crixus, it is good to see you at my table again.

    The bald man had approached with no hesitation and sped forearms with the Sacred Alpha. Wurhi wondered if he had gone to madness.

    Its good to eat real food again. Crixus eyed the roast with undisguised greed.

    If it brings you to my table, I will keep serving it. Milos gestured for the pit fighter to sit. This is your fourth victory in Lycundars arena?

    Only the third. Crixus sat a few seats away from the Sacred Alpha.

    Ah, no matter. Three mortal battles are a good many toe through alive and unspoiled. Lycundar would be most pleased. Hmmm, you are still in one of the pits on the lower levels?

    Crixus thumbed his moustache. Its better than the one I got when I first arrived.

    But not fitting for a champion. He looked to one of the cultists by the door. Ruecrov, is there an avable cell on the first level?

    Yes, Sacred Alpha, the acolyte lowered his head. It has been vacated and cleaned. There is a window in it. A small one that overlooks the river.

    Good. Very good. I will have you moved there at once, Crixus. It is not freedombut it is a step to better things.

    The Garumnans brow furrowed. II see

    Milos cocked his head. Do you have a concern? Speak your mind.

    A silence hung between them.

    II appreciate what youre doing, I do. I could have been sold into worse circumstances but those that I lead. I do not wish to abandon them. Crixus grimaced.

    They have not done as you have, Crixus. Their victories are fewer and less glorious. That is why you eat at my table this evening and they do not. The cult leader nced to the firece, his eyes lingering on the silent wolf heads. But your actions have pleased Lycundar and fed him much. Fine, then. Let it not be said that the pack is not generous: yourpanions will be moved with you.

    Crixus face softened and his head bowed. Thank you, my Lord!

    Milos waved a hand. Raise your head high: one who Lycundar is pleased with should not grovel like amb. His cold eyes fell upon the thieves. Wurhi shuddered beneath that gaze. Did I not say to sit? I did not mean only Crixus.

    Merrick and Wurhi exchanged an uneasy look, but neither could raise objection. They quickly chose seats that ced the big Garumnan between them and the cult leader.

    An acolyte came forward and poured from a y pitcher into polished bronze goblets. Merrick eyed his cup as though it were a spitting cobra.

    <em>Sniff.</em>

    <em></em>Wurhis nostrils red. No strange scents emanated from the contents.

    It is but water. Milos raised his goblet and drained it in a single motion. See? I do not foam at the mouth and copse.

    He looked at them expectantly as the acolyte came to refill his chalice.

    Grimacing, Wurhi raised the goblet to her lips.

    Only the cool freshness of mountain water met her tongue. Its taste brought forth a yearning she had all but forgotten: she had not had a sip of liquid since she had been captured. Her thirst burned terribly.

    The acolyte refilled her chalice thrice before she finally stopped quaffing.

    Milos cocked a brow. It is good: from a mountain spring as fresh as the morning dew on a dryads tree. I am sure you are ustomed to stronger things, but I do not serve liquor at my table.

    Its good, Lord Milos, Crixus gave assurance.

    Merricksrge eyes remained cautiously on the cult leader, but Wurhi could not bear to look upon him. His mere sight had driven her instincts to panic, andbined with his scent - now close enough for her sharp nose to detect

    She doubted any of the other humans could smell it.

    If they had, they would already have leapt screaming through the mountain window. What emanated from Milos was the paragon of a predators musk; it burnt away the air to leave a concentration of fear and savagery.

    A promise of death made manifest in a single odour.

    She nced to Crixus; if he only knew the nature of the <em>thing</em> they supped with.

 The Hand I

    The Hand I

    With the fire warming her back, she turned her eyes to the skeleton by the hole to the mountains. It provided a focus, and she dearly needed something to distract her.

    Vicious teeth spread in the mouth of empty bone. The body had been posed with a paw raised to strike the air. ws curved on the forepaw that looked able to rend through a ribcage with a single swipe.

    The beast must have been a horror while it lived - by size alone it would have easily matched one of the manticores. Yet - for all its menace - the calcting, fanged giant from the arena more than dwarfed it.

    A shudder threatened to pass through her, but she forced her body still: she could not afford to draw attention to herself.

    See something interesting, Zabyan?

    Her heart nearly stopped.

    Milos gaze was upon her: the <em>lie</em> that appeared a man.

    Would you grant me your name?

    It-no, <em>his.</em> She corrected herself. He appeared a man. He called himself a man. Think of him as a man lest you melt into a wreck.

    Predators chased you when you ran. They followed your fear.

    And if you were to let yourself copse

    Tensing, she forcefully turned toward him. The cult leader sat easily, his arms settled and shoulders rxed. His body spoke no threat. To most, he would appear no more than a wealthy patriarch in his own parlour. His eyes, though

    She could not face his eyes.

    Her lips began to move. Wurhi, she forced the word out.

    Hrrrrm, Milos leaned back in consideration. Wuuurhiiii, he slowly passed her name through his jaws. It was as though he were tasting it. Small and unassuming. A suitable name for a thief. And <em>you-</em>

    He turned to Merrick. Relief washed through her.

    You must be Merrick of Laexondael. The Hawk, I have heard some call you.

    Ive, uh, got a bit of a reputation, Merrick muttered.

    More than a bit and from what I saw in the arena, Milos gave him a sincere look. It is <em>well</em> deserved. Now, to my earlier question.

    His gaze shifted back to Wurhi. Did you spy something interesting, Wurhi of Zabya?

    All relief curdled in her.

    yesthose bones. She tried to keep her voice even, to keep his focus on her words and not her fear. It must have been ferocious. Was it a hard hunt?

    Hrm? Milos frowned. Aaaaah, you mean <em>her. </em>His countenance grew mncholy. It was no hunt at all: I bred and trained her from a cub.

    You breed beasts, Lord Milos? Crixus looked impressed. We breed a kind of hound in my homnd: theyre strong and can crush a mans thigh bone with a snap of their jaws. We use them to hunt bear and boar. He paused. Did you breed the one in the arena too?

    Oh <em>yes.</em> Milos smiled broadly. For the first time it reached his eyes. <em>He</em> is my triumph in animal husbandry. My greatest so far: three generations of choosing sires and mothers for size and intellect. He gestured to the skeleton. His mother was nearly what I wished forbut I had the thought of introducing sorcery into the bloodline. I found a warlock who had a sabre-toothed tiger as a familiar - letting his magics flow through the beast. That siring proved to be the culmination of the family.

    He chuckled fondly. Now their son learnsmands swifter than any of his kind and his hide can turn aside swords and spears. Not to mention his size, speed and strength. Unrivalled, I tell you. He nced fondly toward the firece. By Lord Lycundars leave, I hope he continues to watch my blessed work.

    Blessed? Crixus asked.

    Indeed. Milos leaned forward seriously. Our lord teaches that there is great strength found in flesh. More than in bronze or iron. He took up a table knife. Look at this de. It is good. Solid. Sharpened and maintained to perfection, but say I were to do this.

    With a simple twist, he bent it into a ring and held it up for all to see, turning it in his fingers. For all its strength, it is now ruined. Useless. It cannot be whole again unless-

    Another twist straightened it.

    -it has the help of flesh. But, flesh-

    <em>Shchp!</em>

    <em></em>A swipe of the knife drew a line of red across his palm. Wurhi winced.

    -can change and strengthen unaided. He presented his hand to the table.

    The wound had closed before it could bleed.

    <em>That</em> is power. And I can give further example. He looked to one of the tapestries upon the wall. Unlike the rest, it hung not in haphazard tangles, but rather stood in a ce of distinction. The space about ity clear, calling attention to the scene woven throughout the thread.

    Bare-skinned warriors leapt across a scarlet background with spears lowered in challenge. Before them rose a depiction of a lion with teeth bared and ws spread. Spears and arrows broke on the beasts hide. It quickly urred to Wurhi that the tigers skeleton had been arranged in the same pose.

    That tapestry depicts a real beast. Milos adjusted himself in his seat. When I was a young man, I began to carry a calf up and down the hill of my parents farm. In the morning I would lift her to pasture and in the evening, I would carry her back to the yard.

    His eyes turned distant. That is the beauty of flesh: were I hauling a stone, I would have outgrown it in weeks, but my calf grew as I did. She grew fat. And I grew <em>strong.</em> He smiled in reminiscence. After two years she weighed more than six men, but I could bear her on my back without shaking, and a man passing the pasture saw this on one fine summer morning.

    The cult leader chuckled. He made a face simr to the three of you now! Just standing there, gawking in the fields! I thought he meant to steal my cow! When he rushed over, I prepared to drive him off with a few solid blows, but he said: Milos voice raised an octave but took on a scratchy quality. Boy, how would like your name to live forever?

    He looked to the three of them, his eyes sparking with life. Wurhi could near believe he was human, after all. I tell you, there are few more attractive words you can say to a bored, ambitious young man.

    One of the acolytes shifted. Its what you said to me, Sacred Alpha.

    I as well.

    And to me.

    Milos looked over the three of them with something akin to pride. I remember, my acolytes. I remember. But as for me, I put down my cow, fetched a club and followed that mans band of warriors for a hundred days until we reached the Olubrian wends.

    He paused and pointed to the tapestry. And there we met <em>him. </em>Hed blocked-

    The sound of a quarrel burst from the hall.

 The Hand II

    The Hand II

    Hunt-leader! Youre forgetting yourself! Berard shouted.

    He did not have to do it!

    Milos nced to the curtained entrance, his earlier humour draining rapidly. The cold, diamond hardness returned to his eyes. Excuse me. It seems my other guests are rowdy.

    <em>Whp!</em>

    The curtain flew open and familiar figures poured over the nest of carpets. Hunt-leader Jairus lead them - his body contorted in wrath - while Berard followed with the reluctance of a cur about to be scolded. Adelmar and a masked cultist that Wurhi assumed was Haldrych - the two dogged each others steps like stench and shadow - swung their heads this way and that, gawking at the chaos spread along the walls.

    Sacred Alpha! Jairus stalked forward. I-

    <em>Stop.</em> Milos held up a hand.

    His mighty voice struck as surely as any blow, freezing Jairus in mid-step. The Sacred Alphas utterance was calm and low, but it bore a cold menace as threatening as a de being drawn. You have entered my dining chamber as a <em>guest</em>, and I have had meat, bread and spicesin out for you. He gestured to the wolf-heads over the firece. Under the eyes of Lycundar himself.

    <em>Crk.</em>

    <em></em>A strange sound came from outside. Wurhi stiffened.

    Her eyes drew - unwillingly - toward therge curtained passage from the room. Something had stirred in there. She red her nostrils, but the scent of fire, food and the Sacred Alpha obscured all else.

    Milos gaze grew less human by the heartbeat. Do you disy the <em>proper </em>respect this calls for? Answer with honesty.

    Jairus shuddered, his teeth audibly grinding. His head dropped. II apologize Sacred Alpha. He bowed so low he nearly tumbled. Forgiveness from you and Lord Lycundar.

    Good. The cult leader cast his hand toward the three already seated. Thesembs are captive, yet have conducted themselves with more respect than you, Hunt Leader Jairus. Your shame mounts; take care not to build it further. Now, sit. All of you.

    The four new arrivals nced to each other, then quickly made their way to their seats. Haldrych stared at Wurhi and Merrick with a hateful leer but Adelmar dragged him to the table.

    Good. Atst. Milos took up his bronze knife. Come, eat. It has already begun to cool. He nced to Haldrych, who had found a seat as far from the thieves as he could manage. You may remove your mask to sup at my table.

    Yes he paused, seeming to struggle to remember the term of address. S-sacred Alpha. With a final, vicious nce toward the thieves, he took up his own knife.

    As Crixus tucked into the feast, Wurhi and Merrick reluctantly followed suit. The small Zabyan did not think herself as having much in the way of appetite, but the first taste of meat proved that notion false.

    She tore into her meal as though it would be herst, avoiding ruminating on how urate that might be. The vour motivated her fervour, with exotic northern herbs dancing together upon her tongue.

    Jairus, Adelmar and Berard ate about as well as one would expect man-wolves to. Yet it was Haldrych Ameldan that feasted with the most vigour; the young patriarch loosed himself of every lesson of propriety pressed into him throughout boyhood. With enthusiastic bites and liberal helpings of butter and salt, he gorged himself to a chorus of groans and grunts as he sucked the juices from each finger in turn.

    Milos watched, his eyes sparkling as though he were party to some private jest. Alright, Jairus. You have entered with respect, epted my invitation and we have broken bread. I will hear that grievance now: am I to understand you question your beasts fate?

    Jairus swallowed an overrge mouthful of meat, grimacing and pounding on his chest. He spoke only after he chased it with half a chalice of water. Lord Milos. I must ask - with all respect to the Sacred Alphas wisdom and power - what did my pets do to deserve death at the ws of your beast? They he grimaced. they stood no chance. I trained them well, but your prize was <em>forged </em>by your blessed work. Why? Why have them face such deaths?

    Milos took a long, silent sip with his eyes settled on Berard. The hulking mans knife had beenin on his te and his eyes hung low.

    Why, indeed? the Sacred Alpha repeated the question. Berard. What did our progenitor cry out when he first felt the touch of moonlight? After his meeting with Lycundar on the crossroads of Weren?

    Therge man sat up quickly. Yea, did Remus cry out: he repeated the verse from memory. Why? Why hath such a curse fallen unto me? Have I not sacrificed to the gods? Is my heart not pure and untainted by wrath or gluttony? Why must it beat as the heart of a beast when the moon is full and bright? Why must I suffer so!?

    Milos nodded his approval. So it is written on the Third Tablet of He Who Consumes Himself. And what did Siodmaka write as Remus failing?Berard nced at Jairus. Remus failed to ount for himself. And he failed to turn his suffering into the forge of his renewal. For Lycundars bite is passed as a curse, but it is a blessing hid within a trial: a boon for those of strong mind, faith and purpose.

    Very good! So it is written on the Seventh Tablet of He Who Consumes Himself! the Sacred Alpha roared. For it was Remus carelessness that caught him on the crossroads in the dead of night! It was his foolishness that offended Lycundar and brought about his cursed bite! It was hisck of strength that caused his curse to control him, leaving him to ughter his children!

    Milos looked to Jairus once more. Think well, Hunt Leader. Think on Remus folly and Siodmakas will: why did your beasts need to die?

    The hunt-leaders eyes widened. Itheymitted no carelessness!

    Indeed, they did not.

    The words hung in the air.

    All had long ced down their knives, for they could not cut the silence, let alone the fine meat: not with the way every hand trembled.

    Mmf! This is delicious, came a quiet murmur.

    Only Haldrych Ameldan continued to feast in contentment.

    It was the only sound aside from the crackle of me and the hiss of mountain wind.

    Milos smiled on him as one would upon a contented child, yet there was a hardened curve to his lip. His eyes returned to Berard. You know, Berard. I can smell it. You are showing more insight than yourmander.

    Therge man grimaced. My Lordthe beasts died to punish failure. Hunt Leader Jairus failure. <em>Our</em> failure.

    The Hunt Leader whirled on him. What madness is this!? What failure!?

    Milos loosed a sigh great enough to bend his back. Very well. I suppose I shall show you, for I share in the fault as well.

    His eyes hardened. The predators musk grew until it stung Wurhis nostrils. The Zabyan whimpered, quivering in her seat. Jairus, Adelmar and Berard recoiled as hounds when their masters whip rises.

    Yet, his body remained at ease as he turned to Haldrych Ameldan. Tell me, Haldrych, are you enjoying the feast? You certainly seem to be.

    The young poet groaned happily. It is exquisite, my Lord! Fresh roast is best in the heart of winter! It sets a mans blood to singing like a beautiful maid in a bright, green glen!

    That pleases me, said the Sacred Alpha. Trust our resident poet to speak of my table in verse.

    Haldrych swelled as though ready to preen himself. Thank you, Lord Milos! It is my hope that I may write of the deeds I undertake!

    I see, I see. Milos said. Just as youoh what was it that young Adelmar said you did? Made it snow silver?, I believe?

    Adelmar coughed. Er, yes, Sacred Alpha-

    It was glorious! Haldrych crooned. Truly, a missed opportunity, though. Only two nightster I thought of what I should have cried- he cleared his throat. You thought only the gods had the power to make it rain or snow! But hark! Behold as I bring snow upon you all! A snow of silver! Ah! It would have been glorious!

    Indeed. the Sacred Alpha nodded. And perhaps you could have likened it to the coat of your steed? A handsome beast: as though coated in silver himself. Is that why you shoed him in gold? To ride upon a kings prize?

    Mmf! No, Sacred Alpha, but well put! Haldrych grinned. Perhaps you have the soul of a poet as well!

    Perhaps. Perhaps. Ah. That reminds me. I nearly forgot something.

    Lord Milos?

    The Sacred Alpha reached beneath his seat and drew up several objects. Here. I do believe these belong to you.

    <em>tter! </em>

    <em></em>With aim birthed of inhuman precision, he cast a quartet of shining objects across the table. They shed to the oak and slid just before the young poet. All eyes followed their path, widening in recognition.

    Adelmar gasped.

    Oh shit, Wurhi muttered. Oh <em>shit!</em>

    Haldrychs grin slowly faded even as his eyes grew.

    Before him gleamed four golden horseshoes. Dark red stained their shining surface.

 The Hand III

    The Hand III

    Ohoh no, Adelmar murmured.

    <em>tter!</em>

    Haldrychs knife dropped into his te, sshing the meats juices upon his face and shirt. M-Marctinus?

    Milos watched him. We have a belief among the followers of Lycundar: that the fallen allies we consume grant us strength. In this, takefort that your steed may no longer bear you, but he will now live as your strength forevermore. As <em>all</em> of our strengths.

    Haldrych looked at his te in horror. Argh! Aaaaargh! he wailed as a mother over her in son. Marctinus! No!

    The patriarch of House Ameldan pounded the oak with his fists, his screams echoing out through the window and into the mountains.

    Wurhis only regret was that she proved too frightened tough.

    I shall allow you to keep your bauble, Milos nced to the Eye of Radiin. I thought to take it from you, but you already suffer, my child. May its sight serve as a reminder of your folly and the loss it has inflicted.

    The Sacred Alpha looked to the stricken hunt-leader. And so, wee to the crux of it, Jairus. Punishment. How many brothers did you allow to be in by your bungling? I know what excuses you may use to balm your guilt, my child, but see them for what they are: falsities. And Lycundar can smell even the lies we speak to ourselves.

    But Jairus choked. But there were warriors we were unprepared for!

    Indeed there were. And you <em>were</em> unprepared. Milos agreed. But by mere ident? No. Lying as such would be a disservice to our fallen brothers. Haldrych Ameldan is punished due to having brought this request without proper warning. <em>You </em>have been punished because you have not behaved as one of Lycundars chosen: easy prey in Laexondael has left youx and foolish.

    They took us by surprise!

    Milos lips tightened. And how is that? Did you stalk your prey? Scent out their allies and hideaways? Search their weaknesses and strengths? He gestured to Adelmar and Haldrych. The first was pale while the second sobbed into his tter of Marctinus. You had two members of the domicile where your quarry resided and you used <em>none</em> of their connections. Instead, you revelled in your own power and charged in blindly. That is the way of a rabid boar, not a cunning wolf.

    I Jairus muttered. I His will crumbled by the heartbeat. I apologize, Sacred Alpha. I see your wisdom now. He seemed sick.

    Sacred Alpha! Berard suddenly stood. His chair teetered on the carpets. I wish to ount for myself! he bowed his head. Let me cleanse my shame!

    Milos watched him evenly. <em>That</em> will be what happens His eyes appraised the hulk of a man. but I shall allow you to wield the instrument of your punishment.<em></em>

    He raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

    <em>Whish!</em>

    The curtain wrenched aside over the chambers second entrance, drawn by arge, ruddy hand.

    Wurhi gasped.

    A hulking monstrosity filled the passage - so broad and towering that it needed to fold itself to stalk into the dining chamber. Ruddy tones filled pale skin covered by a coat of grey fur, save for upon its hands and loathsome countenance. Its face was that of an ape, but with a cruel cast to its features that told of a brutish cunning.

    Yellow-green eyes sparked with the beginnings of sapience, as one might witness in a child first awakening to thought, but with none of the apanying innocence. Powerful limbs extended from its lumbering torso, each of an uncanny length: as though caught between those of a human and a loping ape.

    A girdle of studded leather hammered into bronze chain protected its body, and it clutched a club of bronze studded in silver - longer than Crixus was tall. The weapon looked like a battering ram whose end had been twisted into a rough handle.

    The other weapon it clutched suited it far less: a beautiful sword with jewels pressed into its hilt. Wurhis eyes widened as she recognized her de. With lengthy strides, the beast-man came to stand by Milos seat, eyeing the tables upants with a challenging, flinty gaze.

    Milos watched the gaping Merrick and transfixed Wurhi. Impressive, is he not? He patted the giants arm. The beast-man gave a low rumble of approval. His kind multiply in the wild ces where the cave folk used to rule, but while <em>that</em> elder race withers, <em>his</em> ilk grow strong. They are at the crossroads of animal and man: just awoken to sentience. Do you see? Do you see the power of flesh? What blood and training can hone?

    He gestured to the beasts club and girdle. I raised him from infancy: building his body and mind into what you now behold. Of my many pets, he is one of three of my most prized. Pray you do not upset him. He pointed to Berard. Give him the sword, my pet.

    <em>Mrmmm,</em> the beast-man grumbled, stepping past the table. Wurhis gaze crawled up its long, powerful form in trepidation. Its movements flowed with the ease of water, bespeaking of a terrible speed and grace were it roused. Yet, its size rivalled that of the ogres dwelling in Gergorixs ruined city. Even in the grip of his hulking transformation, Berard would only have risen to the top of its monstrously powerful chest.

    As a man, his towering height only amounted to its breast bone

    <em>Mrrrm,</em> the beast-man rumbled, extending the sword to the big man. <em>Here.</em>

    Its voice was terrible - deeper than any mans and coated in the sandy rasp of an animal.

    Berard took the de without meeting its eyes.

    Good, my pet, Milos smiled. You remembered the word and to hand it by the hilt first. I shall ensure you have a treatter. He turned now to Berard, gripping his toga and shifting it aside.

    Jairus gasped. Sacred Alpha!

    An ugly cut ran from the side of Milos breast and down over his ribs. Choleric red framed the jagged wound and the scabbing upon it looked to be fresh. This was my penance. Milos pronounced. My carelessness allowed the pack to suffer such a loss. I engraved that into my flesh with the silver of that sword. what will you do, Berard?

    Without a single word, therge man brought Wurhis sword to his face.

    <em>Schrrrp!</em>

    Aaaaargh!

    The de fell silently to the carpets. Berard clutched his countenance as crimson poured between his fingers from a deep sh.

    His penance would mark his face for the rest of his days.

    Excellently done. Milos rose from his seat to gently sp therger mans shoulder. See that you have that attended to, Brother Berard.

    Therge man nodded through clenched teeth and quickly fled the chamber, his heavy steps disappearing in the outer passage.

    All of you, take into ount what you have seen today. The cult leader turned on all present. Adelmar, witness how a member of the pack conducts themselves. Mark how one must hold themselves ountable lest they once more be a meremb.

    His tone indicated his dismissal.

    Adelmar rose and bowed. Er, yes, Sacred Alpha.

    He quickly grabbed the weeping Haldrych by the shoulder and dragged him from the chamber.

    Milos looked next to Jairus. What will you do now, Hunt Leader?

    The small mans face had washed bright red. His eyes shone fervently in the firelight. I will find those who slew our brethren and capture them. I will see their souls fed to Lycundar by way of the arena. This will be my penance.

    Very good, Milos nodded in approval. Stalk them properly.

    Yes, Lord Milos. Jairus bowed, but his eyes turned a hateful gaze upon the thieves across the table. But why, Lord? Why are they not punished?

    Wurhi and Merrick stiffened.

    Milos sighed. They proved themselves in the arena once. They will have to again. Punishment wille in time, but for now, they have pleased Lycundar. They are safe.

    Relief washed through Wurhis body. For an instant, she let her guard down.

    She missed the signal passing between Milos and his beast-man.

    If she had not, she might have reacted in time.

    A ruddy paw cracked out.

    Itsnky, steel-thewed arm reached across the table to seize the Zabyan by surprise.

    <em>Bang!</em>

    It pressed her into the oak with all the weight of an avnche.

    Her breath tightened and her eyes rolled every which way. Her heart hammered in her ears, and she thrashed violently in its hold.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    <em></em>tes and chalices were dashed to the floor. Merrick leapt from the table with a strangled cry. He looked to the window.

    I would not. Milos warned him as he rounded the table with slow, deliberate steps. It opens onto a sheer drop: you would be a red smear before your screams stopped echoing through the mountains. Of course, that would only be if you made it to the window. which you would not.

    The cult leader appraised the thief. Not <em>whole</em>.

    Ach! Aaargh! Let me go! Wurhi shrieked. Let me go!

    Not until penance is paid, Milos leaned down until his grave expression was level with hers. His inhuman scent stung her nostrils and his breath washed over her face. You survived Lycundars trial, but it was you and yourpanions who slew my pack-brothers. His eyes burned like frost. You may have passed the arenas trial but to see you unscathedsits ill with me.

    He nced up to the beast-man. Only the hand, my pet.

    Milos seized the Zabyans arm and extended it across the table, pressing down.

    No! No! Wurhis eyes widened in horror as the hulking creatureid down its club and reached out with evil purpose.

    The ruddy apes hand closed over her own, fitting it neatly within its palm.

    Simian lips pulled back from well-kept, glistening fangs. She could not be sure if it was a mans smile or beasts snarl.

    Its fingers constricted.

    <em>Crunch!</em>

    Wurhis scream echoed through the mountains.

 Beasts I

    Beasts I

    The less you remain still, the more it shall sting.

    <em>Crk.</em>

    Mmmmmgh! Wurhi gave a muffled shriek, grinding down on the cloth wedged between her teeth. Her shattered hand was crawling agony up her arm - consciousness would have long fled had her transformations not inured her to the familiar agony of shattered bone.

    Every cruel twist of her broken hand thrust her into violent thrashing that withered all reason. Tight bonds gripped mmy flesh like serpents while her healer stoically went about his grim work.

    Hmmmm.

    <em>Crck.</em>

    <em></em>A broken bone shifted, sending white-fire anguish through her body.

    Mmmrgh! she cried. Hot tears spilled down into her ears from wide eyes.

    Three more, the voice, near enough to brush her skin, mused with clinical detachment. You are past the worst of it now. Try to still yourself. It paused as its owner turned her hand. Hmmmm. Your flesh does not hold the same resilience as Lycundars children.

    <em>Crk!</em>

    Mmmmmmmrgh!

    Hemp rope bit into the Zabyans limbs.

    There. Another set. Interesting.

    <em>Scrtch. Scrtch.</em>

    <em></em>A stylus etched notes into a wax tablet close at hand, though Wurhi could not be sure of its proximity: to her tortured senses, all was a twisted haze. The acrid scent of unknown substances enveloped her while a thick brew bubbled foul vapours into the chamber.

    Even in human form, we lycanthropes would have begun <em>some</em> healing - the newest pack members would have lessened swelling by now. You <em>are</em> an entirely different animalin more ways than one.

    <em>Crk!</em>

    <em></em>Mmmmmmmmmmrrgh!

    <em>Loud.</em>

    The beast-mans hideous voice resonated in Wurhis ears from somewhere in the chamber. Its brutish tone drove her heartbeat to a panicked gallop. Mmmmmrgh! Mmmmrgh! she shrieked within the gag.

    The creatures fanged maw - both a smile and snarl as it had crushed her hand - shimmered before her eyes. Or so it seemed. So utterly distorted were her senses that her vision wove all manner of the fantastical throughout the rough stone ceiling. Wurhi squirmed to shake her head but short, coarse ropes constrained her forehead and chin.

    Quiet, my pet, the voice reproved. She already moves enough.

    A low grunt answered.

    Alright. One more. I would bite down, Zabyan.

    <em>CRCK!</em>

    Mmmmmmmmrgh! Wurhi thrashed so violently that her skin tore on the bindings. A shriek threatened to burst her vocal cords as fiery pain seared every nerve in her body.

    Atst, her strength and consciousness drained.

    ckness rose to take her.

    Sometimeter, Wurhi gasped into wakefulness.

    She was now on the move.

    Or rather, she was being moved.

    The powerful stench of the beast-man burned her nostrils and sent her eyes flying open. She groaned. With lumbering steps, the creature held her beneath its arm as though she were a sack of feathers, transporting her limp form through a downward sloping passage.

    <em>Crackle.</em>

    A burning y pot of oil-sodden pine was carefully bnced on a thick cloth held in the palm of its other hand. Murky light and a white-grey smoke yed over the walls of the passage, drifting through small air-tunnels in the ceiling.

    Wild shapes flickered over the floor, elongating shadows cast by her dangling limbs and the looming beast-man.

    An acid-scented cloth bound her broken hand.

    Wurhi looked at it.

    From the bandage protruded several wooden splints holding her fingers straight. She quietly choked back a gasp. Her fingers would be rendered useless if they healed poorly, and the days of foiling the trove guardians devices would be dead to her. At least with that damaged hand.

    Do not scratch at it, the voice of her healer boomed through the passage. I did notbour to set it straight so you could spoil my work with your dirty nails.

    That voice, though its tones still chilled her veins  now provoked a blood-addling rage. Wurhis lips writhed back to a snarl. The rodent within recoiled at his scent but - now cornered - would fight him with the ferocity of any trapped, injured animal.

    She looked ahead.

    Milos of Crotonia strolled through the tunnel unconcerned, his hands easily sped behind a back so straight that it might have held an iron rod. A caustic loathing filled Wurhi at the sight of him, yet trepidation tempered the taste of bile on her tongue.

    Do not remove the wrapping, Rat; you might well abhor me at the moment, but my words are to be heeded if you wish full recovery of your digits.

    Her jaw clenched. Every syble that slid through his teeth tensed her body and stoked her toward a rage-blinded violence. Were she free, she would spring upon him and bite through his throat or, better, that horrid tongue.

    Yet, his beast-mans grip was one of iron - loose enough to allow her breath, but firm enough to serve as an unmistakable threat. A simple squeeze of his steel-thewed hand had shattered her bones. If that powerful arm constricted with its entire terrible strength

    She shuddered, closing her eyes.

    No. No, no, no. There would be no rash attack now.

    Impulse had brought her into the maw of this filthy son of a bastard. More foolishness would surely drop her down into his gullet. Her eyes flew open, burning with an unshakeable focus. No. Now was not the time for mindless frenzy.

    No matter how she hated him - just as she detested Haldrych Ameldan and the Eye of Radiin - all her enemiesy beyond her reach. For now. And there was one matter upon which she and this Milos agreed: the earlier actions of these wolves had been brash and foolish.

    They had invaded Paradise with a blind charge.

    The result?

    She could still taste Ameldans roasted steed upon her lips.

    And now this Jairus, the manticores former master, sought vengeance - stoked by the fires of failure and shame. No doubt he would be more cunning this time. No doubt he could taste his own redemption. No doubt it would matter not. In her eyes, The Spirit Killer and Solidde Knight were opponents that no one should face willingly - not if their heads werent addled. They were more than a match for these monsters.

    They would destroy the hunt-leader, just as they would destroy this arrogant, self-assured, self-licking bastard before her.

    But they would need to be swift.

    Her eyes narrowed.

    If this Milos erred but once, she would have his throat. Or his tongue or head to stick on a pike like the heads on Cas walls. Perhaps the self-styled Merchant King of Zabya had not been so wrong about somethings after all. She frowned, wondering if he would merely regrow his head. If his lesser wolfmen proved so resilient, then wouldnt he be the toughest? He was called Sacred Alpha, after all. And all his talk of carrying cows was something to consider.

    yet her sword had harmed them, had it not?

    She knew not why or how, but such questions mattered little. Her beautiful, wonderful de had split Berards face like rotten flesh. It had scarred even this Milos. Perhaps the gods had smiled on her and granted her these wolves very baneand <em>her</em> boon.

    All she needed was to escape and find her sword.

    And <em>she</em> was The Rat, the gue of the Merchant Princes of Zabya: escape and theft were her oldestpanions.

    And yet

    She nced to her hand. The bastard had ordered his beast-man to shatter her bones, but bound them himself. She turned the bandage, examining it. Why break her down just to patch her up? None of it made any sense.

    why? Her voice croaked through dry lips, cracked and raw from her screams. why fix my hand?

    You can speak? Milos nced over his shoulder. His eyebrows rose in surprise. Remarkable. I did not use white willow bark or the poppy nt for you, yet here you are, having recovered a great deal. I am impressed.

    <em>Why?</em> She struggled to keep the hatred from her voice. Why break me then <em>fix</em> me?

    Because, Wurhi the Rat, Berard told me of your other form; you are the first shapechanger I have encountered outside of my pack-brothers. Killing or crippling you would be a loss for my knowledge<em>and </em>my collection.

    <em>collection?</em> A note of incredulity entered her voice. Youre going to keep me like one of your beasts?

    Of course. I boast both ves and beasts.

    <em>Why me?</em>

    Why not you? Training and iron will sculpt flesh as a hand might shape y, and you are a shapechanger: y that shapes itself. What could a master sculptor do with <em>you?</em> He turned away. Survive your next battle with that injury and I shall see some value in you.

    She nced to her hand. I thought you were supposed to punish me or something.

    I did, Milos said simply, looking back at her hand. But you proved yourself well in the arena, under Lycundars gaze. Do so again and you will have earned your right to life.

    With <em>this </em>hand?" she could not fully stop the bite from entering her voice.

    Do not y so sullen with me. What did you expect? You are a thief. And that aside, I have done you a favour.

    Favour?! Her anger strained against reason and caution. You <em>broke</em> my hand!

    Thus granting you your first lesson. He nced to her bandaged digits. Berard informed me that your transformation is simr to oursbut it involves a great deal of pain, he said. Flesh boils? Bone shatters?

    Her words died on her lips.

    I see I have the right of it, he mused. Good. It will make this easy to exin. He spread his hands. If you were to transform, would your hand still be broken?

    What? You know it wou-

    Why? he cut her off.

    She stared at him. what do you mean why? Because

    Are you a rat or a jackass? <em>Think</em>. He pushed. Use the mind that sets you apart from the beasts of the earth: your bones <em>shatter</em> during your transformation.

    He made a squeezing motion with his hand.

    And yet.

    His fingers rxed. When it isplete, your bones are whole once more. He gestured to her broken fingers. Why would those be any different?

    Becausebecause

    Her eyes slowly drifted to her fingers.

    We are water. He turned away. If you pour water into a vessel<strong>,</strong> it <em>bes</em> the vessel. If you pour it into a bowl, it <em>bes</em> the bowl - yet it is still always water. Just as I am always I, and you are always you. Such is the way of shapechangers, no matter what form they have been poured into. I could separate water into droplets or sop it up with a cloth, but once I pour it into a vessel? It is whole again.

    The tunnel began to widen.

    Contemte this while you await your next trial: if youprehend even the beginnings then I shall have great hope for you.

    Wurhi stared into Milos back in outrage.

    For him to reveal something so invaluable either meant that he was a fool, or that he believed her so under his power, she could never prove a threat to him.

    As a lion would ignore a mouse.

    Her eyes squinted.

    She would live and ruminate on what he said. She would make it her own, if there was any sense to it.

    Then she would prove to him how fatally wrong he was to underestimate her.

 Beasts II

    Beasts II

    Haldrych Ameldan seethed through clenched teeth.

    His knuckles washed white as their grip tightened on the rail. Oak bit his palms, but the ache hardly measured to the churning in his belly. What was left of Marctinus coated the mountainside where he had retched out his innards.

    Steady, man, steady, Adelmar gripped the young patriarchs shoulder. Breath.

    <em>Why!?</em><em></em>Haldrychs cry tore through the summits. His words echoed back through the ivory peaks in mockery.

    Shhh! Do you want to kill us!? the merchants son hissed. He cautiously nced about the gallery - a rough, weathered thing wedged into a narrow crevice upon the mountainside. Half had long copsed to rubble in the snows of an isted teau below.

    Cracks spiderwebbed through the intact stone, and he did not fancy testing its stability and risking a burial beneath rock and debris. Haldrychs end would be swift, but - with the curse of Lycundar empowering him - <em>he</em> would face a dreadfully lingering death.

    I brought you here to release your frustrations in private, not crush us beneath half the mountain, he whispered.

    His old friend shuddered before him. <em>This</em> is the brotherhood you promised!? the young poet gave a choked cry. His eyes, reddened and swimming from tears, fixed upon his oldestpanion. Thatthat<em>he</em> killed Marctinus! He made mehe made us <em>eat</em> him!

    I know, I know, Haldrych, the werewolf muttered, gnawing his lip. His eyes fell to the pines rising from the teau below. Isted as they were, his mind conjured all manner of things hiding within those trees.

    In his rational thoughts, he knew well that theyy empty: the cliffs below the copse proved too sheer for even Milos beast-man to scale. Without wings, any creature would need to use the small passage to this gallery to reach it.

    Still, the ill fortune that had gued circumstance as ofte left him unsure of anything, and his mind materialized a score of leering fiends in the shadows between the trunks.

    Things keep running awry. He shuddered, shaking his head. First the theft in your house, then the massacre at Paradise. Then the thieves <em>kill</em> one of the Hunt Leaders pets and now <em>this.</em> He nced to where Haldrych had retched. It makes one wonder if Lycundars is not the only curse that follows us.

    A niggling doubt rose in his mind; one that gnawed even the ravenous beast that hade to abide within his soul. He gave Haldrych an uncertain nce. Haldrychperhapsdo you think

    His words stopped.

    What? What is it? the young poet demanded. Were long past dancing around anything now, Adelmar.

    The merchants son grumbled. Well, maybe your mother Could she be

    He let the statement stand. The low, bitter mountain wind tugged his beard and Haldrychs hair.

    cursing us? the young poet gave a mirthlessugh, turning as he did. The Eye of Radiin swayed beneath his neck. It would surprise me not: she stood in my way in life, why not in death?

    I do not jest, Haldrych. Adelmar leaned onto the rail, taking care not to ce too much weight upon it. He watched a tiny line of riders leaving the palisade in the valley below, kicking up wisps of cloudy snow as they pounded toward Laexondael.

    No doubt it was Hunt Leader Jairus - leading more acolytes in the name of righteous vengeance. Or so he nned.

    I am beginning to get an ill feeling. The werewolfs face darkened. <em>Nothing </em>has urred the way it should have. We must be cautious.

    Cautious? Why? Haldrychs voice grew agitated. What else could muck up <em>now?</em>

    I do not know. And thats just the thing. He sighed, gesturing to the majestic peaks framing the valley. Look at this ce, Haldrych. This is where a man belongs: not cooped up in a mountain, fearing a dead womans curse! <em>You-</em><em></em>he gestured. -are supposed to be preparing for your grand adventure! Ready to create verses about it, like you wished!

    The young poets jaw tightened. Marctinus was to bear me throughout that venture.

    And now he never will, his oldest friend finished. though I suppose you could purchase a new steed.

    That I will have to do, Haldrychs lip curled. But he did not deserve this. <em>I </em>do not deserve this.

    Its those thieves fault, the werewolf growled. Were it not for them, all would be well! The full moon continues for another two days! This should be a time of celebration!

    The bloody Rat and Hawk should be called The Eels, for how slippery they are! Hmmm, the young patriarch grew thoughtful. Adelmar. Whats the alphas-

    Sacred Alpha, the merchants son corrected.

    -oh yes, thank you. Whats the <em>Sacred</em> Alphas game? Why not execute them and be done with it?

    A grunt followed. He works in Lycundars way: thews of struggle and suffering.

    Why for <em>them</em>? Haldrych demanded. The wolves ughtered those in Paradise with hardly a thought and - if I am to be honest - they did nothing to us. Yet these thieves are allowed to keep their lives through trial of battle? It makes no sense!

    Ihrm. Adelmar frowned. Perhaps

    He nced toward the passage in the mountain.

    Neither sound nor scent emerged from within. They remained alone.

    Did you see that bald man that supped with us? The one that led the pit fighters?

    yes. What about him?

    Well. Adelmars eyes shifted to the passage once more before quieting his words. The Sacred Alpha is putting him under trialto induct him as one of Lycundars children.

    The young poet frowned. And? What doesoh. His eyes widened. Do not say that he means the thieves to join with us? While poor Marctinus sits in their bellies?!

    I say nothing. But the implication Adelmar spoke half to himself. They were invited to his table, along with Crixus.

    Who?

    The bald one. They were granted the same ce as he was. I heard the beast-man broke the woman-thiefs hand and the little man was branded but

    The punishment for thieves is to have a hand <em>removed!</em> Haldrych cut him off. By the gods, I think you have it! He means to <em>reward</em> them! Why?! We cannot allow this!

    I do not like it either, but <em>his</em> word isw! Adelmar snapped. Once his edict is given, it is done! Only the Council of Twelve might oppose the will of a Sacred Alpha: <em>we</em> cannot go against his word.

    Hmmmm. Perhaps we cannot oppose <em>openly</em>, Haldrych wore a contemtive look. We secretly took fate and death into our hands once. Why not again?

    Several breaths passed before the merchants son realized his meaning. He gasped. Haldrych, that is madness!

    You say madness, but I say justice.

    He will know!

    Will he now? Haldrychs lips curved into a sly smile. Think of it, we He paused. We slew my mother in her own bed, and none were the wiser.

    <em>No.</em> Adelmar took a step back. The Sacred Alpha can smell treachery.

    But it is a <em>big</em> mountain, the young poet pushed on, gesturing down toward the palisade below. One full of monsters and dangersand your Sacred Alpha cannot be <em>everywhere, </em>can he?

    Adelmar paused. That he cannot, but surely they will fight in the pit again, and surely they will perish!

    And if they do, we neednt lift a finger. Haldrych ced a hand on his friends shoulder. But if they do not? Then we wait. An opportunity will arise: there will be <em>something</em> we can use that cannot point to us.

    HaldrychI

    Adelmar. I ask this thing of you, as one friend may ask of another. They <em>ate</em> Marctinus.

    The merchants son shifted ufortably. Can we not let that pass? We slew your mother and you bear <em>that</em> with broad shoulders.

    A odd look crossed Haldrychs face - a phantom of passing horror, chased away by a belligerent spite. She <em>needed</em> to die<em>.</em> He insisted. Because she meant to destroy the path of my life! Marctinus did <em>nothing </em>yet payed the ultimate, depraved price!

    He strained beneath stifled wrath.

    How am I to bear it, Adelmar? To see those who wronged me thrive among my peers?! His grip tightened. I am to seek my fortune in the world! Am I to do this while my offenders snicker their poison behind my back!? Am I to allow them to sneer at how they visited evil upon me and escaped my wrath!? He nearly choked. You ask me to bear such humiliation? I could not cast myself as a hero within my odes with this lying upon me!

    A silence hung between the two men.

    Adelmar sighed. Haldrychyou know I will stand by you as I have since we were boys, but-

    Please do not add the word but! I swear, if we cannot do this safely then I shall forget it, but if we canif we <em>can</em>

    He let it hang.

    The merchants sons mind worked, measuring risk against obligation of fellowship. Atst, one won out. So it shall be: if opportunity arises, we will see them dead. But only if it ispletely certain we will not be caught!

    Haldrych grinned, pping him on the shoulder. If only you were my brother!

    Hah. A mocking grin answered. My mother could never make such an ugly child.

    <em>Juliana</em> thought me beautiful! The young poets smile took a leering quality. She could not get enough of me! Do you distrust the taste of that goddess?

    I do not, Adelmar chuckled. She thought your silver beautiful and could not get enough of your gold!

    Bah! Haldrych waved a dismissive hand. She spurned my coin whenst I saw her. Little fool.

    Hrm, the werewolf nced toward Laexondael. do you think she still lives?

    The young poet shrugged. If the gods saw fit to spare her. It is none of my concern. He wrapped his robe tightly about his shoulders. Pfeh, let us go back inside. I am chilled to the bone.

    Agreed. The merchants son looked toward the iron grey clouds. Could you imagine if we truly <em>had</em> gone on that winter hunt? In this weather?

    Good gods, Haldrych shuddered. We would be as dead as those filthy thieves will be.

    A hunting trip? Jevas eyes widened toward the iron grey clouds. In this weather? The poor boys likely to catch only his death!

    Fangolf shook his head wearily as the two older men trudged across the Ameldan estate. Icy windshed their heavy furs and bent the crest on the guard captains helm.

    I warned Master Ameldan of just such a thing. The taller warrior threw a look toward the outer wall, contemting a tree close to thebyrinth of hedges. A thief had escaped near that very tree, though he cared little for that.

    What truly ground his teeth was that poor Lady Ameldans yer lurked somewhere out in the world. Perhaps in Laexondael. Perhaps in the wilderness or mountains.

    But whichever, they lurked unpunished.

    So close to his mothers death and with that burry not four days past! Now I hear Paradise was besieged by monsters? Fangolfs brow tightened, and his growl dripped with frustration. A winter hunt is a dangerous thing in the best of times, but now? Agh!

    <em>Schwch!</em>

    He kicked up a spray of white along their path. I tried to warn him, Jeva, he growled. But Master Ameldan

    He looked about.

    The groundsy empty save for the gusting winds.

    Jeva pped a hand on the captains armoured shoulder. Speak freely, old friend, he said seriously. You know well that I hold confidences.

    Fangolf nced about once more, ensuring they were truly alone.

    Then he sighed. I ask that you keep this to yourself: Master Ameldans behaviour has been - I know it is not my ce to say - but it is <em>appalling</em>, Jeva. His father, and ye gods, his mother - I still can hardly believe that Lady Ameldan is

    He shook his head. Both Lady and Lord would wring their hands in the after-world. He treats the servants with such ill respect and carries himself so poorly. And the coin he spends

    His shoulders drooped. I fear it might be the end of the house. He even spurned a fine marriage Lady Ameldan had brokered. Even <em>that</em> was denied her in death. Bah! The boy has built himself a cage of prettied words and ill-thought dreams!

    All the more reason I must find him, Fangolf. Jevas hand tightened on the captains shoulder. There are certain matters that came to light in the attackinvolving a certain woman named Juliana.

    The guard captain grimaced. Master Ameldan spoke highly of her many times. He even wrote some of his poems about her beauty. Is she well?

    Icannot say. It is a matter that Master Ameldan must know of if he is to keep his reputationand perhaps even his life.

    Oh by the gods. Would that I could help, Jeva. Fangolf spread his hands helplessly. But I know not where he is. I know Adelmar Horvoth apanies him. Perhaps his household-

    I have already gone there, the seneschal said. And they knew less than nothing. Please, Fangolf. Even a direction would help.

    The guard captain sighed, looking north to the Midgard Mountains. He only said that he and Master Horvoth would ride into the peaks to hunt winter stag. But it is arge range.

    The mountains Jeva followed Fangolfs gaze.

    A hint of steely in his eyes.

    Of course, of course he mused, before turning back to the captain. I believe your words will be helpful enough. I will send some capable friends of Paradise to seek him out, and hispanions as well.

    He smiled graciously and gave the warrior a nod of his head. You have done your house a great service today, Fangolf. I shall take my leave now. Expect a jug from the Olubrian vineyards toe your way soon and - again - my condolences over your matriarch, my friend.

    Ill drink it happily only if youe and share it with me, Jeva. You too have your own problems.

    I do. Again, the seneschal looked to the mountains. But I suspect many of them will be solved soon enough.

    And that is what I learned, Jeva finished. If any truth lies in what Haldrych Ameldan told his household, then the beastsir may lie in the mountains. Considering how many came to the city, I daresay it must be close. Is that of aid to you and Saint Cristabel, Master Kyembe?

    The Spirit Killers crimson eyes rose to the mountains - visible in the distance between the weather-beaten stones framing the alleyway. His eyes narrowed. I think you have given us a fine lead. Kyembe bowed to Jeva. You have my thanks, Master Jeva. You have done much, and I owe you more.

    The seneschal bowed in return. As I said, I am at your disposal. This was the least I could do.

    Wolves do often hide in the mountains of the world, Cristabel agreed.

    <em>Crrrrk.</em>

    <em></em>She cracked her knuckles.

    It shall be a good ce to begin our search. Let us retrieve our full armament from Paradise and proceed post-haste. Her eyes burned with blue balefire.

    We have a mighty reckoning ahead of us.

    Indeed. A great debt to be paid. And a friend waiting. Kyembes crimson eyes hardened. Let us not <em>keep</em> her waiting.

 Beasts III

    Beasts III

    Like waterlike water Wurhi the Rat muttered, retreading the same words as she had for some hours. Im like water? what in every hell, god and demon does that <em>mean</em>?

    The little thief paced the bottom of the pit, her feet shuffling through straw and creating a well-worn trench. The dried grass proved far cleaner than the mouldy mess in the first hole she and Merrick had been cast into. Thankfully, it was also free of bone and rot.

    And - for now - <em>mostly</em> free of rats, though a furry body or two did asionally scurry past her feet. The rtive cleanliness of her new prison was no doubt a reward for her performance in the arena.

    But - whatever reason this Milos had for cing her here - it was not a pen she intended to abide in for long.

    <em>Crnk. Crnk.</em>

    <em></em>Stones shifted and the logs above were dragged aside.

    The Zabyan squinted up to spy Berards newly scarred face ring down from a crowd of armed and masked acolytes. Move, Rat. Its arena time.

    She cursed. It hade sooner than she had hoped. Biting down on rising fear, she drew herself up to full, unimpressive height and - with not a word - began to make her way up the ramp.

    The massive lycanthropes jaw tightened. No doubt he wished to savour the image of her writhing in terror. I would not be so calm, rodent. This time it <em>will </em>be the death of you.

    Not trusting herself to speak, Wurhi kept her lips shut and her eyes pointed toward the dirt. Therge man gave a sullen grunt and thrust the sack over her head.

    Their journey was short and, when the sack was dragged off, she found herself in familiar surroundings.

    The armoury spread before her, with the pit fighters once again sifting through bronze armaments and armour. The young Saxa, lean Gannicus and squat Agron sought simr weapons as they had wielded against the manticore, while Crixus barked orders and reiterated battle ns. A few unfamiliar faces had joined the fighters, hesitating with the uncertainty of lost children in the wilderness.

    Oi! Rat! a voice like scratching ss called.

    Merrick the Hawk sat against a stand of spears with a jaunty, dented helmet perched above his brow. The lean man was stripped down to a loincloth, revealing skin both drawn and pale as a corpse.

    Reddened flesh throbbed about an ugly burn scorched into his breast.

    A branding iron had seared its punishment into his skin, marking him with the symbol of a half-moon. You see this? he spat through gritted teeth. Bastards marked me like some lords bloody cattle!

    Oh shit, Wurhi crouched before him. Does it hurt?

    He gave her an incredulous look. What <em>you</em> think?

    Right, right, stupid thing to ask. She held up her hands, drawing Merricks eyes to her bandaged mitt.

    Oi, who patched you up? He squinted at it.

    She scoffed. The horse-serving bastard himself.

    Wait, <em>what? Why?</em>

    ncing to the arena gate, she cocked her ear toward the ceiling. No sound yet boomed from above. Because the bastards <em>mad</em>, thats <em>why</em>. Heres what he said She recounted parts of her conversation with the cult leader while listening for the crowd. As she finished, the throngs hungry voices began to seep through the rock.

    They were gathering.

    Piss, so he means to make you some sort of pet? Merrick nervously scratched his chin by the helms strap. Thats a bloody bad turn. After that bastard branded <em>me</em>, he was on about turning me into one of his mangy followers <em>if</em> I shed my weakness. I thought <em>that</em> was a shit deal, but yours is a whole pit in a privy.

    The crowds din grew.

    <em>Thm. Thm. Thm.</em>

    <em></em>Fists and feet hammered the stone in steady rhythm, tolling like doom in the deep.

    Wurhi cursed inwardly as fear twisted her belly. We need to get out of here, Hawk. You think of anything?

    He shook his head. Working on it, but nothing yet. Only time theres not half a dozen spears on us is when were in our holes, he scoffed in disgust. I looked at those logs from every angle, and theres no way of getting through without a saw or something.

    Sawsaw Her brow furrowed. What about a sharp bone or rock?

    Thought of that, but itd take too bloody long and be too bloody loud. Theyd stick us before we could cut through even a quarter of one. He shook his head. What about you, you got anything?

    Nothing useful, she said, raking her hair in frustration. Shit, <em>shit</em>! Okay, we keep watching. Theyll let their guards down someti-

    They wont.

    Crixus approached the two thieves with a strange look in his eye.

    <em>Thm! Thm! Thm!</em>

    <em></em>The crowd grew more ravenous.

    The Garumnan handed a shield to Wurhi and pped a helm on her head. A spear wont do you much good with that hand, so you just hold the shield and keep the wall up. And dont bother with whatever you two were talking about: it always ends badly.

    What do you mean dont bother? Wurhi quickly snatched the shield between her forearms and skillfully buckled the helm beneath her chin with one hand. You want to <em>stay</em> here?

    Crixus eyes turned haunted. would that be so terrible?

    Silence followed.

    <em>Thm! Thm! Thm!</em>

    <em></em>The crowds excitement soared.

    Oh shit, youre not drinking that bastards hemlock, are you? Merrick shifted away from the bald man as though he bore the pox.

    It is not poison. Theres sense to what he says: brotherhood and rewards for deeds done.

    Aye, and bing a bloody monster.

    A monster that wields heroic strength. One who can heal from any wound. Think, man. You moved like quicksilverst fight: what could you do with the power of a wolf within you?

    The Hawks alreadyrge eyes widened further. Oh piss, youre serious.

    And what about me? Wurhis gaze was knife-like. Hes going to make me a ve.

    The bald man shrugged. Lord Milos is not cruel to those that serve him well. He eyed Wurhis hand. Care went into that dressing: that tells me you will be favoured, just as his beasts are. He fawns over them. You will want for little, Zabyan.

    Oh yeah, what else could I ask for? she growled. A dark cave for the rest of my days? Following that bastards every order, scared every damn breath that Ill do something he doesnt like? She jabbed her broken hand forward. He said this was a <em>favour, </em>whats he gonna do when I piss him off?

    Crixus frowned. Youre not being-

    And! When Im dead and done, he can pose my bones beside a window and talk about me to his guests! To hells with that! To hells with all of that!

    Aye, youre talking sense, Rat, Merrick agreed.

    <em>Thm! Thm! Thm!</em>

    <em></em>The pit fighters paused; their gazes drawn by Wurhis rising volume. The newest of their number eyed each other, while Saxa and Gannicus looked on in muted approval.

    Crixus gave a great sigh that sank through his shoulders. You say that because you dont know what they do to those who try to escape. Ive seen a lot of bad ways to die, but

    His lips tightened beneath his dark moustache.

    <em>Crm!</em>

    <em> Clinkclinkclinkclink.</em>

    <em></em>Chains hidden within the stone coiled about wheels.

    The gate to the arena began its ascent. Crixus bearing straightened as its rose.

    Do yourselves a favour. If you cannot live like this? Run full on at whatever beast theyve got for us. At least, then your deathsll be quick. He paused. Just make sure you dont wreck the formation when you do.

    The Garumnan turned to join the other fighters as they trudged through the gate.

    Some of <em>us</em> wish to live.

    The Rat and the Hawk entered the arena beneath a hail of jeers and curses. The ck robed crowd filled the seats above. Many were on their feet, hurling all manner of insults down on them. Guards positioned upon the arenas walls gripped their spears - poised for any excuse to skewer runaways.

    Dont think they like us too much, Merrick muttered, raising his spear as he joined the other fighters.

    Yeah, well I dont like <em>them</em> either. Wurhi slipped into the front line between Saxa and Gannicus. She hefted her shield, grunting beneath its weight. Her eyes drifted to where the manticores had met their end during theirst battle. The rust of dried gore stained the sand and tiny prints marked where rodents had dragged away stray scraps of flesh.

    They truly were everywhere in this mountain; it was no wonder, these wolf-men provided plenty for them to eat and left them alone. She supposed anyone would ignore them if they lived long enough in these caves.

    Wurhi sighed; she was somewhat a rat - if only they would do the same with her.

    <em>Thm. Thmthm</em>

    <em></em>The throngs thunder died away.

    She drew a tremulous breath and forced her eyes up.

    Milos of Crotonia had risen from his throne.

    Once again, his voice boomed across the cavern. We witness a trial under Lycundars gaze. Souls shall be tested by bloodybat, but victory will not truly lie in life or death - though I am certain He Who Consumes Himself will receive his measure of blood this day. Today, <em>you and I </em>shall decide the fate of the defeated. If they fought well

    He balled his hand into a fist and extended his thumb toward the ceiling. They shall live. And if they fought poorly

    The thumb turned until it faced the earth. then it shall be <em>death</em>.

    An exultant roar swept the crowd, drifting through the rent in the caverns ceiling to reverberate over the mountain. Wurhi swallowed hard. Her fate was to lie in the whims of these murderous, vindictive, mangy scum-wolves? Her heart already thumped like a frightened hares, but this new game of theirs was fresh cause for panic.

    The Will of the Mob: like it is in the Olubrian colosseums, Crixus noted. Where the crowd and governor decide diators fates.

    Merricks eyes drifted nervously across the mob. Seems a might better than when we fought the man-faced lion. So-

    <em>Croom.</em>

    <em>Clnkclnkclnkclnk.</em>

    <em></em>Chain pulled through stone. The gate opposite them yawned open above an inky passage.

    <em>Crm.</em>

    <em></em>Silence fell on the arena.

    Steadysteadyspears down. Crixus lowered his spear over Wurhis shoulder.

    <em>Thm. Thm. Thm.</em>

    <em></em>Something moved in the dark ahead. Something ponderous.

    Something very, very,rge.

 Beasts IV

    Beasts IV

    <em>Clnk. Clnk.</em>

    <em></em>Metal rattled upon metal, and a bestial breath drew through a massive chest.

    Then came the smell.

    Oh Wurhis eyes widened. Oh shit.

    What? Merrick demanded from behind her. Whats-

    A mountain began to materialize in the ck, sheathed in the gleam of bronze.

    oh gods, Merricks groan was that of a dying man.

    Milos beast-man loomed from the passage like a metal-d fortress.

    Its girdle had been supplemented by an entire armoury. Bronze sheathed its form: a gleaming coif covered its head - leaving its ruddy face bare -yers of bronze chain buried its torso and chainmail chausses draped overnky legs. The weight of such armour would have ttened the strongest of men, yet the beasts liquid movement hardly slowed.

    In one hand it bore its massive bronze club while the other clutched a shield that could have served as a courtyards gate. A familiar object was shoved carelessly through its broad belt: Wurhis sword, the jewelled hilt glittering even in this poor light.

    The beasts lips coiled back in a snarling grimace as it raised its shield and club high.

    Its roar struck the arena.

    The crowd answered.

    he means to kill us. Agron murmured through fraying nerves. We couldnt get through all that with <em>a ballista!</em>

    Saxa trembled like a frightened finch. Well have our guts torn out for hurting one of his precious pets!

    Calm! Crixus barked. Did <em>any</em> of you listen to Lord Milos? We dont have to beat it! If we perform well enough, we will please Lycundar and we can live!

    Oh, thats bloodyforting! Merrick spat.

    Enough! Now scatter! the Garumnan ordered. If he lowers that shield and charges, hell crush us! Surround and confuse him!

    The formation broke apart like fleeing mice, but Wurhis eyes were fixed upon her sword. If she could-

    <em>Little things.</em>

    The beast-mans guttural words cut through her thoughts.

    Its eyes followed the fighters as they spread.

    A horrible sound - rasping and thundering - issued from its throat to shudder its body and rattle its chain: a perverted mockery of human mirth.

    Its ruddy lips twisted. Its body tensed. <em>Run.</em>

    The beast-man exploded into a storm of violent motion.

    An avnche of bronze and muscle came barreling toward Crixus, propelled by long legs that burst across the earth as quickly as any steed. With a simian cry, it swung the club above its head in a wide circle.

    <em>Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh!</em>

    <em></em>The battering-ram like weapon cut the wind like sand in a desert storm.

    Crixus cursed and leapt back.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    It fell like a thunderbolt.

    <em>Thoom!</em>

    Grit sprayed from where the club struck the earth, stinging the Garumnans skin. The bald man had barely avoided the stroke, but his towering opponent moved devilishly quick and swept the club to the side.

    <em>Whoosh</em>!

    Crixus stumbled just out of its terrible reach.

    <em>Whoosh! Bang! Whoosh! Whoosh!</em>

    The beast-man struck sand and air as it chased its scampering prey.

    <em>Crack!</em>

    Bronze clipped Crixus spear, snapping it in half and forcing the wreckage from his grip.

    Hes in trouble! Agron roared. Get it from behind!

    He rushed forward with Saxa and Gannicus, but the newest pit-fighters dropped their weapons and ran screaming toward the opposite end of the arena.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    <em></em>Crixus barely ducked beneath a sideways swing. His breath came hard and fast while his face had washed red from exertion. He continued to back away, but the arenas edge - with its spear wielding acolytes - loomed behind him.

    <em>Whoosh! Bang!</em>

    He leapt past the club, trying to dart around the beast as the weapon ploughed into the sand.

    <em>Whish! Thm!</em>

    <em></em>Agh! he cried.

    The beast-man''s armoured leg swept his shins, sending the big man sprawling to the ground. He fought to rise, but a massive, bronze-d foot pressed down on his back, pinning him to the earth.

    Crixus! Agron cried.

    The beast-man raised its club: poised for the final, crushing blow.

    It looked up; its simian eyes focused on its master. Milos raised a hand. What say you, acolytes? Did he fight well today? Did he survive as Lycundar would wish?

    A mighty cheer answered, punctuated by thunderous apuse and stomping feet.

    Milos held up his palms. I am in agreement, my pack brothers. You have fought well, Crixus of Garumna.

    His fist rose above his head, with thumb extended skyward. I grant you life and honour. Release him, my pet.

    Giving a satisfied grunt, the beast-man raised its foot from the coughing Garumnans back and stepped away, turning to the crowd and thrusting its weapon and shield high.

    It roared in triumph. The mob roared with it.

    Crixus rolled onto his side with eyes bulging and breath gasping like a hooked fish on a wharf. Between ragged breaths, he faced Milos and choked out: Th-thankyouSacred Alpha.

    Thank only Lycundar. Milos smiled coldly. Go now. Stand to the side.

    Wurhis eyes narrowed at her de glinting on the beasts belt. Letting her guard down around these bastards had cost her the bones in her hand: her sword would be her salvation, not the fickle will of wolf-devils.

    The beast-man savoured its victory cry and slowly turned to the pit fighters. Nostrils red and breath blew between simian fangs.

    Shit, she cursed.

    <em>Thud.</em>

    <em></em>Her shield fell to the ground.

    <em>tter.</em>

    Then her helm.

    Thin wood and metal would not stop this armoured monstrosity. They would only slow her down.

    The beast-mans hideousugh boomed above the crowds roar.

    It catapulted forward.

    <em>Thm! Thm! Thm! Thm!</em>

    Armoured legs churned the sand. Its shield rose before it like a battering ram. Hungry breaths stoked its charge as it blurred across the arena, ignoring the scattered pit fighters.

    Agron let loose a battle cry, leaping forward and jabbing his spear into its nk, but the point caught between the manyyers of bronze and deflected off the gleaming surface. The beast did not spare him a single nce.

    Its eyes were fixed on the ones who had dropped their weapons and fled.

    The hapless runners screeched and struggled to escape, but to no avail. One leapt toward the arenas wall and died with a dozen spears skewering his chest. The other thought to run past the monster and gamble at safety with the remaining fighters, but the beast-man deftly spun as though it were a lithe dancer before a Yamaputran Raja.

    It bore down on the screaming man and barrelled into him shield first, sweeping him from his scrabbling feet and-

    <em>Boom! Crunch!</em>

    <em></em>-mangling him between shield and wall. The crowd roared in triumph over the sickening crunch.

    Oh shit, Wurhi grimaced, reminded of St. Cristabel ttening the werewolves in Paradise. Unfortunately, unlike them, this poor man would not be regenerating from his wounds in this lifetime. As the beast-man pulled away, the grisly remains slid down both wall and shield, spattering the earth in spreading gore and rising steam. Behind Wurhi, Saxa retched her guts out.

    Spinning about, the beast-man surged toward the remaining neer, who could only watch his oing doom - hypnotized by primordial fear. The club whipped about the roaring apes head and swept toward the man.

    <em>Whoosh! Crnch!</em>

    It collided, grinding his ribs to splinters and blowing his lungs apart; crimson fountained through teeth as he crashed to the dirt. His form twitched itsst even as his yer turned to find more victims. Its eyes were alive with human bloodlust and animal hunger as red dripped from both club and shield.

    What the hell do we do!? Agron whirled on Crixus. Tell me, what the hell do we do!?

    The bald man stared on helplessly, with mouth opening and closing.

    Shit! Look alive! Merrick shouted. Its moving again!

    Stalking forward with a snarling leer, the beast-man yfully passed its terrible mass from one foot to the other.

    <em>Thm! Thm! Thm!</em>

    <em></em>It bashed the club against its reddened shield and whooped out a gleeful challenge.

    oh piss! The Hawk raised his spear. What if wee at it from all sides and aim for its filthy face!?

    Damn that n! This thing turns twice as fast as that man-lion! Gannicus edged back, eager to put someone between him and their titanic foe. And the Rats down a hand!

    M-Merricks right, Saxa stammered. If we donte together itll smash us one by one!

    If wee together itll smash us in a single swing!

    Wurhis teeth ground. Cold sweat damped her flesh and her panicked heart felt as though it would w its way from her chest. This wasnt going to work. Crixus - by far the most skilled of them - had barely survived the beast-mans onught.

    She threw a quick look at Milos, coolly watching from on high. Doubtless, the mangy bastard had instructed his pet not to test his favoured fighter too vigorously; the beast had shown far greater abandon when running down the others.

    With the speed of its weapon and its reach, it could strike down half of them with

    a single

    Her eyes widened.

    Its reach.

    Those unnaturally long limbs and massive weapon could out-range any of their spears. An incredible strength to be sure, but could it not also be a weakness? Her mind drifted back to a snowy day - thest time Kyembe had instructed her:

    <em>You need to respect your opponents de while turning each defence into a counter.</em>

    <em> </em><em>You need to get under my guard!</em>

    <em> My reach is twice yours; I would kill you at this distance! Close with me!</em>

    <em></em>His words returned to her, reminding her that - with her stature - she needed to get beneath his guard. There, she would avoid his strikes while leaving him vulnerable to her own. The same applied to this beast-man: the apes colossal arms could crush any opponent that tried to closebut if one managed it?

    She swallowed and drew herself to full height; her belly twisted from what she was about to do. This would be a matter of swiftness: if she could slip past the beasts lengthy limbs and razored reflexes, then her sword would await.

    If she could not?

    She nced to the red smear against the wall. A shudder coursed through her.

    It would be a gamble: the greatest she had taken since throwing in with the Sengezian in Zabya. Her cracked lips pulled back from her teeth.

    But, as Ippolyte knew well, there was a reason Wurhi the Rat won her wagers.

    The beast stirred within her.

    She <em>cheated</em>.

 Beasts V

    Beasts V

    With a rending cry, she doubled over as every thew in her body contorted. The rodent rose up, threatening to consume her rational thoughts beneath bestial instinct. As her will steeled itself to fight for control, an image slipped into her mind.

    Water.

    Flowing into a vessel.

    With ease.

    Drawing a deep breath, she pushed away the agony as her bones shattered and shifted. Instead, she embraced the beast that began to rampage through her mindor did it? The instincts were powerful, but not hostile. Not toward <em>her</em> at least.

    She exhaled, distancing herself from the pain and examining the beast within her - not fighting it, yet not giving in. The rodent paused: it had fought her for control in every transformation of her life - but now, she did not strike at it. Instead, she felt her conscious drift to the side as though making room for the beast.

    Blood rushed in her ears like the roaring of a river.

    Her mind was a vessel, and both woman and rat were malleable.

    They could fill it together.

    Something slid into ce within the psychic depths of her ego. It was as though a key had turned in one of the trove guardians locks, bringing all of its magnificent inner apparatuses to life.

    With it came a bursting euphoria.

    With it came an awareness she had never known.

    Aaaaaagh! she screamed.

    With it came the most profound agony of her life.

    In all her transformations, her struggles with her bestial instinct upied her. She thought she had experienced the worst agony of her life, but now realized it had been dulled all this time. Now, she felt everything.

    Every boiling muscle.

    Every warping bone.

    Every twisting and changing blood vessel.

    Her ears exploded to the roar of a typhoon before copsing into silence so profound that she feared she had gone deaf. The world bubbled as her eyes contorted into a new shape.

    Her body tore asunder in one breath only to be pieced back together in the next: the torment nearly shattered her mind. Yet she endured. Oh, how she endured. By measure of will and sheer stubbornness, she endured. Until

    Atst, the roaring ceased. Her breath passed between rodent incisors. Alien sensations bubbled through her mind - at once her thoughts and yet not. She examined her transformed body with beady eyes, trulyprehending it for the first time. Her broken hand remained shattered, but was now covered in the fur of the rat.

    Never had she been so aware while d in her other form. Either the beast had control, or her thoughts thrashed through an animalistic haze. Now, she knew better. Human thoughts and animal instincts assimted and danced together: the former belonging to Wurhi and thetter belonging to The Rat.

    Yet <em>both</em> belonged to Wurhi the Rat. Damn his hide, Milos had been right.

    No matter what form she wore, <em>she</em> was <em>she</em>.

    Silence pervaded the arena as she brought up her giant, rodent-like head. The other pit fighters were screaming and scrambling away from her. From above, the crowd simply stared in silence.

    Milos - again, damn his hide - simply watched with a knowing, satisfied look.

    She snorted, flexing her limbs and feeling their bestial power. He would not be satisfied for long. Her attention turned to the beast-man. It stood, with jaw ck and head cocked to one side. Its ring nostrils confirmed that her scent was mostly unaltered, but it had never witnessed any transformation aside from those of the lycanthropes.

    Her disy had been enough to give its primitive mind pause.

    And she took advantage.

    She shot across the sand, charging the beast-man as though she<em></em>were the one more than twice its height and ten times its bulk.

    But Milos had trained his pet well.

    It bellowed, pounded its shield against the earth before dropping low to meet her charge.

    <em>Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!</em>

    <em></em>The battering ram-like club cut the air as it spun above his head, gathering speed and a monstrous momentum. Wurhis instincts and thoughts both screamed at her to run, but she bit down on both and held on, driven by Kyembes word:

    <em>Close.</em>

    <em> WHOOM.</em>

    <em></em>The club swung out to the side.

    <em>WHOOSH.</em>

    <em></em>It surged toward her head in a blur of bronze, red and silver.

    Wurhi let out a bestial scream and dove.

    <em>Whish!</em>

    <em></em>It soared over her leaping form. She lunged through the gap between the beast-mans trunk-like legs,ing down on her good hand and both feet. Her tail whipped out to catch her bnce as she whirled around and leapt for its back.

    The apes club was already rushing her.

    <em>Whoom!</em>

    She ducked beneath its arm to catch one of its legs - the ws of her good hand digging into the riveted chain as though it were a cliff-face - and began to climb its body.

    The beast-man went berserk.

    Bellowing, it thrashed to drive her off, but her bestial strength came to bear; her limbs and tail tightened about its armoured thigh. The reek of musk and metal burned her nostrils while she shot up its iling form, with eyes fixed upon the jewelled hilt of her sword.

    It glittered invitingly as she closed in.

    It was in reach!

    Her arm shot out.

    She froze.

    Though loosened by the change, the bandages still wrapped her useless hand: she could not grasp the hilt with those shattered fingers. Were she to use her other hand - now clinging to the creatures titanic form - she would plummet and be easy prey for stomping feet. Her mind pulled in two directions - instincts screamed for her to climb and bite its face, but rational thoughts told her to scurry forward and grasp the de with her teeth.

    As she tried to sort through them, her body stilled.

    And that cost her.

    <em>Thmp.</em>

    The beast-man dropped its club. Its hand shot toward her like a serpent - the very same hand that had crushed her bones - and seized her by the back of her tunic.

    <em>No! </em>her mind screamed.

    Her body tried to scurry away but, even transformed, she had no hope of matching the beast-mans iron power. It pulled her free from its torso, leaving her to il helplessly in the air.

    Oh piss! Merrick cried.

    Panic surged through her. She reached for her sword, but the beast-man pulled her away - its lips boiling back from shining teeth - and gave her the same look as the moment it had crushed her hand.

    She recalled the sickening crunch of her own bones.

    Well done, my pet. Milos rose from his seat once more. A hint of disappointment touched his cold eyes, but it was tempered by a calm resignation. He was about to lose an interesting subject of study, but perhaps he could yet learn something of value.

    Through her dissection.

    "What say you, acolytes? his voice boomed. Did-

    He never finished those words.

    Both rat and woman came to singr purpose in Wurhis mind:

    Survival.

    Vengeance.

    Her human form was capable of incredible flexibility, but whenbined with a rats supple bones and liquid tendons She bent her head at an impossible angle and-

    <em>Schnk.</em>

    <em> -</em>sunk her teeth into the beast-mans hand.

    It roared in agony.

    Its grip loosened.

    She did not scramble away but instead whirled about and caught its arm in her own grip. Her legs and tail wrapped about its thrashing limb and her free hand pulled up its chainmail sleeve to expose its wrist.

    Wurhi bared her blood-stained fangs.

    <em>Chnk.</em>

    She bit down with all her might.

    <em>Raaaaaaaaaaaargh!</em> the beast-mans animal cry was thunder in her ears, but she cared not a whit. Powerful jaws drove teeth to chew through its ruddy flesh.

    <em>No!</em> Milos cried, leaping from his seat and charging down the steps toward the arena. Stop her! Pack-brothers! Acolytes! Crixus! Do something!

    Red sprayed over her snout and filled her mouth to pour past her jaws.

    Her incisors ground muscle, severed tendon and chiseled through bone. In heartbeats, she had tunnelled through its wrist and

    The beast-man shrieked in agony.

    <em>Thmp.</em>

    <em></em>Its hand dropped to the sand.

    She chittered in triumph.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    <em></em>The broad shield drove into her body.

    Breath sted from her lungs and she flew through the air to crash to the earth.

    <em>Thoom.</em>

    She skidded along the sand.

    Wurhi! Merrick cried, rushing over with Saxa and Gannicus close behind. Agron followed, and even Crixus left his ce. The big Garumnans panicked eyes shot between Wurhi and the beast.

    The ape capered and shrieked while crimson fountained from its ragged stump, spraying over the sand. Milos dropped to the arena floor and ran for the wounded beast. Someone, bring fire! he roared. I must sear his wound!

    Acolytes and pack members shifted aside gates to enter the arena.

    The pit fighters came to a skidding halt around Wurhis dazed form. Crixus took a quick look at her before starting for the ape and Milos, words of apology already brimming on his lips.

    Bloody piss, look at what you did! Merrickughed. A hand for a hand, I sup-

    <em>Raaaaaargh!</em>

    Bestial shrieks turned into a bellow of rage. The ape snarled, its jaws clenching with a fury so consuming that its teeth drew blood from its gums. Blood-shot eyes fixed on the transformed Zabyan, burning with animal fury. It beat its chest with its shield and charged her.

    Stop! Milos barked. Stop, my pet!

    Yet the beast defied its master, barreling for the Zabyan with all-consuming hate. So swift was its rush, that even Crixus - for all his veteran skill and warriors grace - could not leap out of its path.

    The beast was far too roused to care a whit.

    <em>No!</em> the cult leader cried.

    <em>Whoosh! Crack!</em>

    A bloody shield smashed into Crixus shoulder and head.

    <em>Crnch!</em>

    <em></em>Bone splintered and his bare skull burst.

    <em>No! </em>Milos eyes shed. He surged forth with impossible speed. You defiant creature!

    A powerful leap carried him onto the apes back, where he coiled his potent limbs about its neck. His thews swelled with impossible power and fangs lengthened in his maw as he sealed both air and blood in the apes throat.

    The beast panicked and thrashed, but the cult leader shifted his legs and threw his full weight behind his pets momentum, throwing off its bnce and sending it crashing to the earth in an avnche of flesh and metal. Milos was on his feet in a breath, his dark eyes now melting into golden, lupine orbs.

    Rage drained from the beast as its eyes widened in terror and its bellows withered to a simian whimper.

    You dare defy your master? Milos snarled - his voice underpinned with the growl of a wolf. You dare!? After all I have given you! All my training, you dare defy my word?!

    <em></em><em>N-no!</em> the beast-man whimpered, curling itself into a ball.

    Yet, Milos did not strike it, for there was no need. You remain still before you bleed to death. His lip curled in disappointment at its bloody stump. Cauterize his wound he said to the pack. I shall decide his fateter.

    He turned and threw a quick nce to the recumbent form of Crixus. He snorted at the slurry of gore and brain matter pouring from the remains of his skull. Look what you did, rodent. You <em>ruined</em> my pet and your actions have in Crixus: he would have made a wondrous pack-brother. He had true potential: a warrior, amander and an honourable man. Perhaps a Sacred Alpha in time. His jaw tightened. But now

    He sighed, ncing up to the acolytes. Bind her.

    Still dazed from the blow, Wurhi could do little to resist as the pack-members bent coils of bronze around her wrists and ankles. They cinched so tightly that she yelped from their bite.

    They dragged her limp form from the arena, following the cult leader into another passage through the mountain.

    <em>Hssssss!</em>

    <em> Raaaaaargh!</em>

    In the distance, the crowds shocked murmuring and the frightful screams of the beast-man echoed in her ears.

    <em>Thoom.</em>

    <em></em>Until the door closed behind her.

 We Are Who We Are I

    We Are Who We Are I

    Hunt Leader Jairus thundered across the icy mountain valley astride his wiry gelding. At his back rode the cultists of Lycundar - their cloaks whipping, their breath misting and the lycanthropes eyes shining in the failing dusk-light with a bestial gleam even in human form.

    These were hard men. While the cult pulled savagery from all walks of life - from gutters to pces - these yers had been honed by rough living long before the embrace of He Who Consumes Himself.

    Cutthroats. Pirates. Mercenaries.

    The wolfs teachings only enhanced whaty within. They were what they were.

    A score of acolytes - all versed in the arts of bloodshed - along with half that number in Lycundars blessed werewolves cut through the light of dusk. Where before Jairus had led a mere tracking party of varied skill into Laexondael, now he had drawn forth some of the cults most vicious members.

    His confidence had swelled as his mind sifted through a hundred stratagems over their journey, until atst he had found one that would bring low their formidable prey.

    Vengeance woulde coldly and quietly: the stalking wolfs way, as opposed to the roar of the charging beast.

    And it would not be long now.

    The troupe pounded the snow through a small forest thaty near Laexondael. Perhaps only a few more hours until they broke through the mountains and viewed the Dukes castle perched above the citys towers upon its dark escarpment.

    From there, he would meet their contacts  indoctrinated guardsmen from The Dukes Battalion - and arrange to frame the two ounders, bringing the full wrath of-

    <em>Sniff.</em>

    <em></em>His thoughts stopped.

    Ugh! one of the lycanthropes pinched his nose. What is that <em>smell?</em>

    From somewhere along the snow-sheathed road - hidden around a bend of creaking, dark needled pines - drifted an odd scent that set his nostrils burning.

    It was one described to him, ryed in grim ount by Berard.

    A scent of burning vitriol. That woman was near.

    Hold! He held up his fist. Sharpen your senses!

    <em></em>Their steaming mounts came to an abrupt stop.

    Acolytes and pack-brothers eyed the trees with hands slipping toward wicked bronze des; the tension of experienced killers yed about their forms. Dusk-light lengthened shadows and turned the spaces between the trees to pitch.

    Yet their noses did not lie.

    Somethingy ahead. Close by.

    des out, Jairus ordered cautiously. Forward at a walk.

    Should we transform, Hunt Leader? one of the werewolves asked, his voice almostical through his pinched nostrils.

    The hunt-leader paused, eyeing the path ahead. You five dismount here and secure your horses. Transform quietly and circle through the trees on either side of the road.

    As youmand, hunt-leader.

    The five pack-brothers broke off from the troupe, dismounted and picked their way into the trees with silent footfalls. Jairus could not help the little rise of pride in his chest - their silent movements showed the fruits of his instruction in woodcraft.

    When their forms had melted into the dark - he set his jaw, tightened his hands on his horses reins and tapped his heels to its sides. The pack moved forward as one. Into the trees they rode, the air growing ever colder as they slipped further into the forest shade. Pine boughs cracked about them and emaciated trunks swayed with the wind - as though drunken and filled with foul temper.

    <em>Flp! Flp! Flp!</em>

    Something burst from a branch overhead.

    By Lycundar! one of the men eximed, drawing his de.

    Hold together! Jairus snarled, his teeth and eyes shing. It is but an owl! Nothing more!

    The big man winced like a scolded child. Apologies, Hunt-leader.

    Do better. Lambs fear the night. Werewolves <em>are</em> the night. Now forward.

    He turned away, ncing over the pointed tree tops to the mountain summits beyond. He noted the wan watchfires burning on the peaks about the valley entrance; neither flickered in warning, yet an interloper had somehow passed them.

    A growing sense of ominousness began to creep from his belly. Bestial instincts tensed with the purpose of attack or flight.

    Rounding a bend, the troupe came upon their hidden foe.

    She stood alone in their path - broad shouldered and armoured like a fortress.

    Her te, bearing a deep sapphire hue and the shine of iid gold, sheathed her strapping form. Six wings spread from the sides of her helm - the topmost pair rising to point skyward - and they resembled demonic horns in the gloom.

    Before her was a pile stacked like a miniature wall of heavy, rounded stonesrger than a mans head. Jairus could not see her face through her lowered visor, but her eyes burned like balefire through the slit.

    Surrender or die, her voice boomed, deep for a womans.

    Jairus knuckles turned white on his reins. One of the objects of his vengeance stood alone before him, but it was not rage or hatred that tightened his grip.

    It was dread.

    All that stood before him was <em>wrong. </em>How did she find the valley? What brought her to the mountains? Why was she alone?

    And where was her fire-wieldingpanion?

    They needed to strike <em>now.</em>

    Transform! he leapt from his steed, his feet sinking into the snow. He paid no heed to the sting of cold. Weapons out! Take her quickly!

    Yes! Hunt-leader!

    Acolytes charged forth. Pack-brothers dropped from the saddle.

    <em>Crack</em>.

    Bone and flesh shifted.

    In but a few breaths, his lycanthropes would undergo the change.

    He looked to the trees and gave a sharp whistle: a secret signal of attack. They would take her from the nks while the rest rushedin

    His blood turned cold.

    No attack came.

    <em>Sniff.</em>

    His nostrils red and his heartbeat quickened.

    Blood. There was blood on the wind. The hairs on the back of his neck stood as though something crawled across his flesh. His beast-form instincts screamed.

    His eyes searched the trees and caught a sh downwind - high in the needled canopy.

    A pair of crimson eyes that glowered in the dark.

    He drew a breath to shout.

    <em>Vrooooosh!</em>

    Dusk red into day. Fierce, white light tore into his eyes - stinging them shut. Aaaaargh! he stumbled back.

    Something crackled through the icy air - hungrier than any man, beast, or lycanthrope - and struck the throng of werewolves. Caught in their change, there was no avoiding its deadly assault.

    Terrible heat sted through the troupe.

    <em>Boom!</em>

    An explosion of steam erupted from sh-melted snow - scalding flesh and searing lungs. Hardened men cried out in rm, their war-trained horses shrieking in pain and panic. Hoofs churned the road while bodies crashed into the earth.

    <em>Thmp!</em>

    <em></em>A fleeing horse galloped headlong into Jairus, knocking the little man from his feet.

    <em>Schnk! Schnk!</em>

    <em></em>Metal sheared flesh. Cultists shrieked out death-cries. Scrambling to stand, Jairus tried to blink away the searing light.

    He barely made out silhouettes struggling in the steam of melting snow. A tall figure - dark robed and lean as death - glided through the ranks of his men. A shining de swept about him on the end of a long pole, felling warriors with every stroke.

    Men died to the sound of ughter and the spray of hot blood.

    R-retreat! Jairus rushed forward. We are undone! Retreat!

    He would need to buy time. Sinking into himself, he called to the beast.

    <em>Whoosh.</em>

    <em></em>He had forgotten his other opponent.

    <em>Crack!</em>

    Two boulders shot through the wind -rger than human heads - and drilled their weight into his side.

    <em>Crnch!</em>

    Ribs caved in. Organs ruptured. His spine snapped. The hunt-leader ploughed into the snow as a limp, senseless heap. Blood poured from his mouth and nostrils - though he could not feel its warmth; his body had plunged into numbness when his back shattered.

    The healing came quickly - but it would be sometime before even Lycundars blessing could undo the ruin he had be. Trapped in the deadness of his form, the hunt-leader could only watch as stones hailed upon his remaining acolytes. They struck with a fearsome uracy and all the power of a titans mighty cast, breaking bodies with every strike.

    Between the punishing stones and the death-dealers fearsome de, his mighty troupe was withered away to the veryst man. As thest horses fled into the wilderness, only the crimson-eyed spectre, the armoured warrior, and the broken hunt-leader remained.

    The former stood tall, wiping gore from his de amid crimson snow, rising steam, and cooling bodies. With a long,nguid stretch, he approached the fallenmander.

    <em>Crnch.</em>

    <em> Crnch.</em>

    <em></em>His feet pressed through the red-stained snow and his over-robe - blue-ck and decorated with tiny dots like stars - flowed about him. Jairus snarled, as a corned beast would, and choked on blood. <em>Wh</em><em>where are my five pack-brothers who went into the forest?</em>

    Dead, a deep, rich voice answered - sharp and hard as obsidian. He drew a shining object from his belt, one that made Jairus stiffen.

    A knife that gleamed with the cold fire of silver.

    It is true, the lean man continued. Silver <em>is</em> the bane of you and your kindred. He gave a predatory grin, his teeth gleaming white below crimson eyes. All the better to y you with, wolfman.

    <em>Clink. Crnch. Crnch.</em>

    <em></em>Jairus could not move his neck, but he could hear the approach of cold metal and silent wrath. A set of boots stepped into his view, sheathed in greaves and sabatons of sapphire metal, iid by burnished gold.

    Behold, viin.

    <em>Thmp.</em>

    The hunt-leader gasped through his blood.

    A clutch of severed heads - strung together - had dropped before his eyes. Mens faces twisted in final shock above ragged stumps. Your sentries from the peaks. The woman stared down on him. They did not surrender either.

    The robed death-dealers lips parted into a broad grin that left his eyes as hard as rubies.<em></em>We sought them out first.

 We Are Who We Are II

    We Are Who We Are II

    <em>Babastard,</em> the word bubbled from Jairus lips.

    Thin eyebrows rose. It speaks, the dark man said in mock surprise. This is a wonder of wonders, is it not? A talking dog!

    This cur had best speak onmand, the woman growled. Your sentries would not quit battle long enough to share your secretmendable, but foolish.

    <em>H-how?</em> the lycanthrope gasped. <em>How did you find us?</em>

    The robed man chuckled. A clever spot; far enough from road and river that no one would think to search here in this bleak season. But it was your young friends, the Ameldan dog and his pup, that gave you away with their oh-so-dubious tale of hunting in these mountains. So, we thought to look here. And then the stars smiled upon us and we saw your watch-fires.

    The hunt-leaders teeth clenched so tightly that they creaked in his maw. Those two prattling fools! Years of secrecy spoiled by two witless buffoons!

    The soutnd wizard dropped to a crouch before him.

    Truly, the way we found you is of no matter. What matters is that your ilk took a friend of ours. He raised a hand with palm facing the earth as though indicating someones height. She stands about <em>so </em>high. Easy to miss at first, yet notable.

    He leaned toward the broken man. Where do you keep her?

    The hunt-leader snarled. Filthy wretch, You cant intimida-

    <em>p.</em>

    <em></em>The stranger drove his palm into the smaller mans head, stinging his cheek.

    Do not quarrel with me. His countenance sharpened to obsidian wrath. I can follow your tracks. He gestured to the hoof prints in the snow. But I do not know what I would find: where would we search for our friend? How many of you are there? These questions, my enemy, you must answer.

    He raised his hand and balled it into a fist. A shining ring red with white light and searing death. Or I shally a curse upon your body that would make a <em>demon </em>beg for oblivion.

    And I- the woman flexed her hand.

    <em>Hssssss</em>.

    Golden witch-light yed about her gauntlet, emitting an ethereal vitriol. Jairus nose wrinkled at the burning aroma. -shally Amitiyahs tears upon you. I doubt they will be kind to one such as you: a predator who feasts upon the weak. Save yourself this burden. Denounce the filth and tell us of yourir.

    <em>Spft.</em>

    Jairus spit blood at their feet. May Lycundar eat your souls! he choked out.

    <em>Scrnch.</em>

    His body had nearly reformed, and he was able to raise his head and toss his hate into their teeth. Burn me! Curse me! Kill me! I will endure in silence until you y me and await you in the after-world! I will be the wolf that hunts your spirits and catches them for my god! He gave a chokedugh. Illugh as his twelve heads rip your screaming souls apart! <em>That</em> will be true torment! <em>Nothing</em> you can do can get me to speak!

    Then perhaps <em>I</em> could be of service.

    A cultured voice slipped through the shadows behind Jairus.

    Both warriors startled, snatching their weapons. The Sengezians crimson eyes grew wide. <em>Jeva</em>?! he leapt to his feet. Butwhenhow did you?

    Forgiveness, Master Kyembe.

    A mounted man rode into Jairus view astride a mare of iron-ck shade. Grey touched his hair and neat beard, but his back was as straight as a knife, and he dismounted with the fluidity of youth. I have found that one can far more easily approach friend or foe when either is distracted.

    Why are you here, Jeva? the woman put up her visor, revealing a confused look beneath her freckles.

    It was uncouth to follow you: I most humbly beg your forgiveness. He bowed deeply, his ck leather gloves creaking as he drew a dark satchel from his saddle. But I hold a responsibility as Paradises seneschal - to see that justice is obtained to the best of my ability. It would be most unseemly to leave such a task in the hands of our guests alone.

    <em>Crnch. Crnch. Crnch.</em>

    <em></em>He approached, looking down upon Jairus as though the werewolf were filth dropped from the back end of a horse. If you would be so kind as to leave this man to me, Master Kyembe and Saint Cristabel, I shall ferret out what you need.

    The armoured woman blinked. You believe you can make him speak?

    There are ways, the seneschals voice was iron-hard, and his carefully cultivated ent slipped into something far rougher.

    How?

    Jeva gave her a look, falling to one knee and unravelling the ties of his satchel. When you reach my age, you will find that one can live <em>many</em> lives over the years, my dear Saint. perhaps you can sympathize, in a sense, if the stories of your death are true.

    Thest tie came undone.

    In my current life, I am seneschal to The Lovers Paradise. But I was not always so.

    He drew the satchel open and carefully slid out the contents. His countenance darkened.

    Not always.

    Three gasps sounded through the clearing.

    Pressed into a wooden board - covered in felt dyed ck - were a set of tools maintained to impable shine as though they were an aristocrats prized jewels.

    Yet, these were no delicate gems, nor did they hold the burnished polish of bronze or gold.

    <em>These</em> bore the cold light of steel.

    And they were<em></em>cast into the cruelest shapes.

    Some curved into hooks that could pry open the lid of an eye, while others were narrow and shaped to stab beneath the nail of finger or toe. A delicate bone sawy beside several fine knives that could peel flesh as though it were the skin of a rotten fruit. Others seemed to have no obvious purpose: strangely shaped orbs, twisted mps and thick, powerful pliers.

    And needles. Dozens of steel needles.

    Other objects were strewn carelessly among the torturers tools, far more mundane but of far greater dread for Jairus: forks, sps, jewelry-pins, table knives and coins ated to a razor edge. The shine of silvery upon them all.

    Kyembe stared at the equipment with mouth agape. What is <em>this</em>, Jeva? What <em>were</em> you, and how did youe upon such steel-craft?

    Jeva began to organize the silver assortment while reaching into his dark tunic. I made them, Master Kyembe.

    Both the wizard and the saint froze. You Kyembe murmured in awe. You are one of <em>them?</em>

    Indeed. He drew an object from his fine shirt: a piece of lodestone dancing amid a loop of twine - tiny flecks of metal were pressed to it like an iron cocoon.

    Thethe Cult of Steel? Jairus choked incredulously. You are of the Cult of Steel?

    In another life, the older man drew a heavy length of steel chain, which he had wrapped in silver wire. It gleamed like an executioners de. But our lives tend to bleed together, as a mothers blood may pass to son or daughter. Or how the iron of blood lives in us all.

    Deftly, Jeva seized the hunt-leaders spasming limbs and bound ankles to wrists with the silver-sheathed chain. As he tightened the loop with a steel mp, the two warriors grimaced.

    Are St. Cristabel murmured in unease. Is this of necessity?

    You wish to find your friend alive, do you not? Then there is little time to waste and you must know where she is kept if you wish the greatest chance of sess. And this wolf-devil is strong-willed, Jeva finished tightening the mp, which clicked like the barring of hells gates. But my skills are honed to unravel such things. Although He clinically eyed Jairus regenerating form. I have never worked with a body that heals so quickly.

    <em>Clnk.</em>

    <em></em>He took up a silver fork and eyed the hunt-leaders fingernails.

    I will need to experiment. Unfortunately, it will likely create a dreadful mess.

    His tone never changed; it was as though he were speaking about wringing a piece of metal into shape.

    Jairus knew then that he would not die well.

    Icannot watch this. Kyembe made a face and stepped toward the trees. Wizardry would have been cruel as wellbut cleaner. Do what you must.

    St. Cristabel paused in indecision, her eyes drifting between the hunt-leader and the golden witch-light in her hand. She breathed in its vitriol, and her gaze cast to the sky. Amitiyah forgive me; I shall let you work your craft, Jeva. These beasts need be purged and we must know the defences of their den.

    She stepped away. May steel and your gods find worth in what you do.

    <em>Crnch. Crnch. </em>

    She followed the dark man into the snow.

    Chokedughter bubbled from Jairus bloody lips. <em>Even yers have scruples, it seems!</em><em>Cowards! Hypocrites!</em> You threaten me with wizardry and then wince at <em>this</em>!? You are hypocrites!

    St. Cristabel paused, looking back. Her lips tightened, and she looked upon the light ying about her gauntlet. perhaps, was all she said.

    With that, she disappeared into the trees.

    A silence followed, only broken by the clink of the seneschals tools.

    I do believe we are all hypocrites in this. Jeva drew a hook from his satchel. But perhaps any who deal death and pain must be. He gestured to the two warriors. You call them such for their actions here. He pointed to Jairus. Yet you are such yourself: you feast on men and women, yet grow incensed when one pays a cruelty to you in turn.

    The seneschal gestured to himself, his ck glove creaking. And I am guilty of hypocrisy as well; the actions of your cult have caused me terrible distress. So much so that - once we are done here - I shall fetch some old friends of steel to <em>find</em> your little clutch of hounds and <em>snuff if from this earth. </em>You vited <em>my</em> Paradise, and yet, do I have the right to judge <em>your</em> actions? I am not without crime, after all: think of <em>what I am about to work upon you.</em>

    He sighed, extending the steel hook and silver fork.

    Both grew in the hunt-leaders widening eyes.

    Best not to think of such things, Jeva murmured. After all, no matter how much we change or how much we runin the end, we are who we are.

    Silver and steel grew to consume Jairus vision.

    <em>Schnk.</em>

    <em></em>And then there was only pain.

 Swords I

    Swords I

    This time they did not bother to cover her head.

    Haldrych and Adelmar dragged Wurhi the Rat by her bronze-bound wrists - so firmly did the metal restrain her limbs that her hands and feet had numbed. She could <em>hear </em>her feet and rodents tail bouncing over the cold stone floor. Behind them came a column of masked men, all cowed by thunderous bellows and silent ire.

    In the offing, anguished screams emanated from the depths of the beast-mans core - smothering the constant chanting that filled the mountain - while Milos marched ahead in a fit of icy fury. His every stepnded with the weight of a wrathful giant resolved to punch through the earth, and Wurhi thought best to keep herself quiet.

    No good woulde from attracting his attention now: he might well tear her head from her neck. Every acolyte seemed to share her thoughts - for they stepped as though carrying their mothers precious y pots upon their heads.

    Well, <em>nearly</em> every acolyte.

    The scroll burns down on your little nasty life, vile thief, the foul tones of Haldrych Ameldan hissed into her ear. His disgusting breath slithered across her flesh. And now the ink dries on your final gasps, heughed. For your sake, I hope you enjoyed your little tantrum. You sealed your own fate because of it, and now I shall finally get to watch you die.

    His voice had a manic tinge to it and the grip that tightened upon her arm was slicked by cold sweat. The Eye of Radiin clinked with his movements. Atst justice is served to me on a golden tter. Both you and that other woman <em>finally</em> get whatsing.

    What? she wondered in irritation. What other wom-

    Haldrych! Adelmar Horvoth whispered, gripping Wurhis other arm. Quiet before he hears you!

    The young poet grinned through his mask. Im just having a bit of joy, Adelmar. It is a good day. A good-

    Whelp, if you utter another word, I shall tear your tongue from your mouth and <em>feed it to you</em>. Milos voice shook with constrained fury.

    A-apologies, Sacred Alpha! Adelmar stammered.

    Unperturbed, Haldrych threw Wurhi a sneer and gave her broken hand a vicious squeeze.

    <em>Crk.</em>

    <em></em>Bone shifted with an explosion of agony. She groaned.

    <em>Whooosh.</em>

    <em></em>His grip loosened as a sound, rare as ofte, murmured from ahead - a whispering wind that carried winters chill and sweet mountain air.

    She gave a little gasp.

    The dark receded as they wound up the tunnel, retreating before the low light of dusk. Were they to leave the mountain? Wild hope and dread grew in her with every step toward the light.

    Milos likely only brought her here for some fatal purpose, yet <em>if</em> she could slip the cultist encirclement and her bonds, she might have a chance at escape. She would need to evade the cultists in the valley afterward, but any hope was better than none.

    Steeling herself, the Zabyan prepared to react to even the slightest hint of good fortune. Light dawned where the tunnels end was met with a growing roar of water. They must havee near where the river exited from beneath the mountain.

    Would they toss her, bound, into its rapids and leave her to drown?

    Or would-

    <em>Sniff.</em>

    <em></em>Her breath stopped.

    Nonono.

    A familiar odour stalked toward her as they stepped through the cave-mouth: one that bore a fearsome terror. Whenst she had smelled it, it had beenbined with the blood of dying manticores.

    No! Shit Shit! <em>That</em> was what he intended for her!

    She needed to get away! <em>Now!</em>

    In the light of the dying sun and rising moon, they dragged her onto a teau fused to the edge of the mountain. Its sides rose high and smooth from the snow-battered stones far below. From this height, towering pine trees appeared like mere des of grass.

    <em>Whoosh.</em>

    The wind washed over her and whipped the cultists robes about; Haldrych shielded his eyes from its frigid bite.

    His grip loosened.

    <em>Now!</em>

    She twisted from his grasp.

    Amid cries of rm, she thrashed until her captors lost their hold and she crashed to the stones. Heart thundering and caught in the throes of panic, she drove her bound body to roll toward the edge, where she thought the river might be.

    This would be it.

    Her final gamble.

    If her luck held, she would find some stony protrusion to grasp before she plummeted to her ruin. If it did not? Then the water would strike the life from her and take her in its icy embrace. Death would be mercifully quick. Either would be better than what awaited her here.

    Woman and rat cleaved to each other as the edge neared.

    The wind picked up.

    Empty space yawned before her.

    A rough hand seized her by the scruff of the neck.

    Oh no, Zabyan, Milos voice was iron. Not like that: you go <em>when</em><em>I </em>say and <em>how</em><em>I </em>say you go.

    With a strained cry, she thrashed to get free as he hoisted her up with a single hand. Her bound feet kicked futilely above the precipice. His steel grip closed around the back of her neck - driving his fingers into her flesh - and stilling her as five deadly points pressed against her throat. His nails had bloomed into ws.

    Persist in this struggle, and I shall tear your spine out slowly, measure by measure. He leaned closer. You will feel every moment before your body grows dead to you. Then, I will <em>still</em> feed you to my prized pet.

    Wurhi the Rat whimpered, trembling silently in his grip. Wurhi the thief desperately wished to struggle, but the rat had turned against her will. Held by the throat with ws poised above her vein, the beast within had frozen in fear within his death grip.

    Her body refused to move no matter how she willed it.

    Slowly, he turned her about, and her beady eyes grew wide at whaty in the midst of the teau. Another pit was sealed by logs that were reinforced with bronze bars and weighted down with enough stones to crush a team of horses.

    Her nose told her well what horror awaited within.

    The cult leader approached the pit with calcted deliberateness, allowing time for her terror-stricken mind to fully grasp her fate. Were she in human form, her eyes would have welled with tears of anguish. But no tears came now: a cruel way to learn that a rat could not weep.

    Her gaze dropped to the dark and was met by a pair of feline eyes as Milos drew closer to the pit. A fearsome intellecty in their golden depths. Beneath those orbs spread a powerful jaw from which jutted massive fangs that could pierce her body with ease.

    They were as ivory swords poised for execution.

    The sabre-toothed tiger raised his titanic body to his feet, regarding her and Milos with rapt attention, and let out a rumbling growl that permeated the chasm. Lips peeled back to reveal row upon row of deadly teeth behind the sword-like fangs.

    Within those intelligent eyes bloomed a hatred so raw, so profound - so utterly <em>human</em> - that she recoiled despite the ws gripping her neck.

    Why? Why <em>her?</em> She had not done anything to it!

    Yes, Zabyan, Milos pronounced as acolytes heaved away the many stones. <em>This</em> is the fate your act of disrespect has earned you. <em>Not</em> a gentle death by swift fall to rushing water.

    <em>Grrrrrrnd.</em>

    <em></em>The bronze-reinforced logs were dragged aside.

    The rat within atst shook itself out of its paralysis

    Wurhi struggled desperately, chittering and straining in Milos grip. Her body writhed, her tail thrashed against his mighty legs, but he was as immovable as stone.

    Extending his arm slowly, he suspended her above the dark below.

    The great cat paced - gliding over bedding and bone - while those hateful eyes remained fixed on the figures above. From the corner of her vision, Wurhi caught sight of Haldrych Ameldan; he veritably salivated as her doom approached.

    Milos of Crotonia paused. On the walk here I had thought to grant you a small mercy, he pronounced. By bidding my pet to y you at once, you would have suffered agony in deathbut it would have been quick.

    He nced to the precipice from which she had nearly plunged.

    But you have shown that you would <em>choose</em> a quick death.

    His grip began to loosen.

    She squealed.

    And that would not equal the harm you have wrought. My other prized pet is crippled by your selfish, impulsive act and Lycundar only knows if I can salvage what remains of him. I offered you a proper ce, but his ruin is what you left behind. And so, <em>your</em> suffering shall match hisit will be lingering as well.

    He gestured to the sabre-toothed tiger.

    He was fed a fine, muscled stag and the remnants of a horses carcass some time ago: it should be a day and a night before he grows hungry again. He might kill you then. Or, perhaps the next day. He shrugged. Or perhaps <em>now</em>. Only <em>he </em>knows that.

    He looked proudly upon the pinnacle of his animal husbandry.

    Use your time to contemte the path that led you here.

    His grip loosened further.

    In desperation, Wurhi tried to reach back with her bound arms.

    Perhaps such reflection will aid you in the after-world. Milos finished.

    His fingers opened.

    She shrieked.

    Wind rushed by her ears as she dropped.

    <em>Thm!</em>

    <em></em>Her body crashed into cold bedding, narrowly missing the broken antlers of some consumed animal. Pain exploded through her upon impact.

    Off-bnced, she fought to scramble up, but slipped and syed upon the ground. The great sabre-toothed tiger glided toward her over the straw - soundless despite its titanic bulk - while the acolytes hurriedly dragged the logs back into ce.

    She could not fight. She could not flee.

    Im going to die, she realised.

    Her limbs were bound too tightly to use and she could not bring her teeth to bear against this beast; not before a single swipe from its ws would rip out her insides. As it loomed over her, pausing to consider the logs sliding back into ce above, she turned her attention to its master. Her lips peeled back from her teeth, and she poured all her hatred into her gaze.

    She held his eyes as the gate closed on her life.

    <em>Filthy, mange carrying, evil dog,</em> she snarled in her mind. <em>I curse you. I curse you with everything! With my life! With my death, I curse you like the priestess did that cursed gem! I. Curse. You!</em>

    <em> Thm.</em>

    <em></em>The stones were dragged back.

    Fare poorly, Zabyan, Milos said. When next Iy eyes on you, you will be merely bones. He nced to his acolytes. Come, I must see to my pet and there is much to be done before tonights ceremony. If we are to wee new acolytes into Lycundars embracewe should do <em>one</em> thing that would please him tonight.

    The Sacred Alpha stepped from the pit, and Wurhi knew she would not see him again in this life.

    Shaking with wrath, terror and resignation, she turned back to the monstrous cat, baring her teeth. She promised herself to bite it at least once before it swallowed her.

    And yet

    She paused.

    The beast had turned from its master, but what lingered in those sapient eyes had remained for a few heartbeats - just long enough for cat and rat to catch each others gazes. Each recognized the loathing that reflected in the others eyes: <em>a loathing driven toward amon target.</em> She had been wrong about its ire, she realised. This creature hated its master just as she did.

    Before she could consider this, the beast lunged toward her.

    Her courage wilted, and all promises of biting it were forgotten.

    What remained was only the instinct that had served her since childhood.

    Screeching, Wurhi struggled backward, kicking up straw until her back collided with the bones of the antlered beast. The sabre-toothed tiger followed her, its head drifting low.

    Its jaws parted.

    With another screech, she closed her eyes and steeled herself for agony.

    <em>Sniff.</em>

    <em> Sniff.</em>

    <em></em>She heard those great nostrils re: it was smelling its prey in preparation to swipe her apart with those deadly ws. This breath would be herst.

    Wurhi gulped in sweet mountain air.

    Now woulde the pain.

    Alright, so <em>this</em> breath would be herst.

    She took another gulp of sweet mountain air.

    Now woulde the pain.

    Alright, so <em>this </em>brea-wait, what was happening? Why was she not dead? Not that she was annoyed about that, but it just seemed like she should be dead by now. Perhaps the beast had hit her so hard that she was thrown from her body before she felt the blow.

    That would be nice, she supposed.

    Yes, that must have been it.

    No doubt she had already arrived in the after-world.

    She sighed, slowly opening her eyes to eternity.

    Eternity was apparently the face of a rhinoceros-sized sabre-tooth tiger.

    She screamed, as was only reasonable. The beast watched her from finger-lengths away, its hot breath ttening her fur. Those eyes measured her, before slowly drifting to the side.

    Trembling, she followed its cold gaze.

    A rat perched upon the ribcage of the antlered skeleton, chewing a scrap of old meat from the bone, indifferent to the predator looming above. The great cat turned toward the transformed Zabyan, its nostrils ring and its eyes continuing to study her.

    Silence passed for several heartbeats.

    Atst it gave a snort, and padded back across the pit. Casting itself down upon the bedding, it lowered its head to its forelegs.

    Silence passed for several more heartbeats.

    Huh.

    Wurhi blinked.

    Wurhi blinked again.

    The breath she had held without realising it slowly released from her lungs.

    She nced to the rat obliviously eating within the den of this predator. Then she noticed another. And another. Rats scurried through the hay to feast on the sabre-toothed tigers leftovers, not fearing it at all. It ignored them in turn.

    but why?

    Her beady eyes widened as she remembered its snort of distaste at her scent.

    Oh. Oh by the gods, it didnt like rat meat!

    This <em>cat</em> did not eat <em>rats</em>!

    A strange, wheezing sound emerged from her snout, one that shook her form and drew the sabre-tooths curious gaze.

    It was a cruel way to learn that a rat could notugh.

    She did not notice another pair of eyes watching from above.

 Swords II

    Swords II

    Damn that filthy rat! Haldrych cursed beneath his breath. She has the luck of a devil!

    Even I am starting to wonder about that, Adelmar cast a troubled look down the darkened tunnel. None were about, save for them. Did that beast not attack her?

    It was as though she wasnt there! the young poet hissed. I watched until the sun had fled and the wind had deadened my hands, but the useless creature did not make a single move toward her!

    His teeth ground behind trembling lips. This is an ill omen. It is an ill, ill, ill, <em>ill </em>omen!

    Haldrych the merchants son peered at his friend. He noted the bloodshot eyes. The unnatural brightness of them. The mmy flesh of his face. Areare you alright?

    We need to <em>act! </em>She will escape if we do not! She means to thwart me! <em>They</em> mean to thwart me!

    The lycanthrope gave a confused look. her and the <em>tiger</em>, Haldrych?

    Her and <em>my mother</em>! Haldrych screamed.

    Quiet! his friend hissed, ncing about.

    Still, none came down the hall.

    Haldrych Adelmar said in as gentle tones as he could. Your mother is <em>dead</em>. We <em>slew </em>her.

    The young poet stiffened. Is she? <em>Is she truly? Is her wrath dead?</em> His head shook so hard it might have parted from his neck. The Eye of Radiin followed, swaying upon his chest. That rat defies death again and <em>again!</em> The ape should have <em>killed </em>her! The cat should have killed her! That whatever-alpha should have killed her! Instead she is left to live!

    Haldrychshe will not live for long. It is a cat and <em>she</em> a rat, and it <em>will</em> get hungry.

    And she will escape first, I <em>know </em>it! the patriarchs eyes had grown wild behind his mask, and now darted between shadows in the lonely tunnel. My mother aids her from the after-world! We. Must. Act.

    Youre not making sense, and if she escapes, she will be hunted-

    <em>No.</em> Haldrych jabbed his finger toward his friend. I will not sit idly by while the noose tightens around <em>my</em> neck and not <em>hers!</em> Taking action brought <em>this</em> fortune to me-

    He gestured to the great jewel around his neck.

    -and taking action now will bring my <em>final</em> fortune in this trial!

    it is too dangerous. Lete what may-

    You. Promised. Me, the young poet hissed through gritted teeth. Will you abandon an oath made man to man? We are brothers by fellowship and deed: <em>we</em><em>slew my kin together</em>.

    His voice cracked. Will you turn now and flee from <em>that?</em>

    The words hung in the tunnel.

    Adelmar bit the inside of his cheek. I too wish to see this ended, if only because it brings a madness out in you. But the Sacred Alpha wanted her death to be slow. If we rush there to y her now-

    And where is the alpha? Haldrych stepped forward. You followed him after he left; where did he go?

    to his chambers to contemte. He saw to his beast-mans injurybut, there is no recing that hand. The creature is marred now, the merchants son sighed. I almost pity it: it will not be long before the Sacred Alpha discards itespecially as he finishes training his third pet.

    oh? Oho? Haldrych slipped his mask up and cocked a brow. A sly look had stolen into his eyes. I think you have given me an ideacan this beast-man understand our tongue? I heard it speak certain words.

    Somewhat, I thinkwhy?

    Where is it now?

    Adelmar frowned. Last I saw? It had dragged itself to a tunnel to nurse its wounds.

    Good. Lead me there.

    The merchants son blinked. Why?

    Haldrychs lips spread into a grin of delight. For vengeance. Vengeance that cannot possibly be traced to <em>us.</em>

    Wurhi inspected her injured hand grimly.

    The bandages hadrgelye loose and the splints had slipped from their proper ces, revealing swollen flesh beneath. Were she able to feel her hands and feet, she was sure she would be in utter agony.

    She sighed. Some hours ago, the sight would have fuelled her thirst for vengeance, but now she was simply <em>exhausted. </em>The wolves could hang for all she cared, as long as she got as far from here as feet, horse or boat would take her. Preferably to a bath.

    If she had her sword, she would feel somewhat more vicious but, for now, she had more practical things to upy her. As unlikely as it was, an opportunity hade: none guarded this ce. If she was to escape, then now would be the time.

    Raising herself up, she considered her surroundings.

    The sabre-tooth tigers pit was by far the most well-kept she had been thrown into. Fresh straw covered the floor, and none of the bones were in any state of rot. If anything, it seemed as though they had been left by design.

    Perhaps that mange-ridden ape-lover liked the look of them.

    The rats certainly enjoyed their presence.

    Groups of them perched on skeletons at the edges of the enclosure - chewing through bone to reach the rich marrow within. Wurhi snorted in grim amusement; she knew well how quick a rodents jaws could sever a wrist.

    Though she doubted it would work on a certain cat.

    Her eyes shifted to the beast in question - mountainous in size and radiating power even at rest. In some ways, it reminded her of the crazed knight: a pinnacle of brawn and deadly grace. There was a fierce wonder in its movements: a regal nature in the way it carried itself.

    A nature she would appreciate far more were she not fearful of bing the beasts next meal. The hulking cat had silently studied her as night had fallen, but only the gods knew when its hunger might ovee its distaste. Now its eyes shone on her in the dark of night, and the feeling made the hair stand on the back of her neck.

    Swallowing down trepidation, she shifted her weight.

    Its rounded ears shot up and its head rose.

    With a squeak, she went still.

    Breaths passed as the two measured each other, but the cat made no move toward the rat. As her heart calmed, she slowly shifted to her knees.

    Again, no movement from the beast.

    Strange.

    Well, it was not eating her, and that was all that mattered.

    Her attention returned to her hands and feet - the bronze had swollen them terribly. She needed to be rid of these bindings.

    First, she attempted to slip free through careful contortion, but could not hope to fit her swollen extremities through the narrow gap. Next, she tried to force the bronze apart with bestial strength. Cringing, she quickly stopped: the effort had merely made the metal bite deeper into her wrists.

    In growing anger and desperation, she whirled to the antlers at her back and tried wedging them into her bonds - seeking to pry them apart. Several attempts passed, but each time the metal slipped from the sharp bone.

    A chitter of rage burst from her maw-

    <em>Crk. </em>

    <em> -</em>which quickly turned to a yelp of pain.

    The antler had pressed into her injured hand and jostled the fractured bone. She bared her teeth and cursed.

    That filthy, cursed-jewel wearing wretch had truly aggravated the damage when he had

    <em>shifted</em>

    Her eyes widened.

    <em>the bone.</em>

    <em>We are water. </em>Milos had said. <em>If you pour water into a vessel</em><strong><em>,</em></strong><em> it </em><em>bes</em><em> the vessel. If you pour it into a bowl, it </em><em>bes</em><em> the bowl.</em>

    <em></em>A realisation dawned upon her. When one poured waterit could go <em>anywhere, </em>could it not<em>?</em>

    <em></em>She looked again to her bindings.

    or fit through <em>any gap?</em>

    Wurhi gulped down her nerves, throwing a nce toward the sabre-toothed tiger. It still watched her, but its only movement came from the rise and fall of its cavernous chest. Perhaps it would act when it saw what she was about to dobut what choice did she have?

    Exhaling a deep breath, she fell into herself and touched the rat within her mind. In past, when calling back her human form, there was always a struggle with the beast to force it back down. Yet now, though it offered resistance at first, it became soothed by her touch.

    It retreated willingly.

    And

    <em>Crack!</em>

    <em> </em>so came the familiar agony.

    Bone shattered.

    Flesh boiled.

    Wurhi screamed.

    Fighting to concentrate, she forced her warping eyes open. Her hands shifted like liquid, with crumbling bone reforming by the heartbeat. Through a measure of will, the Zabyan shapeshifter moved her transforming body. Gritting blunting teeth, she again ced her bronze bonds to the tip of the antler, forcing it into the gap between her distorting wrists.

    With a violent wrench, she pulled hard.

    <em>Schlp.</em>

    <em></em>Malleable like y, her changing hands slipped out like escaping water.

    A cry of triumph - half-womans and half-rodents - swept up from her shortening maw, and she wasted not a moment in pulling her still-transforming feet through their bonds.

    <em>Thmp. Thmp.</em>

    <em></em>Bronze fell to straw.

    As she returned to human form, she was <em>free.</em>

    Gasping and giddy with relief, she quickly inspected her injured hand for the aggravation such a maneuver would have causedbut noticed something was different. The pain had decreased significantly. In pulling free from her bonds, she had also slipped the dressing from her fingers, revealing them clearly.

    Swelling hadrgely abated and she could gently begin to move her fingers: <em>days worth of healing had urred in mere moments.</em> But why? Did something happen when she forced her hand through the bonds?

    Yesmaybe-

    A shadow fell over her.

    Low cavernous breaths washed over her back.

    With a yelp, she scampered away from her pit-mate. The sabre-tooth tiger had crossed the distance without a sound. Such arge creature moving so silently frayed her nerves on a primal level.

    Even her hands shook

    She froze.

    Her hands.

    Her now very, very human hands.

    And it was <em>rat</em> flesh the beast disliked.

    Oh shit<em>oh shit!</em> she cried, scrambling across the pit to sy herself against a wall. She noticed a tunnel that seemed to lead deeper into the mountain, but the beast was between it and her. Also, her panicked mind had more pressing matters to consider.

    Such as <em>death by mauling.</em>

    She shut her eyes, unable to watch its inevitable spring.

    This breath would be herst.

    Wurhi gulped in sweet mountain air.

    Now woulde the pain.

    Alright, <em>this</em> breath would be-

    Okay, what in every hell? she forced her eyes open.

    The beast had not attacked her. With curiosity, the great cat tilted its head while watching the frightened Zabyan, then nced at one of the rats. Its head tilted further when it looked back to her.

    It slowly dawned on her what was going through its mind.

    Youre confused. Her chest heaved. Perhaps it was because she had been conversing in Laexondaelic so much as ofte, but it was in this tongue that she spoke now. Youve seen the wolves turn, but not someone like me: not a rat.

    The beasts eyes seemed to sharpen at the word rat, and it looked again to the rodents.

    Well, good thing Im a rat. Dont think you like those very much.

    It gave a snort of distaste, which she ignored.

    Never been so happy about my fathers gift, she gave a delirium-tingedugh. It saved me from you, and Id have never gotten free of those shackles withoutit

    Wurhis breath stopped.

    The sabre-toothed tiger - an <em>animal </em>- had cocked its ears toward her at the word shackles, then curiously shifted the discarded bronze bindings with its paw.

    Her eyes grew very wide.

    Again, Milos words rose from the annals of her mind.

    <em>three generations of choosing sires and mothers for size and intellect. He gestured to the skeleton. His mother was nearly what I wished forbut I had the thought of introducing sorcery into the bloodline.</em>

    <em></em>Sorcery. Capable of all sorts of strange things, as she had witnessed.

    Perhaps even

    Cancan you understand what Im saying?

    The beast paused in prodding one of the pieces of bronze.

    That battering ram-like head rose up to the height of its shoulder - as high as many men were tall - and regarded her in silence.

    Then it <em>nodded.</em>

    She nearly fainted.

 Swords III

    Swords III

    Haldrych and Adelmar found the beast-man within a lonely tunnel, curled up beneath its misery. The brute moaned piteously - blood-drenched chain clinking with its terrible fits  as it stared at the ruined stump where once had been a hand. The great wound was bandaged and sutured shut to stymie bleeding, and a topical oil of poppy and willow had been poured over the stump to dull the pain. The bandages wicked bright red.

    Milos had tended the wound then cast the creature aside to brood on its circumstance. Coiled onto itself to nurse its suffering, the cult had left it in peace.

    All save for these two.

    A scuff of robe on stone alerted the sharp-sensed creature of their approach, and It stirred at once, flying to its feet in a blur of motion with fangs bared.

    <em>Thrmp!</em>

    <em></em>It crashed its fist into the wall and rushed toward the young men in a disy of strength - instinctually angling its body to ce the injured limb away from them. Both Haldrych and Adelmar leapt back, but thetter bared his own teeth with shing eyes.

    A menacing growl sounded from his throat and the beast-man bellowed in return.

    Haldrych cried out in fright. Wait! Wait! Friends! Friends! We are friends!

    Adelmar snarled. His nails began to grow into ws. The best-mans hostility deepened. Its thews tensed for a charge.

    Friends! <em>Friends!</em> Haldrych continued to cry, looking pointedly to his fellow. Stop it, Adelmar! Wee as friends! <em>Friends</em>! he emphasized.

    The young lycanthropes jaw tensed but - with a deep, shuddering sigh - soothed his own inner beast. His shoulders ckened and the shine dimmed in his eyes. Yes he grunted. friends.

    The beast-man paused; its ruddy brow creased in contemtion. Its fangs disappeared behind taut lips. <em>Friends</em> a hideous voice mimicked Haldrychs word, and the young poet nearly copsed in relief.

    Yes<em>friends,</em> he pushed on quickly. Friends like your master. Friends like Milos.

    He pointed toward the wall, roughly in the direction of the Sacred Alphas quarters. Dull simian eyes followed his outstretched digit. <em>Friiieeeeends.</em> The strange utterance emerged once more from cracked lips.

    Yes, yes, good. Me- Haldrych pointed to himself. And he- he pointed to Adelmar. Are friends with you. We like you and want to help you.

    He brought his tone low and softened it to a soothing gentleness - the same he had used when first training Marctinus. Bad woman did bad things to you. Yes?

    A gesture brought the beast-mans attention to its own broad belt, and the jewelled, silver sword that glittered through the leather. It paused, as though shocked to find it there, and suddenly gave an agitated roar. Its ruddy hand snatched the delicate de up and drew it high.

    Wait! What are yo-

    Move aside, fool! Adelmar dragged his friend back. I told you this was folly!

    <em>Crash!</em>

    The beast-man struck the de against the stone wall repeatedly, seeking to destroy it with his full strength. Silver bent as Haldrych cringed, awaiting the inevitable crack and shearing of metal.

    It never came.

    The lean de would bend until it curved upon itself like a reed in a gale, yet would spring back to uprightness even as the beast exerted itself to the limit.

    <em>tter!</em>

    <em></em>Irritated, the ape flung the sword down and trampled its hilt with one of its heavy, broad feet. The hilt should have spit out its glittering gems, releasing them all over the stones, but it remained unmarred as though still within its crafters caring hands.

    That is <em>some</em> sword, Adelmar murmured.

    <em></em>Yesit is at that. The young poets admiring eyes had fixed upon the de as though it were the curve of Juliannas hips.

    He had not taken heed of it before, but he saw now that it was a truly kingly weapon: lean silver flowed gracefully to its jewel-crusted hilt that some might call gaudy, but that <em>he</em> would call the weapon of a warrior-king.

    Would it not be incredibly handsome in his hand? Sparkling with the rise of the sun, it would catch its rays as he lifted it to courageously smite his foes! Yes<em>yes.</em> It would evenplement the Eye of Radiin about his neck, bringing both to ultimate perfection!

    And its <em>strength!</em> A sword so delicate should have <em>crumbled</em> beneath the brutes rude assault - which continued even through Haldrychs greed-tinged thoughts - but it remained as steadfast as a mountain wall.

    Oh, what he could do with such a thing! He could well imagine it!

    Haldrych Ameldan, warrior-poet, d in the finest bronze with hair blowing in an icy wind! In his hand would glitter this de like deadly ice while the Eye of Radiin would shine about his neck. They would erect his likeness, perfectly carved in marble, and women - so beautiful they would make theely Julianna look a mere hag - would flock to his bedchamber!

    A snow of silver? Pshaw!

    He would soar above such paltry sums! He was transcendent! He would make it rain <em>gold!</em>

    Yes, this was meant to be! The thief took my steed but I will take her weapon - it <em>far</em> better suits my hand! he thought in childish glee. At longst, he would gain the pieces needed to begin his new life.

    His <em>true life.</em>

    <em></em>Haldrych leaned toward Adelmar. Does this creature have a name?

    The merchants son shrugged distantly, struck as he was by the beasts futile attempts to crush the obstinate de.

    Erm, the young poet cleared his throat.

    The beast paused, with foot raised almostically, and its bloodshot eyes bore into Haldrych. The future warrior-poet cringed from that gaze like a yearlingmb before a ravenous bear. Erm<em>friend.</em> He tried to keep his voice from shaking. I want to kill bad woman. He pointed toward the sword. <em>Bad woman.</em>

    <em></em>He mimed a biting motion at his own hand and then ran a thumb over his neck as though slitting it. Kill bad woman?

    The beast-man grunted. <em>Kill.</em>

    Haldrych smiled. Your master made you go away. Because bad woman hurt you.

    Another grunt. <em>Kill. Kill little bad woman.</em>

    Good, goooood, the young poet urged, his eyesing alight. I want to kill too. I. He pointed at himself. Will show you. He pointed to the beast. Where bad woman is. He pointed to the de. So you can <em>kill.</em>

    With a simian whoop, the beast pounded the wall in excitement. <em>Bad woman I kill.</em> It pointed at Haldrych. S<em>how me where. </em>It pointed to its broad chest. <em>Then master happy.</em>

    <em></em>Yeeeesss the young patriarch grinned. You take sword and you kill slow. Then tell master you did good thing.

    <em>Yes! Good! Good!</em> the beast-man whooped, scooping up the de in its ruddy paw. It was but a mere needle in its meaty hand. <em>You. Friend show me.</em>

    Yes! the young poet said cheerily. Ill show you! Come!

    Whirling about, he started down the hall with the dumbfounded Adelmar following and the rangy beast-man loping behind.

    Haldrych

    Not now, Adelmar, he hissed. Do as I say.

    The unlikely trio stole through the mountain passageways, keeping to tunnels that were darkened and rarely travelled. At several points, the poet paused to stoke the creatures excitement or calm its excited growls, but atst they came to a passage close to their quarry.

    It will be easy, Haldrych instructed the creature once more. Sneak in quiet. Lift away the rocks and stab her, then go see your master.

    <em>Good! Good!</em>

    A hideous scraping sound burst from the beast-mans throat, and it paused to groom some dust from the young patriarchs dark robe. <em>Friend</em>. It said.

    Yes. Haldrych agreed. Friend.

    With a bloodthirsty snort, the bronze-d beast loped toward its prey. It did not nce to its wake, for if it had, it might have caught the wide, victorious grin that the poet could no longer suppress.

    And so, my assassin flies, like an arrow thrown from my bowstring, he snickered. And into the heart of my enemy.

    Howhow did you do that? Adelmar stammered, looking at his friend as though seeing him clearly for the first time.

    Haldrych shrugged, his heart aglow with his own brilliance. I am a poet, old friend. I have a way with words.

    fair enough, the merchants son nced down the passage. So, what happens now, oh master nner? Do we follow him and watch?

    No, no! We must be away from here, and quickly! Haldrych caught his old friends arm and dragged him along at a trot. We should abide <em>far </em>from this part of the mountain.

    Why?

    The poets eyes shone with cunning. Here is how it will end: the monkey will stab that little thief to death with her own sword and - hopefully - smash her body until it is jam. Then it will scurry back to its master with bloody sword in hand, and <em>he</em> will fly into a rage and y it - it was already cast aside, after all, and now it would have gone against his will <em>again</em>. Then after your sacred Milos rage cools, <em>I</em> shall im the de for myself - it will suit me well - and that wretched little thief will be dead! He paused his gloating to grin. None will suspect we had anything to do with it! After all, the beast did have all the reason to go after the little <em>whelp!</em>

    That Adelmar frowned, then smiled. Thats good! Not sure if youll get the swordbut the rest is good.

    OhIll find a way. He gave a tight, giddy chuckle. I am taking my fate back into my hands, and that sword is meant for me.

    His chest swelled with certainty. It will find its way to me, in the end.

    Wurhi did not quite faint, after all.

    But her knees did go weak and she did slide down the wall, dropping onto her rump while the sabre-toothed tiger mirrored her movement: sitting down upon its haunches.

    Wait! Am I seeing things? Did that cat just nod?

    A pause.

    Okayokayokay, Wurhi. She shook herself. Lets try and sort this out. Her mind whirled, attempting to sift through recent happenings and wring some sense out of them. That mange-ridden bastard had thrown her down here with the tiger. It did not eat her because it probably didnt like rat.

    Waitcould she<em>ask?</em>

    She looked at the creature reluctantly, trying not to meet its sapient gaze. Youyou not like rat meat?

    A pause.

    She sighed. Perhaps she had only imagined it <em>nodding</em> when it-

    Ooooh, sweet mother of the gods <em>now </em>it was shaking its head! The thrice-damned rhinoceros sized cat was <em>shaking its thrice damned head like a thrice damned human! Shit! Shit!</em>

    ''So, this means the cat <em>can </em>understand, her thoughts raced. Really, really damn well. But

    Her brow furrowed in thought. Its master hadnt said a word to it, no more than he had when ordering about his beast-man. Noif she really thought about it, he spoke to this beastie even less.

    Why had he not said a word to it when he dropped her down into the hole?

    Unless

    Hey, she addressed it again, but paused as the words caught in her throat. She was talking to an animal. Not talking <em>at</em> an animal, not <em>calling</em> it or cursing it or ordering it, she was talking <em>to </em>it. This was madness! Utter mad-

    It grunted at her.

    <em>Somehow</em>, she sensed a note of impatience in its tone.

 Swords IV

    Swords IV

    Does that leader-mando any of them <em>know </em>you understand them?

    Another pause.

    Then a snort of distaste followed by another shake of the head.

    Ohokay, she murmured.

    Her blood froze colder than the night-chilled mountain air. This tiger was not only intelligent, but <em>wise</em> enough to hide its sapience from its masters. <em>That</em> did not bode well: a wild creature that could reason was frightening enough, but one that knew to <em>deceive?</em>

    That showed all the intellect of a human, married to the primal power of a great predator. A terrifying possibility: the filthy cult leader had worked his craft better than he could have imagined. Now, the question was, <em>why</em> the deception?

    She forced her gaze to the cats eyes. You hate them, dont you? All those dog-faced bastards, you hate them. And you <em>hate</em> that smug, self-licking Milos most of all dont you?

    A thunderous growl filled the pit.

    Lips pulled back to reveal its deadly fangs.

    For a heartbeat, Wurhi thought this was it. That she had provoked it and drawn forth its ire. Yet, as a few breaths passed, it did not pounce upon her. Instead, it simply nodded once more. She realized that the growl had not been a sound of threat.

    But one of affirmation.

    A sh of insight struck her. I hate those bastards too!

    The tiger stamped the earth with a great paw and vigorously nodded its massive head, its fangs glinting in the moonlight. Then, it cocked its head and stared at her. Confusion? At what? It understood the word hateso that meant

    oh.

    Okay, okay, okay Wurhi started. <em>Bastard?</em> Well a bastard means

    She stopped. What was she doing? Was she truly trying to exin the concept of bastardy, matrimony and inheritance to an <em>animal?</em>

    It means someone you hate a whole lot. She quickly muttered.

    Close enough.

    The beast gave a snort of approval.

    Yes. Definitely close enough.

    This is actually fun, she smiled, watching the gigantic predator strangely mimicking human motion. Or maybe it shouldnt be. Who knows? After whats happened in this damned mountain, Im probably half-mad, anyway!

    She gave the tiger an appraising look.

    In the strangest of ways, it seemed that the Zabyan - in this beasts den full of the bones of its victims - had atst found an ally. Her gaze traced the monstrous ws, fangs and mountainous, iron-thews bunching beneath its hide.

    And perhaps a powerful one at that.

    Yet, misgivings tugged at her thoughts: this creature was one of the cult leaders grandest prizes; the achievement that crowned his many attempts at wringing strength from flesh, blood and bone.

    It was his servant, and she had witnessed it kill by hismand.

    She shuddered at the thought of ferocious ws tearing through manticore hide as though it were rotten meat wrapped in wet papyrus. This beast could do the same to her with but one w, and perhaps there was a game to its actions.

    Its master had wished her to die violently at the end of a slow, grim contemtion, while death hung over her like a waiting gallows. If this tiger had understood that vile mans words and wishes, then perhaps this was its way of executing hismand with the cunningest of primal cruelty.

    To <em>pretend</em> to share a joined loathing - deception was no stranger to it, after all - to draw down her defences so that she would trust it.

    Then, when she had rxed her guard? Her eyes drifted to those sword-like fangs and she shuddered. Perhaps she should deceive it in turn: fake falling for its game until she could find a way to end it or escape.

    Or

    She paused once more, wavering on a decision that could determine the present course, and probably length, of her life. She chewed her lip

    and memories returned to her.

    One seemed an echo from across a lifetime.

    She and a newly met Sengezian had pressed into a Merchant Princes demesne, seeking to break his demonic power and steal his treasure for their own. At the time, she had suffered abandonment by her long-time partner, Kashta of Mabatia, and so had warily anticipated the same from this stranger.

    Yet, the Sengezian had conducted himself with trustworthiness and honour - and no small amount of kindness toward her - while she had been prepared to slip a knife between his shoulders. She cringed at the very thought of that now - for Kyembe had be one of the closest bonds of her lifetime.

    Yet, she had nearly done the same again, had she not?

    The crazed knight.

    She and Kyembe hade upon Cristabel at the bottom of a pit in the Forest of Giants. Wurhi snorted at the irony: here she now was in a pit, trapped just as Cristabel had been, and <em>she</em> had pushed to leave the holy woman where they had found her.

    Out of desperate need, she herself had freed the knight in time, and the mighty woman had gone on to save both of their lives without hesitation.

    The Zabyan looked upon the tiger.

    It all seemed so utterly mad. On the streets of Zabya, ones morning friend could be ones assassin by moonrise. Even a partner of many years - as Kashta had shown - could leave oath, bond and friendship behind for greater greed.

    <em></em>But twice now, trusting another in need had saved her life.

    She shook herself, resolve rousing her, and took a deep breath.

    She no longer dwelled upon the streets of Zabya, and perhaps it was time she started acting like it. Drawing herself up, she peered directly into the beasts eyes. Hey. Do you wanna escape with me?

    Bounding up from its haunches, the tiger let loose a roar that shook stone and drifted to the peaks above, soaring into the night.

    Wurhi grinned. Okay, then. Cmon, lets run the hell away together.

    <em></em>Milos of Crotonia nced to the window, his attention drawn by a familiar roar. As it overran the mountains and swelled into the sky, his mood darkened.

    You acted too swiftly, he muttered, and though his words were aimed at his tiger, their intent was pointed inward.

    He had allowed himself to grow emotional and foolhardy. Attached to his beast-man and focused on his hopes for Crixus, he had acted out of rage: driven by his inner beast toward the path of unrestrained and petty vengeance.

    This was not the path of a Sacred Alpha. It <em>demeaned</em> him.

    Lycundars blessing brought with it a primordial rage that would strengthen the beast - as long as one held onto restraint and was not controlled by primal urges. A true leader, a <em>truly</em> blessed Sacred Alpha, was the embodiment of wisdom, lupine cunning and predatory instinct, not ravenous rage.

    Had he been one with his wisdom, then losses might have been mitigated: the Zabyan proved herself beyond his expectation. While the loss of Crixus and his beast had been a pity, he might have been able to tame the rat shapeshifters unruliness and gain a precious subject.

    Now, that potential had died along with the Rat, and the losses had simply multiplied.

    Be better, he murmured to himself.

    The only constion was that this entire bloody affair started by that Ameldan pup - who he struggled to tolerate with increasing difficulty - was atst finished.

    Did you hear that? Kyembe nced to St. Cristabel, his crimson eyes wide.

    In my very <em>bones.</em> The knight lifted her visor, peering up at the mountain from their hidden shelter within the pines. Can you tell where it came from?

    The half-dark elf squinted toward the summit. Nosomewhere on the far side, perhaps. I cannot be sure: the echoes muddy the sound.

    Hrm, Cristabel grunted. No matter. Remember what Jeva wrung from that wolf-devil: likely that cry belongs to one of the beasts bred by their foul master. No doubt we shall meet it in due time.

    I would rather find Wurhi before we meet the owner of <em>that</em> roar.

    Truly. Rescue first. An anticipatory smile took her lips as her eyes drifted over the fortification before the massive cavern into the mountain. And then<em>glory </emter.

    Kyembe shot her a look. Come, let us circle this ce and see which way we can slip in.

    Wurhi promised to never make a grand deration again.

    She had gleefully rushed into the tunnel leading from the tigers enclosure but had only found disappointment within. Aside from severalrge sleeping chambers carved into the rock - this great cat enjoyed more rooms in itsir than most people in their homes - the tunnel had merely yawned open into another pit deep within the mountain.

    The inner chamber had proved well-guarded: the murmuring and gossiping of no less than a half score of cultists echoed above. Any attempt at exit from here would raise rm and bring a mass of cultists down upon their heads.

    The little Zabyan puzzled as she re-emerged into the outdoor pit. Golden eyes shone as the cat watched her return. It likely knew the futility of escape by that route and so had not bothered to follow her.

    Now, though, it rose from its haunches and watched her with rapt attention.

    Hold on, Im thinking, Im thinking. She eyed the interlocking logs above.

    They were woven closer together than within the pits in other parts of the mountain, and bronze bars reinforced them. The only boon about this ce was that ity unguarded.

    She nced about to consider her resources: bones that could make for useful tools littered the pit. Wurhi considered the antlers of the horned skeleton, which might have made for a crude saw or chisel. As she thought on this, she spied a knot of rats congregating about a skeletal leg. The little vermin had set upon a thick thigh bone - working through it with sharp incisors. Together, they efficiently etched a tunnel to reach the marrow within.

    The white bone shavings littering the straw were testament to the power within their tiny jaws and the hardness of their teeth. A strange idea began to brew in Wurhis mind. In her other form, she had split the beast-mans thick wrist as though it were straw.

    She nced to the wood and bronze above.

    Wurhi the Rat did not hesitate.

 Swords V

    Swords V

    The transformations had grown easier, she quickly discovered.

    Agony brought on by splitting bone and boiling flesh suffused her being, but the peak of pain no longer rose quite so high and the change proved swifter. The rat humanoid shook herself as her other form solidified.

    She nced to the tiger - who watched her with rapt curiosity, and opened her mouth.

    A pause.

    perhaps she should have transformed <em>after</em> exining her notion to it.

    Ah, well. It would see soon enough. She eyed the wall of the pit. No ramp wrapped about the edge to ease ascension: no doubt the wolfmen had feared that, given the leverage of a ramp to stand upon, the beasts strength would have easily forced aside the reinforced logs.

    She came to the wall and began to consider how to scale it. She could ascend one-handed, but would need secure leverage for what she nned to do upon reaching the top.

    Something bumped her from behind.

    The tiger had approached in its silent manner and eyed the logs above their heads. In a blur of motion, it bunched up and rose onto its hind quarters, supporting itself by cing its forepaws against the wall.

    So massive did it stand, that it reached more than half the distance to the pits top. It then nced at her meaningfully. She would have grinned, if a rat could grin. A quick leap carried her to the creatures back and the little thief scaled it with ease. The ws on her uninjured hand jutted into its flesh, but it gave no sign of difort - its hide seemed resilient enough to face spears without parting.

    Perching on the sabre-tooths head, she coiled and thenunched herself into the air, her hand catching one of the logs above. She folded her body until able to hook her feet through the gaps in the wood and brace herself while baring her teeth.

    <em>Crnch.</em>

    <em></em>She sank her incisors into the lumber. Vicious teeth shaved away the hardwood and sent a rain of chips falling into the hole below. Pausing upon reaching the cold bronze, she tried her incisors against the metal.

    <em>hhrrrnk.</em>

    <em></em>Beady eyes widened as metal shavings cascaded through the air. Not surprisingly, bronze proved harder than wood, but her magnificent teeth made quick work of it all the same.

    She could not help but curse herself.

    How many past heists would have been eased had she known her teeth could reduce wood, metal, and perhaps even stone? She vowed to explore the possibilities. Pausing on asion as splinters threatened her gums, the determined rat shapeshifter gnawed cleanly through arge section of the bound logs and-

    <em>Thmp.</em>

    <em></em>A crisscross of wood and bronze copsed to the bedding and bone below. With a triumphant chitter, she scurried through the hole and onto the surface.

    Wurhi of Zabya paused beneath the cool mountain air and light of the full moon. Her body thrummed with excitement and it was all she could do to stop herself from screeching with joy.

    She was free! By every demon and god in the world, she was atst free!

    Scurrying to the precipice, she peered over at the snows far below. The pines bent to a dusting of white sifting through their needles. Moonlight shimmered on the rivers roaring tongue. She could almost <em>feel</em> its damp chill even from this height. The rocky sides of the teau appeared scble by one of her skill - especially with the ws of her bestial form.

    Atst - an escape routey before her.

    And yet, Wurhi the Rat turned from the precipice without hesitation.

    She scurried to wrap an arm around one of the great rocks ced upon the logs.

    A coward she might have been, but the cat below shared her hatred for these wolves, had not eaten her, and had helped her reach freedom. That - at least for now - made it arade, as strange as that was. She would free it from its prison before she departed.

    <em>Drrrrrr.</em>

    <em></em>Her bestial strength proved great enough to drag aside the rock. Now, for the next

    The wind changed.

    The scent saved her.

    A familiar acrid musk,bined with blood and sweat-drenched bronze.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    <em></em>Wurhi leapt to the ground as a great stone shot over her head and swept out to crash deep into the river below. She bound to her feet in an instant, her teeth bared at the attacker she knew to be waiting.

    The beast-man had abided.

    Quickly and quietly loping to the tigers pit, it had edged to the hole sometime earlier, stealthily peering into the enclosure from the side. Yet it had not spied its prey within. Grasping hold of frustration as taught by its master, it had snatched up a pair of the massive stones and withdrew to wait in the shelter within the tunnel leading deep into the mountain. It had plotted to remain hidden until sleep took the great beast, then shift aside the logs and skewer his enemy on the de.

    If the cat awoke, it would instead crush the rat-woman with the rocks, then rece the logs and be padding back to thefort of its masters side.

    Its dull mind swelled with pride at such a cunning n.

    The hated rat-things smell still lurked on the wind.

    It knew she would return eventually.

    All prey came back to their holes.

    It made ready at the sounds of her return, but stilled at rough crunching rising from the pit. Perhaps the great cat was awake and eating, it surmised and prepared to wait.

    Suddenly, the little rat emerged into the night, shocking the beast-man from contemtion into action. It hurled a boulder at her almost by reflex, missing the hated rat-thing.

    Growling in frustration, it snatched up the shiny-pointy and stalked forward.

    Wurhi crouched low as the ape approached her with fangs bared and eyes bloodshot. Its bulk seemed akin to the mountain above, yet it moved like a cat with <em>her</em> sword clumsily pointed toward her. She snarled, outraged at the sight of her de in its hand.

    She <em>would </em>have it back, even if she had to pry it from its cold, dead hand.

    The thief darted at the beast, but it dropped low, thrusting the de toward her. Her hind ws bit into the snow to halt her rush. The beast was alert now, carefully keeping its focus on her. Slipping through its legs in the arena had been a consequence of her speed, and itsck of caution.

    Now it was ready.

    She nced past its broad frame, but its arms spread in response.

    It would not let her pass.

    She backed away, but could not retreat forever - once it had her pinned to the precipice, it would simply reach forward with those hideously quick reflexes and skewer her like a speared fish.

    Unless

    A wicked grin took her lips, appearing on her rodent features as a vicious snarl. She thought of the pit only a few steps behind her, and the edge of the cliff beyond.

    Snorting, she lowered herself as though ready for a charge.

    The ape tensed.

    Then, she turned and ran the hell away.

    Racing across the logs, Wurhi aimed for the cliff at full speed. Her ears flicked back, catching the apes surprised grunt, then rmed cry.

    Thats right. She scampered past the rocks. Im making for the cliff edge. Follow me, you drooling bastard, or you wont get me!

    As though answering her thoughts, she heard it charge.

    Its feet pounded the stone.

    Its weighty bronze jangled with every movement.

    In its haste, it could not pause to consider - caught between the innate drive of an animal and the plotting of a sentient creature. The logs creaked as its weight hit them. Reinforced by bronze, they might have supported even <em>its</em> great mass, but she had already chewed a broad hole in their midst.

    <em>Crsh!</em>

    <em></em>They gave way beneath the headlong rush of Milos creation.

    With a cry, the beast-man plunged through the copsing logs, managing to grasp one with his remaining hand. In a desperate reach to save its own life, it released Wurhis de.

    And the Zabyan did not hesitate.

    She snatched the sword up and shed a deadly arc across its ruddy hand.

    <em>Scrtch!</em>

    Fingers flew free from spurting stumps.

    Bellowing in agony, it plummeted straight down into the pit below.

    <em>Crash.</em>

    <em></em>Perhaps it was bestial instinct that drove it to its feet so quickly. Perhaps it was training. Perhaps it was simply rage. But, by whatever means, the beast-man bound upward and prepared to spring up after the hated rat-woman.

    <em>Groaaar!</em>

    Until an earth-shattering snarl froze it in ce.

    The sabre-toothed tiger leapt upon it from behind, driving it into the earth with all its titanic bulk. The beast-man cried out, trying to turn, but those deadly jaws quickly closed on the nape of its neck. Layers of bronze, unable to withstand the unyielding teeth of the giant cat, popped beneath their points.

    The ape iled as Wurhi watched coldly, bringing her wounded hand up as she did.

    <em>Crnch.</em>

    <em></em>its exposed neck offered no resistance against the death-grip of those jaws, and the beast-mans spine severed. A rasping breath escaped its barrelled chest and it shuddered as though chilled.

    The creature gasped, then stilled.

    It wouldy in its masters mountain forevermore.

    She spit at it from above, then began to shift back to her human form.

    Thank you, she whispered to the great cat as her body shook off thest throes of the change.

    Now,e on. She gestured to the hole in the wood - more than wide enough for the creature to pass through. Youre strong enough to jump that, arent you?

    It answered by way of bounding up, catching the side of the pit with its ws, and quickly climbing onto the teau. The pair stood, triumphant in the moonlight.

    Dark blood dripped from the sword in the rats hand.

    Dark blood dripped from the swords in the cats maw.

    They looked at each other and Wurhi nced first to the cliff and then to her de. She had been right. Reiming it <em>had</em> made her feel more vicious.

    Come, she beckoned to the beast as she stalked toward the tunnel. Lets go make some trouble.

    The Zabyans lips curved.

    The cultists were very fond of keeping ves and beasts for their entertainment.

    <em>Two captives</em> freed had killed their leaders prized pet.

    Her smile widened.

    So just what would happen were <em>all</em> of the captives set free?

    She intended to find out.

 Lycundars Bane I

    Lycundar''s Bane I

    <em>Schnk.</em>

    A silver de thrust into the acolytes back, sliding cleanly through his ribs and deep into his beating heart. His blood-choked gasp alerted hispanion, and the rmed man whirled toward the dying acolyte and held up his oilmp. He had no chance to cry out.

    <em>Rrrrrrrrrp!</em>

    <em></em>Massive feline ws swiped the side of his head, tearing free his mask - and most of the face beneath - and ripping open his neck. As both men slumped to the stone, a short, olive skinned woman and a titanic sabre toothed-tiger looked toward a crossroad of tunnels. The guttering light from the ming oil of the acolytes droppedmp created writhing shadows across the open mouths of the caves ahead.

    <em>Sniff.</em>

    <em></em>Wurhi wiped her de on one of the mens robes as her nostrils red.

    <em></em>Thats six dead. This way. She nodded to the leftmost tunnel.

    The cats eyes shone, and it turned toward one of the opposite tunnels, letting loose a low, rumbling growl. The scent of wolf drifted from the centre passage, and Wurhi watched it tense in anticipation of vengeance.

    Later,ter! she whispered. First well set the others free.

    The tiger eyed her before letting out a grunt of acknowledgement and following, to her relief. The great cat had proven a strangefort as they had weaved through the pathways of the mountain. Its eerie silence and eerier sapience had made it a fine ambush partner to stalk with, soundlessly, through the dark.

    They had fallen upon lone acolytes or those travelling in pairs, silencing them by silver and fang, while hiding from those that moved in packs. Theserger groups had grown more frequent, and the mountain tunnels seemed to teem with cultists - all making their way toward one ce.

    <em>Thm. Thm. Thm.</em>

    <em></em>A sinister drumming resounded through the bowels of the mountain, calling forth the servants of the wolf god. Their chanting had swelled, seemingly roaring from every stone, and stiffening the hairs on the back of Wurhis neck. Her hand tightened upon her sword.

    The air seemed to thrum with anticipation as the chanting and drumming mounted in fervour, toward a dark purpose; Wurhi recalled Milos mention of weing more acolytes into their vile gods embrace. From the direction of the sound - though it was difficult to be sure in these tunnels - they were congregating within their blood-stained arena.

    Thankfully, that was not where her destinationy.

    Not yet.

    Though she had no knowledge of the paths through the mountain, her goal could not hide from her nose. The pits into which she had been thrown upon arrival spewed a vile rot that she could scarce forget, and in wandering the passages, her nose soon caught that familiar stench.

    It grew stronger as they moved forward,bining with the musk of beasts and unwashed bodies of captives and ves. The Rat and the cat slipped around a corner into a well-lit hall. The foul odour of the pits was overwhelming. Muffled voices sounded from the tunnels ahead - both the grumble of caged beasts and the moans of prisoners in misery.

    She hoped Merrick the Hawk would be somewhere among their number. It was time to fulfil the truce they had struck when they were first imprisoned. She had found escape first, and she would now share it. Wurhi threw a nce to the vast, beautiful predator stalking at her side.

    Her mouth split in a tight grin.

    She couldnt wait to show the Laexondaelic thief what she had found.

    What do you mean you cannot find him? Milos frowned.

    Berard scratched his thick, ck beard. A reddened bandage pressed against the wound he had struck into his own face. Thats just it, Sacred Alpha. I had some of the acolytes search through the nearby tunnels, but we cannot find a hair of the beast.

    And the scent?

    His past trails through the tunnels confounds tracking him by smell: I followed it as best I could, but lost it many times. What would you like me to do, Sacred Alpha?

    Milos grunted, puzzling after the whereabouts of his beast-man. The creature had departed his chambers in low spirits - he had treated it coldly - but in the past when he had shown it displeasure, it had always sulked nearby. This behaviour was strange.

    Of course, it had never lost a hand before.

    Leave it for now, Berard. The cult leader rose from beside the roaring fire. The light danced across the heads of the wolf god. Lycundar calls to us, and we must answer.

    Yes, Sacred Alpha, Berard bowed. We shall find him tomorrow.

    Yes Milos adjusted his robe as he approached the curtained exit, ncing to the moonlit mountain peaks through the stone window. Snow and wind raked their sides; it could well block the full moon for the ceremony. His mind drifted to the roar that had echoed through the mountains earlier, heralding his prized cats ying of The Rat.

    Or so he had thought at the time.

    Could his beast-man have acted on vengeance? He frowned at the possibility, but dismissed it, for the beast did not know where his tormentory. It would be unlikely. Yet that thought could not stymie the growing unease in his chest. Too many things had turned sour as ofte. On second thought, perhaps it would be best to seek him out tonight, once the ceremony is finished.

    The two towering men passed through the curtain and into the darkened hall.

    Berards reply receded as they travelled from the room, his voice quickly sinking beneath the endless chanting and hammering from the arena. The chambery empty in their wake, with the only furtive movementing from the shadows cast by moon and dimming firelight, and the asional sway of curtain by the wind.

    <em>p.</em>

    <em></em>Until a lean-fingered hand, the colour of burnt umber, clutched the windows rim from outside.

    Kyembe the Spirit Killer peered into the empty chamber, swiftly searching for any threat before vaulting into the room. His feet touched upon the piled carpets in silence as he drew his sword and glided into the space in a predatory half-crouch.

    A me was dying beneath a hideous, wolf-headed mantle, but it yet held too much life to have been left unattended for long. Cocking an ear, he listened cautiously for a time, but none stirred from either curtained passage beyond.

    Quietly turning back to the window, Kyembe peered out into the snowy night. The wind had risen, whipping the snow across the rocks below like a frozen mist that stung the flesh. The cliff face had grown slick and treacherous, but his fingers were clever and quick, and his grip sure. He had once scaled walls of burning marble in the Outer Labyrinths to escape imprisonment. A cold mountain troubled him not at all.

    But it had proven to be master of a certain Saint, who could not follow him.

    So, they had crafted a scheme better suited to each; one that would ensure attention would not fall upon him. He held his fist through the window and red hellfire into his ring, signalling with a sh of white-hot light through the swirling snow. Below, the golden glow of the Tears of Amitiyah shone in answer before winking out.

    The Traemean would start the climb up the narrow stair carven into the mountains side.

    He almost pitied any who stood in her path.

    His eyes narrowed.

    Or any that stood in his.

    Moving silently through the room coated in a chaotic menagerie of tapestry, he stole up to one of the curtains and drew it aside to peer at whaty beyond the portal. The demon- yers eyes widened with a hushed intake of breath as he covered his nose.

    Before himy a room of nightmares that could only be described as a house of pain.

    Animal skins covered the walls - stripped of fur and used as mediums for writing upon. Dozens of gruesome diagrams scrawled across their surfaces - each rendered in precise detail - of beasts and humans in various stages of dissection.

    Several long tables stood throughout the chamber in neat rows, and upon eachy vivisected creatures, all doused in foul smelling alchemical substances. Each subject was stranger than thest.

    A deer with ribs spread like the wings of a bloodied bird. Its viscera and head had been extracted and collected in a line of jars ced beside the body. A womans corpse; its head missing and a wolfs head sewn in its ce. A body of a manno. That was no man.

    It was a doll; a collection of parts from no less than a dozen animals sewn into a crude mockery of humanity. A needle threaded with catguty beside a strange collection of teeth, ready to be sewn into the propped open mouth of a mountain ape.

    Kyembe knew well what he looked upon. The chambers of alchemists, healers and necromancers often held simr abattoirs: hideaways where they could seek out the secrets hidden within the flesh. Both good and ill knowledge had arisen from such grim practices, in his experience. His own master, the Archwizard Kmark, had explored the secrets of the flesh hidden in in animals and demons.

    Yet, he doubted that any good had ever risen in this wolf-den.

    Shuddering, the Sengezian passed through the dissection chamber and found a bedroom beyond. It sported little more than a massive, opulent sleeping bed covered in wolf skins. He paused, then drew up some of the lupine hides, wrapping them about his knife-lean form to mask his scent. Satisfied, he crept back through the chambers, passed the firece mantle of writhing wolf heads, and slipped through the curtain into the hall beyond.

    Adjusting the furs around his over-robe, Kyembe stole down the darkened tunnel and into the depths of the mountain.

    <em>Crunch.</em>

    <em> Crunch.</em>

    <em></em>St. Cristabel mounted the stairs with slow and deliberate movement, concealing the sound of her armour as best she could. Valkyrie-forged as it was, its magics dulled any noise unlike armour forged by simple skill and craft, but clumsy or hurried motion would still sound like a copsing smithy.

    Perhaps Amitiyah had smiled upon their quest. Wind and snow had whipped into gusts cutting down visibility. The punishing winds bothered her little: as a child she had always been fine with the cold and - after passing through the gates into the afterworld and back - even winters harshest bite could touch her no longer.

    The howling of the wind served her well: masking the sound of her approach. With visor raised, she sought to listen through it. Snippets of voices undted, caught within the whistle of the gale. Ahead, upon the mountain stair, the wan light of a watch fire flickered beside a shelter perhaps some fifteen paces ahead. The voices were low, but she caught the odd word rising and falling: ceremony, cold, newers.

    She cared little for their conversation.

    Falling to one knee, she set her broad shield at her side andy her massive de across her armour-d thigh.

    Bowing her head, she closed her eyes.

    Oh, beloved Amitiyah, she prayed. Your humble servant calls upon you. Know that the deeds I do now are done in your name. May our enemies gazes draw to me so that Kyembe may be safe. May their ire draw to me so that Wurhi may be safe. May your blessing fall upon me and mine, and may your glory spread across thend and choke the vile Stheno and her treacherous servants.

    In response, the warmth of Amitiyahs Tears poured down her form.

    Argh! Whats that light?! came the cry from ahead.

    It begins, she rose, opening her eyes. Golden light refracted upon the snow around her, extending its ze across the mountain.

    <em>Clnk.</em>

    <em></em>She mmed down her visor and charged up the steps.

    The Traemeans powerful bounding put her among her hapless foes in a breath. They gasped as she loomed out of the snows - the golden light of Amitiyahs Tears shining upon the dark sapphire surface of her armour. The golden mammoth upon her shield red at them.

    Surrender or die! she roared.

    They answered by lifting their spears. One of the robed men ced a horn to his lips.

    <em>Woooooooor!</em>

    <em></em>A wan note - like a diseased wolfs howl - writhed up out of their shelter and into the night. Cristabel smiled as other horns and cries answered from up the mountain.

    A mistake, she told them. But one I had hoped you would make. Have at you, ckguards!

    The knight charged into them, her bearing sword - broad, heavy and longer than she was tall - striking with impossible speed.

    <em>Whoosh! Chp! Crunch! Hssss!</em>

    <em></em>It cleaved a crimson arc through the cultists - splitting them into bloody heaps that the Tears of Amitiyah burned - and dipped down to strike the watchfire. The impact sted the embers into the masked faces of the remaining cultists.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    Another swing tore them into red ruin while they recoiled and her shield punched out.

    <em>Crnch.</em>

    <em></em>Thests chest crumbled upon the heavy, enchanted metal.

    The knight spun and charged up the stairs, bellowing as she did. Come, viins! The Solidde Knightes to battle you tonight! Meet my challenge!

    <em>Boom!</em>

    <em></em>Her de struck the side of her shield, and both rang like the toll of an executioners bell. Come and meet your doom!

 Lycundars Bane II

    Lycundar''s Bane II

    Silently, Wurhi and the hunting cat darted into the room with both sword and teeth bared. The guards at the entrance only had time to whirl about when a silver de pierced one through the neck and massive jaws pressed down on anothers skull-

    <em>Slptch.</em>

    <em> -</em>popping it like a rotten grape.

    The Zabyan eyed the room, but found no more opponents. She recalled more guards when she had been taken to the arena - but it seemed that Milos nned ritual required the presence of most in the cult.

    She smiled. Lucky me.

    P-please, a voice moaned. A group of trembling ves, the ones used to open and close the pits, pressed against the wall on the opposite side of the chamber. D-dont hurt us!

    Hurt you? she blinked, then her grin widened. The little thief drew herself up, trying to mimic the same easy confidence of the Sengezian. Im not going to hurt you. She wiped the silver of her de free of gore. Were breaking out.

    What in all the-<em>Rat?! </em>a voice like scratching ss shouted from one of the holes. Rat! Is that you!?

    Her grin widened further until her cheeks hurt from it, and she scurried over to the hole where it hade from. Through the tied logs, Merrick, Saxa, Gannicus and Agron stared up at her.

    WhaII thought you were dead! the Hawk cried. Some guards were saying they fed you to that big, toothy ca-

    The titanic sabre-toothed tiger padded up to her, peering curiously into the pit.

    -aaaaaaaa <em>Oh bloody piss in hells and heavens!</em> he shrieked, stumbling backward in and nearly tripping over his feet.

    Now she widened her grin purposefully to the point where she <em>knew</em> it would be unnerving. Turns out. She nearly bounced in glee. My friend here hates master Milos almost as much as we do!

    The beast growled upon the mention of the name.

    Or maybe more. She shrugged. Cant ask.

    What Saxa had paled as though a corpse had leapt up before her and started cackling. of course you cant ask, <em>he</em> cant talk!

    Oh right, watch what you say. He understands us.

    <em>What?!</em> Merrick demanded.

    The chamber grew louder. The presence of the tiger had driven the other beasts into a frenzy, and they roared and moured up the ramps, throwing themselves against the logs sealing their prisons.

    Ooookay, we had better be moving. She looked to the tiger. Can you help me move these stonesoh right, you dont have hands.

    The cat looked at her, then casually batted a massive rock aside as though it was a mere ball of wool.

    fair enough. She shrugged. All of you! She pointed to the ves. Youe help too! Faster we move, the faster were out!

    The ves looked to each other, unsure of what to do.

    A growl sounded from the tigers throat.

    They quickly became sure of what to do.

    Between them, the great beast and Wurhi - though her help counted for little in her human form - they easily moved the stones and logs aside. Captives quickly mounted the ramps and sprang from the pits, tasting freedom. Some had dwelled in these hell holes for only a short span of time, but others were sallow and thin from their long imprisonment in the dark.

    Many wept.

    Many copsed in shock at their sudden liberty.

    Yet, others were quiet. Their jaws set and their eyes focused in barely stymied wrath. Were weapons ced in their hands, they would have set off to y their tormenters at once, which was a good thing, for that was what Wurhi intended next. Alright, heres what we do. Weve gotta get out of here. But were going to need weapons.

    Gannicus stepped forward. Why? We should just get out of here!

    Really? Just get out of here? she pped her forehead as if in sudden revtion. Just get out of here! Why didnt I think of that!?

    Right, theyve gathered for their ritual, so we can-

    -run into acolytes in the tunnels, get the rm raised and get trapped again? she offered.

    Well, we-

    -get smelled by the wolves and have our guts ripped out when were trying to fight back with our hands?

    No! We-

    -get lucky, Merrick jumped in. Get into the valley and freeze - because its bloody winter - or get seen from their watch posts on the mountains and get hunted down like little rabbits?

    Gannicus frowned. Alright, fine, we need weapons.

    But how do we get to them? Agron looked up to the ceiling. The chanting and booming resounded through the stones. The only armoury we might be able to find in this damned maze is the one next to the arena, and most of the damned cultll be there.

    Hes got a point, Rat, Merrick agreed.

    Wurhi frowned. Im working on something-

    There was a tug at the top of her ripped tunic.

    The sabre-toothed tiger was looking toward the pits.

    The ones they had not opened.

    The ones containing <em>beasts.</em>

    <em></em>Wurhi smiled. Im done working on something. Help me move some more rocks.

    <em>Lycundar! He who consumes himself! He who is destined to consume the sun! Bless us with your curses! Through strife we are made strong! Through struggle we are forged! The primal that was lost is gained once more through your bite! Your children who fall will feed those who survive! Their strength begets our strength! Our strength begets your strength! The pack lives, and tonight we witness ascension! Lycundar! He who consumes himself! He who is-</em> The chant repeated endlessly, with each beginning consuming the previous ending.

    <em></em>Milos smiled, ncing to the massive statue of Lycundar above. He might have imagined it, but its twelve heads seemed to be pleased.

    Nearly all the cult had gathered in the arena.

    The acolytes in seats above.

    The pack-brothers standing proudly in a circle on the sand.

    Their Sacred Alpha, standing among the circle - bathing in the pride of their gods chosen. New recruits were being lead into the arena - with sacks over their heads. None would ascend into lycanthropy tonight, but a full five would begin as acolytes beneath the sight of their wolf god.

    Yet, despite this joyous asion, a misgiving deepened in Milos belly. His animal instincts twitched within him. There was a wrongness in the air. Some portent of trouble. Perhaps the events of thest set of days had simply made him overcautious.

    Or perhaps not.

    We are under attack!

    The chanting ground to a halt.

    At the top of the chamber, an acolyte bent over himself, his breath ragged and his robes stained from sweat and snow. Some demon climbs the mountain! It speaks with a womans voice, but its words curl into many tongues in our ears! Wewe cannot stop it! It is coated in metal and a golden light that melts flesh like snow!

    Berard gasped nearby.

    Milos looked sharply to him. What is it?

    The woman! the massive lycanthrope hissed. From the pleasure temple! The one with impossible strength! That is her! The same golden light surrounded her and ate flesh and bone!

    A cold sensation froze Milos still, but his mind began to move very quickly.

    Very quickly indeed.

    He nced up toward the great hole in the ceiling: the wind masked the sound from outside, even now though the arena had fallen quiet. If that woman had found them

    I need ten volunteers to face the woman on the peak! Milos barked.

    Sacred Alpha!

    Half a score of pack-brothers stepped forward at once, including Berard and Adelmar.

    Not you, Berard, Milosmanded. I need you here. The rest of you, take a score of acolytes and throw her down the mountain. y her at once!

    Sacred Alpha!

    The pack brothers summoned eager acolytes down from their seats and rushed into the tunnels near the top of the chamber: passageways that would wind up the mountain and lead to corridors near the summit.

    The red jewel glinted around the neck of that cur, Haldrych Ameldan, as he followed Adelmar into the passage. Milos could not help but re after him. If the boy survived, he would need greater punishment. The price of his foolishness was rising.

    Sacred Alpha? Berard came to the cult leader. What can I do?

    Milos leaned close to therger man. You and I must organize the rest of the cult. We leave the mountain tonight.

    The bear-like lycanthrope gasped. Sacred Alpha? But what of our work in the city? We have made connections and forged alliances-

    -that are likely already shattering, the Sacred Alpha pronounced grimly. If that woman found us, then there is a strong chance that others know too. If Duke Kirinius is informed, there will be an army in our valley in haste. We must prepare to quit this ce.

    But what of Jairus?

    Milos grimaced. He might already have gone to the after-world. If we have received no word of him by sunrise, we will-

    He paused, his brows drawing together in a frown.

    Doyou hear that, Berard?

    He turned, his gaze circling the arena in dread.

    Do you smell that?

    <em>Sniff.</em>

    <em></em>Berards eyes went hard. Bloodand beasts?

    Cries sounded from the lower passages that lead to the audience seats. Cries of men in dying throes. Cries of beasts filled with rageand fear?

    Another roar sounded. One that shook the stones and caused Milos breath to catch. His tiger? Why was-

    A blood-caked acolyte stumbled from one of the passageways. Beware! They are free! They are killing-"

    The arena exploded into chaos.

    Acolytes shrieked as hulking cave bears, wild cave lions, and dire boars rampaged into their midst, crashing through the ck robed figures in a ruinous red tide. Men were leapt upon and mauled or gored in their seats as they tried to stand. Half-starved, frightened and furious, the beasts tore into them with berserk abandon while their human quarry could only try to flee.

    Sacred Alpha! Berard cried in rm, his face mirroring the shock of all others on the arena floor.

    Milos blinked, his mouth agape as though he were a vige fool. Whatwhat in Lycundars teeth is happening?

    Thest of the guards died in the tunnel beneath Wurhis sword. The others had been pulled down by the unarmed captives, and stomped into blood and pulp, while their spears were snatched to finish them off.

    Down the hall, the sabre-toothed tiger bounded back toward them, having finished herding the beasts into the cults very teeth.

    With a vicious snarl of triumph, Wurhi gave it a loving scratch on its massive nk.

    She stopped when it stared at her.

    Alright, folks, Agron lifted the bar from a door close by and kicked it open.

    The armoury for the arena awaited within.

 A Grim Parting I

    A Grim Parting I

    <em></em>w met bronze and flesh.

    Wolves bayed as pack-brothers transformed both before and behind him.

    Dying screams echoed through the tunnel.

    These were the sounds that sped the young poet in an icy grip and set his heart thundering. Haldrych, the Patriarch of House Ameldan - who had yearned forbat that would carve his name into legend - had atst found the storm of battle. His hands trembledfrom excitement.

    Yes, only from excitement, he told himself.

    His mask. His mask had grown stifling. Suffocating him.

    He ripped it off and drew a deep, quivering breath.

    Good. Now he would be ready to perform the deeds he had always imagined. His heart quakedfrom anticipation.

    Yes, only from anticipation, he told himself.

    His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword - not so magnificent as the de the thief had undeservedly borne - but a handsome weapon still. He hadmanded his servants to polish it to perfection in preparation for this fateful day.

    Now it was ready: honed to bite flesh and taste blood.

    And he wouldpose a mighty ode of the deeds he would perform with it.

    Forward! one of the pack brothersmanded from the head of the column. Half of their number had remained in human form to retain speech and issuemands to the acolytes. Do not look back!

    But we must! One of the masked cultists brandished his de above his head. Interlopers sully the arena! Do you not hear our brothers dying?

    And their strength will be our strength! barked theirmander. The Sacred Alpha will restore order! <em>We </em>must aid our other brothers! Redouble your pace!

    The column of cked robed cultists quickened their push through the tunnel. Torches bounced in their hands, spitting and guttering. The path sloped up and Haldrychs legs had begun to burn. How long had it been since he hadst <em>run</em>? Yet he was not alone. Others wheezed around him.

    Some acolytes had entered the fold from sturdy stock, but many were like he: socialites, merchants sons, and aristocrats. In past times, the descendants of the Tigrisian Empire would have been iron-thewed, practiced men who could join in Laexondaels defence with spears in hand.

    But the city had known peace for many years, and the Dukes Battalion had shouldered the mantle of war. As such, the upper sses had turned away from bronze and toward the trade of coin, craftsmanship, the arts and philosophy. Such a change had transformed Laexondael into one of the grandest cities of the north.

    Yet these young men had grown unsatisfied with their lot. They craved freedom from the stifles of civilization, sought to rid themselves of it, and so had taken up the path of the beast.

    And now this path would lead them atop the mountain.

    There they would face a woman who was said to have tossed hulking werewolves as though they were childrens dolls. One who had burnt flesh from bone and torn lycanthropes asunder with her bare hands.

    And now she would be armed and girded for war.

    That is what they would face.

    That is what Haldrych would face.

    His legs shookfrom the thrill of theing battle.

    Yes, only from the thrill of it, he told himself. And nothing elsenot fear. Not fear! Never fear!

    A-against an armoured opponent Therea bludgeoning weaponjoints His panicking mind desperately tried to recall vague boyhood lessons in weaponry. Many years had passed since - the training had proven tiring and calloused his hands, thus he had ended it quickly, feeling his craft was mastered.

    It had been his mother who had hired the instructors at his begging, and she had alsoplied when they no longer pleased him.

    his mother.

    A shudder crawled down his spine on pointed legs of ice.

    Did she watch him even now?

    Did she guide his enemies to his very<em> neck?</em>

    Yesso it must be.

    The foul woman had caged him in life, but now threw him to starving dogs in death! He grasped at his rage, seeking to draw from it as he had on that dark, fateful night in her bedchamber. But his nerve slipped in the face of fear, confusion and

    A familiar pain stabbed his belly.

    guilt?

    It could not be.

    He had done no wrong! He had only reached out for his own destiny!

    So <em>why? Why did it all keep going so wrong?</em>

    <em> Haldrych! Haldrych!</em>

    A hand grasped his shoulder and gave him a vigorous shake. Adelmar was beside him with eyes wide. Are you alright? Focus, man! He bore a tight grin and his voice held too much enthusiasm. This is what you always wanted! Glory! Combat! Inspiration! Prepare to write of our victory, my brother, for our names are soon to be legends!

    Heughed then, but hisplexion was pale. Haldrych found his eyes tracing his old friends features: etching them into his deepest memories. Why? He knew his friend better than anyone.

    Then he realized the truth of it.

    This could be thest he ever saw of him. Hisugh now could be hisst in this world.

    Adelmar could die. Or he could. Or both.

    No, he told himself. You are Haldrych Ameldan: your blood is the blood of heroes! You will y this warrior and all others! You will return a victor and be praised! You will drink in the power of the beast, as Adelmar has, and then-

    <em>Vroooosh!</em>

    The tunnel went white.

    Kyembe had heard their approach.

    Through the din of the dying, the war partys steps had echoed within the deep. Drawing out his des hilt until it was a sword-staff, he slowly drew his eldritch energies to his ring and waited. Their footsteps grew louder. Their voices drew closer.

    Flickering light swelled around the corner, preceding wolf-like breaths and padding feet.

    Twenty paces away.

    The Sengezian took a breath and held it.

    Ten paces.

    Five.

    Kyembe cast off the furs, shut his eyes and swept around the corner. Burns crawled up his arm.<em></em>With a crackle like bursting bone, otherworldly heat leapt from his ring and issued into the dark.

    <em>Vroooooosh!</em>

    Screams arose.

    Blinding light and heat sted through the tunnel as men and werewolves burst into white ash. Their remains swept through the air with the stench of scorched flesh, choking the lungs of their survivingrades and creating a macabre fog through the passage. Kyembe dove through it soundlessly as he channeled his eldritch energies again.

    Roaring hellfire woke on his de and <em>that</em> heralded hising.

    <em>chrrrrp!</em>

    <em> Boom!</em>

    <em></em>The fiery steel drove deep into a wolf-mans gut, superheating his entrails until they erupted, coating the stone and scalding hisrades. They screamed, coughing and choking, as Kyembes de struck like a nest of cobras - spearing heads, necks and pounding hearts with fearsome speed.

    In breaths, the shrieks of pain had withered to dying murmurs and the sizzle of entrails. The Sengezian waded into this path of ruin, pausing only to cast a silver dagger into the chest of the fallen werewolf, shearing his heart and ying him with finality.

    Attack! one of his foes choked out. It will y us all if we do not fight back!

    With battle cries, cultists threw themselves toward their attacker, but he gave ground and allowed the superior reach of his sword-staff to do its grim work. He withdrew a step for every man or monster that charged, and every sweep of his weapon cast another ruined cultist to the stone. They fell in waves.

    Constricted in the tunnel, they could not match his blurring swiftness nor overwhelm him with a scant two or three at a time.

    Their numbers withered by the breath, and they knew they could notst.

    And so, an act of desperation was born.

    One that would lead to a grim parting.

 A Grim Parting II

    A Grim Parting II

    Haldrych gaped at the towering <em>thing</em> through the throng of the dying.

    Its fiery de drank lives as a glutton guzzled wine.

    The heat had grown sweltering and the ash was choking.

    What deviltry hade for them!? Even the werewolves - who had seemed so mighty and fearsome to him - could only die like curs as they threw themselves upon that fiery point.

    Familiar screams filled his ears from somewhere very near.

    It took him a moment to realize they came from his own throat.

    Did he truly sound so feeble?

    This isnt working! Adelmar cried. The merchants son was pale, but the bestial rage has arisen within him to bite down on his fear. His quick mind had gone to work, and he grasped the arms of two of his transformed pack brothers to hold them back. Get its<strong></strong>de! Use your bodies if you need to! I have a n and Haldrych will do the rest!

    The young poets heart leapt into his throat. W-we? he stammered.

    <em>We!</em> the merchants son grinned at him, his expression half-smile and half-snarl. His handsome features bloomed in the confidence of youth and thrill of battle. Were about to be legend, my brother! Come, let us see to this demon <em>together!</em>

    And Adelmar charged. Lycundar! he cried.

    Haldrych followed, swept up in his oldest friends bravery, but his own steps were slow and unsteady. His bare hands shook in front him. He screamed.

    Oh, how he screamed.

    <em>Vroooosh! </em>

    Another werewolf burst into boiling viscera, only to be finished by another silver knife. Now only the two lycanthropes Adelmar had grasped, Adelmar himself, and Haldrych remained of the hunting party.

    The poet gasped, and his lungs filled with ash and blood-born steam. He fell into a choking fit which halted his steps, and the warrior of legend in the making could only watch as others leapt into the fray before him.

    <em>hhnk.</em>

    <em></em>The first of the werewolves threw himself upon the demons de and grasped its haft. Even as its core boiled and burst, it held on in a death-grip as its fellow lycanthrope leapt for the demon. With a curse, the devil released its weapon and drew another knife, casting it into the second werewolfs eye.

    <em>Schnk!</em>

    <em></em>It died on its feet.

    But Adelmar was already in its ce, having slipped past his burning ally. His sword drove toward the demon, but a dark hand caught his wrist in an iron grip. Adelmar continued to drive forward, catching the lean figure in a hug with one arm and entangling the monsters movements.

    Now, Haldrych! Adelmar cried. Ill hold it! Strike it down!

    Hellfire winked out, leaving only the light of fallen torches to light the tunnel.

    <em>You!</em> the demon roared in incredulity.

    Haldrychs eyes adjusted now that the blinding ze had abated.

    And he saw clearly what they faced. He screamed.

    Towering and lean as death, a dark-skinned man stood, unperturbed by Adelmars struggles. His eyes were as crimson as burning embers and his expression might have been carved from obsidian: a re of barely stymied rage and a disgust as deep as the bowels of the earth. It pierced the young poet to the core and brought about a fearful memory:

    The same man had stood in the snows of Paradise.

    The same mans glower had pierced into Haldrychs core.

    The same man hady beneath the table the night he had nned his mothers demise.

    The same man-

    <em>I had hoped that I would find you here!</em> the crimson-eyed devil boomed through the tunnel, its voice swallowing all in its wrath.

    Haldrych! Adelmar cried. This bastards <em>strong!</em> I cant hold him! Haldrych! Kill him!

    The young patriarch could not move.

    Memories reached for him in the ck of the tunnel. Childhoodughter. Learning to mount a horse while soft brown eyes watched. Small hands pping and a womans cheer when he finished his first ode.

    And then a dagger that rose and fell. Again. And again. And again.

    The stranger couldnt havehe was only here for the thief-

    Filthy, crawling thing! You <em>killed</em> her, the stranger pronounced, as though in answer to the poets very fears. <em>You killed your own mother.</em>

    Haldrychs heart might have stopped.

    Adelmar froze.

    You and this filth that <em>dirties</em> my skin by his touch! The demons lips curled back in a vicious snarl. The stars have brought you into my path! Come! Seek my life!

    His ring red white.

    <em>Ssssss!</em>

    Aaaaaargh! Adelmar cried out.

    The devil struck a blow into his side, grinding the burning ring into his flesh and searing it. He caught the merchants son by his blonde locks as thetter recoiled. Let us see this wonder! How a coward that would y his own mother stands against Kyembe the Spirit Killer!

    Haldrych! his oldest friend cried, reaching toward him. Haldrych! Help me! <em>Help me!</em>

    Time slowed to a ciers creep.

    An opportunity hade to the Master of House Ameldan. A chance for the warrior-poet to show his true quality. Atst, he had received what he had always desired.

    He stood, alone against a fell opponent that seemed to have crawled from the afterworld. Hispatriotsy in and death held his oldest, greatest friend in its burning clutches. A thousand epic poems had been written about such stands against the dark as Haldrych knew well. He hadposed many such odes himself and read those of his betters.

    In them, courage always decided fate.

    So long as the heros courage and will held out, no viiny, sorcery or demon craft could stop him. The moment his courage failed; he would be undone. To triumph, all that would be needed would be to take that first brave step forward. Of course, in true struggles of life and death, courage alone rarely proved enough to carry the day. But here, the question of whether Haldrych - heir to the Ameldan warrior legacy - could have triumphed by courage was moot.

    For he did take that step.

    Backward.

    And then another. And another.

    H-Haldrych? Adelmar stammered.

    Stay away, spectre! the warrior-poet screamed. As a terrified child, he whirled and fled down the tunnel - leaving his dreams, his fantasies and his gossamer-thin bond with his oldest friend. And so Haldrych Ameldan, who had from boyhood strove to write poetry of his own valour, fled his very first battle and abandoned his friend to death.

    He had not even drawn his perfectly polished sword.

    Adelmar could only gasp as Haldrych fled into the dark.

    As the man within reeled in horror and betrayal, the beast rose to fill its ce.

    Why are you running? the demon scoffed at Haldrych, raising his burning ring.

    Adelmar shifted in his grip, swiping at him with a hand turned into lycanthropic ws. Swelling with bestial strength, he twisted away and snarled as the transformation took him.

    Kyembe the Spirit Killer calmly watched, not bothering to retrieve his sword.

    Adelmar howled, his cry a reflection of both rage and loss, and threw himself at the Sengezian. Yet even with his bestial speed, Kyembe proved more than his match. For all the lycanthropes boasting and bloodlust, he was still a merchants son that had in a mere three others in his life:

    A drunk whose presence he had taken offence to one night.

    A vagabond he had lured with a promise of hospitality.

    And, of course, his oldest friends mother.

    In these deeds, he had viewed himself as growing closer to the primal creature he strived to be. He had embraced Lycundars curse, and the beast had filled him with its feral savagery. Yet it did not change what he truly was: amon murderer who had given himself to a beast. He too had been a soft man who had convinced himself that he was hardened.

    And now that mistake was killing him.

    Kyembe of Sengezi danced and weaved beyond the merchants sons lunges, all the while muttering in some strangenguage that pierced the ear. As Adelmar barrelled forward, his fangs bared to snap the Sengezians head off, Kyembe slid into his guard and raised his burning ring. With a final, dreadful syble, the point of hellfire belched out a cloud of foul smoke that swept through the werewolfs snout.

    The lycanthrope froze and sneezed once. Then twice.

    A dread fell upon him.

    Strange sorcery rode the smoke into his body and coiled about his spirit within.

    Then it squeezed.

    Raaaaaaargh! His scream was that of both man and animal.

    He fell to the stone, his beasts body writhing and twisting.

    What? What has happened? Adelmar screamed in his mind.

    <em>chnk.</em>

    <em></em>The Sengezian ended the other werewolf still burning on his de, then drew up his weapon and sauntered to the writhing young lycanthrope. I have left you a gift: the smoke of hellfire - a substance that bears curses like few others.

    Adelmars eyes grew wide.

    Oh yes, I <em>have</em> cursed you, Kyembe crouched beside him.

    The merchants sons vision began to falter. His tongue and eyes began to burn.

    <em>I </em>have done deeds some would say are good and some would say are vile. But there are few fouler acts than what <em>you</em> did - aiding a man in ying his own mother. He shook his head. From what I have learned, the poor womans crime was in only loving so foul a child. She did not deserve her fate, but I do think you deserve <em>this.</em>

    Adelmars gasps grew muffled as his tongue began to swell. He screamed as it split, filing his maw with a foul decay that rotted his teeth with a touch. Maggots wormed forth from softening fangs to feast on the ruins of his mouth.

    Such a thing should have killed him in moments, but Lycundars power healed as quickly as the curse decayed. Kyembe made a face as the stench struck his nose. Agh, I had intended for you to suffer, but die within a short timebut it seems your gods curse brings about more resilience than I had ounted for.

    He rose to his feet, towering over the suffering lycanthrope. I think you will not die quicklyand that is how it should be. Now, I leave you to your fate. I must find my friendand <em>yours.</em>

    <em></em>Agony crawled through Adelmars body, eating him from within. It felt as though his entrails hade alive and sprung a dozen fanged maws to consume his other viscera. As organs regrew, they were eagerly consumed again and again.

    In a sense, he too had received what he had wished for. For primal strength, he had worshipped He Who Consumes Himself. And now his body was doing just the same.

    He hade to mirror his god in a way that few others ever could.

    As his eyes began to swell and fill with pus, his vision dimmed. Thest sight he saw in life was the wizard stalking away through the tunnel.

    Then his eyeballs burst.

    And his world became unending darkness and torment.

    You all ready? Wurhi asked.

    Grim nods answered.

    The armouryy bare.

    ves filled the room to bursting, bearing bronze arms and ill-kept armour. Merrick had taken another spear and strapped on a crooked breastte. Saxa, Gannicus, and Agron bore shields, des and javelins.

    The sabre-toothed tiger needed no weapons.

    He <em>was</em> a weapon.

    Wurhi had strapped on a shirt of bronze chainmail toorge for her, but better that than a sword sticking out of her belly or back.

    You know Gannicus said. Were armed and ready. We could slip out of the mountain now.

    No, boy, Merrick nced to the door of the arena. From it could be heard dying men and beasts, but also the howls of werewolves. Those wolf-menll put down their animals soon enough: then theyre going to start looking for us. Even if we got out of the mountain, theyd ring us in the valley and maul us to pieces. Im a thief, trust me, I know when to run away.

    He took a deep breath to steady himself. But if we dont break them now, then were not going to make it out of here.

    Wurhi nodded. Hes right. But if we go for em before the beasts are down, then weve got a chance. Anyone want out?

    The captives looked to each other. Some were grim and some transfixed by terror, but all knew that they hade to a single choice:

    Fight now or dieter.

    And they had done enough waiting for death.

    None stepped away.

    Wurhi sighed, looking down toward her sword. She was about to charge a bunch of bloodthirsty wolf-men alongside a horde of ves, captives and pit-fighters. And she was not even considering running the hell away.

    She sighed. Kyembe and Cristabel had truly rubbed off on her.

    If only they could see her now.

    Alright. She gripped her sword. Lets go get the bastards.

    Gannicus, Agron and two burly ves marched over to the arenas gate. Grunting, the four men struggled together and slowly began to raise the barrier, straining under its weight. Yet, they could lift it no further than their waists.

    Snorting, the tiger pushed through their ranks and crawled beneath the gate, bracing it upon his shoulders. With a growl, he hoisted himself to his feet and heaved the heavy door skyward. The passage to the arena yawned open, revealing chaos within.

    For a moment, the captives hesitated. A terrible battle loomed before them, the sort that would spawn both legends and horrors.

    But one, atst, took a step.

    Forward.

    And then another. And another.

    Screaming in rage and terror, Wurhi the Rat charged through the breach with silver de in hand. The change came over her as she did, and so smooth it was that she hardly noticed the pain of it. A breathter, the other captives looked to each other, roared in unison, and charged forward in her wake.

    When thest had gone through, the great cat snarled and surged forward.

    <em>Boom.</em>

    <em></em>The gate dropped behind them, cutting off retreat. As the escapees boiled into the arena to the shock of Lycundars followers, they leapt for their tormenters with a savagery born from suffering.

    Under the stone eyes of the wolf-gods effigy, so began the greatest battle the arena would ever see.

 The Final Battle of Lycundars Arena I

    The Final Battle of Lycundar''s Arena I

    Lycundars Teeth! Look, Sacred Alpha! Berard pointed.

    <em>Crack!</em>

    <em></em>Milos snapped the neck of a dire boar he had dragged down, then rose up as a tide of captives - armed and raging - poured into the arena. They fell upon the cult in a fit of wrath, and their weapons washed red with grisly vengeance. At the head of the mob shrieked a familiar rat-woman.

    A familiar, very <em>living</em> rat-woman.

    A rat-woman that should be <em>consumed</em> in his tigers belly.

    What in Lycundars teeth he murmured. How did-

    He paused.

    Her sword glittered as it pierced through the mask of a surprised acolyte, drawing forth a fountain of crimson to drench the sand. That sword had hung from the belt of his beast-man whenst he had seen it. Now it was reimed - held in the grip of the rat-thiefs hand  and leaving him with a bitter conclusion as to the fate of his poor pet.

    This loss would have stoked him to blinding wrath, but he spied another figure whose presence confused him so thoroughly that his anger slipped away. His prized sabre-toothed tiger - his ultimate effort to surpass the Olubrian Lion he had faced in his youth - now roared and tore into Lycundars own with the fury of a Skjernan berserker.

    Dagger-length ws ripped through his ck robed followers like a scythe through dry wheat. The sheer mass and swiftness of its paws shattered bone and saw them falling in heaps.

    The Sacred Alpha took in his surroundings. The cult had finished half the beasts - with the blessed pack-brothers carrying that fight - but the addition of these enraged ves was a grim tiding. He did not doubt that the cult would im victory in the end, but it would indeed be a hollow one. Few of Lycundars chosen would remain by the time theirst opponents fell.

    Losses needed to be mitigated. Quickly.

    Berard! he bellowed.

    Sacred Alpha! The giant of a man ushered a group of acolytes toward a knot of ferocious fighting. What is yourmand?

    You have led the acolytes well, but I need your strength! Transform and go to Lycundars Sacred sculpture! He thrust his finger up toward the statue of the wolf god. Knock away the supports at its base and let it slide down upon its track! Then-

    He pointed down to The Rat.

    -<em>kill</em> her!

    The bear-like lycanthrope drew up to his full height. As you will it, Sacred Alpha! his cry deepened into a bestial roar. His form shifted to that of a giant, ck-coated beast that tore free its robe before bounding toward the statue of Lycundar.

    Milos turned and rushed down the steps toward the arena floor.

    His eyes fixed on his hunting cat.

    Discipline was needed.

    <em>Rat!</em> a hated voice bellowed.

    A long sh from Wurhis sword split the belly of an acolyte and she risked looking toward the source of the call. Milos of Crotonia pushed through throngs of his followers, his face scarlet in wrath. You <em>took</em> my beasts!

    She bared her teeth at him in a rodents bitter smile. Do not y so sullen with me. What did you expect? I am a thief. She threw his own words back at him in her mind.

    Whether she merely imagined it or whether her bile emanated through animalistic bodynguage, the cult leader bristled and his countenance washed to a deep, wrathful purple.

    <em>Grooooooaar!</em>

    A great roar shook the arena floor.

    The titanic sabre-toothed tiger spied his tormentor and, baring his sword-like fangs, gathered his powerful bulk.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    He charged through the acolytes - trampling them like twigs - and leapt for Milos throat.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    <em></em>Gigantic hunting cat and towering cult leader collided in a mixture of fury, primal strength, chagrin and hatred. Man and beast struck the sand, grappling and straining against each other. Milos strength and technique strove against the cats raw power and experience. Cultists, escapees and beasts alike fled in the face of awesome struggle as sand and bone debris flew in the air.

    Bloody piss! Merrick swore, sliding back from a cultists strike before impaling the screaming fanatic on his spear. Theyre really fighting back now!

    The horde of zealots had begun to turn and resist, throwing themselves on the rebelling captives. Despite grappling with berserk beasts above and wrathful captives on the sands below, they fought with a fervour born of zealotry. More beasts fell, and the remaining werewolves would soon bring their savagery down upon their disloyal ves.

    Yet, it was not these that caught Wurhis eye.

    A hulking wolf-man loped toward the statue of Lycundar - ck-coated and familiar  with a purpose the Zabyan did not trust. Berard. The one that had captured her. The same one who had proved a terrifying force in the attack on Paradise. Why would he flee unless he was going to do something very <em>bad</em>?

    Chittering, she pointed toward the fleeing lycanthrope.

    What th- Merrick followed her outstretched finger. The big one? Wheres he goingwait wherere <em>you</em> going?

    Wurhi the Rat slipped from the ranks of the ves and raced around the throng to follow the werewolf. The more she thought about it, the more she became convinced she could not leave him be. As she crossed half of the arena, he had already reached the foot of Lycundars image. Merrick followed her, cursing all the while. Whatre you doingwait whats <em>he</em> doing?

    Berard came to a sudden halt at the foot of Lycundars statue and bent down by its stone base. A pair of granite brackets stood at the front corners securing it to the slope of the arena. When he rose, the werewolf bore a massive bronze maul in his wed grip.

    He snarled, bracing his feet wide.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    <em> Crack!</em>

    He struck a mighty blow, carving a fissure deep into the bracket. Wurhi chittered in dread. Closing in on the statue, she detected a faint, ominous scent seeping up from below its base. The shapeshifter redoubled her speed, recalling Milos mention of <em>three </em>pets. His first had shattered her hand. His second could have in her had it not turned on its hated master.

    She did not fancy taking her chances with a third.

    Gripping her sword between her teeth, she rushed the arena wall and sprang at it, letting the ws of her good hand bite into the rough stone. The Rat scaled it quickly, but-

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    <em>Crack!</em>

    <em> Crnch!</em>

    -heard the sharp sound of splitting rock. She cursed inwardly.

    The wolf-man had destroyed one of the statues supports.

    <em>Grrrnd.</em>

    <em></em>His ws clicked over the stone as he rushed to shatter the other.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    <em> Crack!</em>

    <em> Grrrnd!</em>

    <em></em>The statues base groaned as Wurhi mounted the wall. Lycundars image swayed ominously, as though it were a giant shifting its weight before taking an impossiblyrge step. Cracks spiderwebbed through the second bracket, and Berard raised the maul to shatter itpletely.

    No! Wurhi thought, snatching her sword from her teeth and diving for the towering lycanthrope.

    <em>Sniff.</em>

    <em></em>His nostrils red. Pointed ears twitched.

    <em>Whooosh!</em>

    He spun, sweeping the maul in an arc of bronze and death. With a chitter of rm, Wurhi dived to the side.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    The brutal head passed over her, buffeting her fur, and she dodged death by mere finger lengths. She came down to the stone, rolled and sprang to her feet in a single, fluid motion as Berard pursued her with maul held high. A beasts roar exploded from his throat and his fur bristled in fury, swelling the already titanic werewolf greater still.

    She yelped and skittered back.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    <em></em>The hammer-head rushed by her snout, halted, and drove back.

    <em>Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!</em>

    <em></em>Driven by lupine speed and supernatural strength, the maul chased Wurhi in a flurry of thunderous strikes.

    <em> Crash! Crash! Crash!</em>

    <em></em>Each strike shattered the backs of stone benches or splintered the floor. Berards eyes burned in rage and his sour breath hissed between fangs; his dressing had sloughed off, baring the ugly wound across his jaw and cheek. The Zabyan thief scampered backward, leaping onto the seats above her and vaulting over their backs. She ducked low.

    <em>Whoosh! Crash!</em>

    The maul obliterated the back of a seat, showering her in sharp debris, but the swift shapechanger darted behind other seats, using them as cover to circle her hunter.

    <em>Crash! Crash! Crash!</em>

    The maul smote the stone with the massive shapechanger in pursuit, but Wurhi quickly increased the distance between them. When his blows paused, she snarled, leaping onto the back of the seats to drive her sword into the ck-coated beasts eye.

    Wurhi raised her de and-

    Shit! Shit! her mind screamed.

    <em>Whoosh.</em>

    <em> -</em>jumped over the maul as it nearly swept her knees. Landing on the back of the stone seat as though she were on a tightrope, she jabbed a push cut at the werewolf.

    <em>k!</em>

    <em></em>He howled as it drew a line of crimson across his brow. The beast stumbled back and Wurhi pounced after him.

    <em>Crack!</em>

    <em></em>Berard swept a w into her side mid-leap. The bronze shirt saved her from evisceration, but the sheer weight of the blow sted the breath from her lungs.

    She careened through the air like a lead ball and crashed hard on the stone, narrowly avoiding impalement on her own sword. The wolfman leapt, with maul raised and blood trailing from his brow. His fangs gleamed in the light of the full moon as it shone through the hollow in the ceiling.

    The maul came down.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    Wurhi rolled as it obliterated the stone where her head had been. The Zabyan fought to regain her breath as Berard raised his maul to crush her.

    <em>Schnk!</em>

    <em></em>The wolfman yelped as a bronze spear dug into his side.

    Get up, Rat! Merrick twisted his spear in the wound. Well do him like the manticore! Take him together!

    Berard ignored the Hawk - the bronze of his spear could not y him  and focused on the silver-wielding thief but, in his moments pause, Wurhi had skittered from his reach.

    Gasping for breath, the rat shapeshifter rose to her feet.

    Merricks grey eyes went wide as he nced to her back. Shit! Rat look out!

    Someone rushed her from behind.

    With a yelp, she whirled, her sword striking out by reflex.

    <em>Grrrrrnd!</em>

    <em> Crack!</em>

    In the same breath, the remaining bracket splintered beneath the effigy of Lycundar.

    The statue of the wolf god began a slow slide down the arenas slope.

 The Final Battle of Lycundars Arena II

    The Final Battle of Lycundar''s Arena II

    Earlier, a fleeing Haldrych had stumbled from the passage and emerged into what he could only describe as hell. A cacophony of wails, roars, shouts and screams assaulted his ears, oveying the bem within.

    Before him writhed a chaotic scene of bronze, flesh and death. The seats of the arena burst with ck robed cultists struggling against berserk beasts. Werewolves leapt among them, pulling down the half-starved, panicked creatures and tearing them open with fang and w.

    Yet, there were but few pack-brothers to y the beasts, and the acolytes proved poor resistance against their fury. The stands flowed crimson with the blood of the fallen, like a river of death rushing into the after-world. Dozens of ck robed bodies floated in that current,ying in pools of their own gore and exposed viscera.

    The smell hit the terrified poet in a wave - a rusty tang of bloodbined with the stench of filth released from the dying. No epic battle-poem mentioned such foul smells, and he was overwhelmed, violently doubling over at the stench and sight of entrails steaming in the cold air.

    Below, the sea of cultists faced a ragged band of fighters; it took the young poet a few breaths to realize that thetter were the cults captives. Though outnumbered at least ten to one, they were better armed and armoured than the acolytes, and dealt terrible losses.

    <em>Groaaaar!</em>

    Nearby was another sight that defied Haldrychs understanding: Milos grappled on the sand with his own sabre-toothed tiger, battling to subdue the beast while it sought to skewer his skull with its massive fangs. Its ws tore into the Sacred Alphas body again and again, ripping his clothing to tatters, but his wounds knitted shut with a terrifying swiftness.

    Deep trenches nearly shearing his body in twain closed into unmarred flesh in heartbeats. Though he was in human form, his eyes burned with the feral savagery of the wolf, yet his conflict with the cat seemed aimed at merely pinning his pet and not ying it.

    But why was it attacking its master?

    And why was it free?

    <em>Crack!</em>

    Stone crumbled from elsewhere in the arena. Haldrych whirled, gaping at the ck furred form of Berard crushing a support that braced the statue of Lycundar. Then a sight more personal to Haldrych caught his eye, making the warrior-poet gasp in dread.

    The thief.

    The rat-woman thief charged across the arena toward Berard - free, armoured and vengeful. In her hand gleamed a familiar silver sword.

    A silver sword that <em>he</em> deserved.

    With a sh of insight as rare to Haldrych Ameldan as the most precious of ck opals, he reasoned out what had urred. He had sent the beast after the thief. She had somehow ovee it, brought the tiger to her side, and - having regained her weapon from its corpse - led the ves into full revolt. A fear greater than he had ever experienced clutched his heart, for no matter how this battle yed out, his fate would be bleak.

    If the ves were victorious? The thief and captives would take their vengeance upon him and no doubt steal the Eye of Radiin. If the cult were victorious? Even if none learned that it was he who - through no fault of his own - had reunited the rat with her de, it would not be long until me fell to him. Hisst mistake had led to his proud steed being ughtered and eaten like amon goat. What would they do to him <em>now</em>?

    He also could not ignore that a third, even grimmer fatey somewhere in the tunnels. He nced into the darkness at his back; the red-eyed demon would have finished Adelmar and be seeking <em>him</em> by now.

    Adelmarhis oldest friend.

    A bitterness welled up in the young patriarch.

    This was all <em>Adelmars </em>fault! Not his! He had done <em>nothing</em> to deserve this! If that dead fool had not convinced him to y his mother, he would know nothing of shapeshifting thieves, crimson gazing fiends, and fanatical wolf-men! He would be safe in his manor,posing an ode with a cup of hot wine carried to his room just as he had always ordered. What a fine thing life had been before Adelmar had <em>convinced</em> him <em>against his will</em> to ruin it! He could have remained infort and found another way to achieve glory with his poetry! Yes, it was true! Of all the victims in this tragedy, there was none greater than Haldrych Ameldan!

    Yet, convincing any victors of this <em>truest of facts</em> would likely prove futile and <em>very </em>fatal.

    He needed to make good his escape.

    The path to the front passage of the mountain was blocked by rioting ves; he would need somewhere to hide for now. Somewhere he would be overlooked and safe until the battle was won and the mountain abandoned.

    His eyes came to a certain passage on the opposite side of the arena. There! That led to the private balcony where he and Adelmar had conspired shortly after Marctinus fate. That ce was hardly used, ording to his now deceased friend, and no doubt he could wait out all of this unjustness there in safety. The only trouble was that Berard and the thief - locked in battle - stood between him and the passage.

    He slid the Eye of Radiin beneath his robe, pulled his cowl low to obscure his identity, and began to rush toward his salvation. The din of battle faded behind him and though he half-feared that some cultist would mark his retreat, no outcry was raised. He at least had to thank their foes for keeping them upied. His luck seemed to hold ahead as well. Berard and the thief were utterly focused on attempting to murder each other, and his rush toward them remained unnoticed.

    <em>Crack!</em>

    Berard struck the thief and sent her sprawling to the stone while another escapee stabbed the werewolf in the nk. Good! He bore down on them now, rushing through the aisle above their struggle.

    He would easily slip past and-

    Shit! Rat look out!

    The little man spotted him as the Rat dragged herself to her feet. Quick as a striking cobra, she whirled on him. The beautiful silver sword he had coveted cut a blurring silver arc through the air. He screamed. Desperately twisting his body, he felt the buffet of the thin de striking his robe.

    Yet no pain followed.

    And then he had passed them.

    Awash with relief and the rush of survival, sensation faded away as he sprinted more desperately than he ever had in his life. The pain in his lungs and legs subsided. The sting of exertion in his belly vanished and even the heat of wet sweat drenching his side disappeared.

    Slipping past the sliding statue of Lycundar, Haldrych dove into the passage that marked his salvation. Sobbing with relief, he rushed into the tunnel as though all the hounds of hell sought his throat. And so, before the moon could even change its position in the sky, the great warrior-poet had fled two battles in a single night.

    In this flight, he did not notice what dripped from his soaking robe in his wake.

    Wurhi brandished her de, ignoring the unnamed fleeing cultist.

    Berard swept his weapon about him, driving Merrick back, and the threebatants paused, measuring each other.

    They tensed for terrible violence.

    <em>Boom!</em>

    The statue of Lycundar ended its measured descent, catching securely on the reinforced brackets lining the arena wall. In its wake yawned a chasm in the arenas side that opened upon a stone staircase reaching deep into the mountains heart. The stairs were vast, far toorge simply for man or even an ogre to mount, and Wurhi could hear waters muffled roar from the opening. It seemed the colossal steps were carved from a wall that adjoined the underground river which flowed freely beneath the arena floor. From within the cavern that yawned ahead of the stair emanated a powerful musk, one she had never smelt before, but one that made her instincts <em>scream</em>.

    As though in response, a roar shook the arena, far louder than even that of the tiger.

    <em>Boom! Boom! Boom!</em>

    <em>Some </em>truly mammoth form of life moved through the dark beneath the mountain. Berard gave a snort and retreated, leaping past the stunned Merrick and loping through the seats away from the chasm.

    <em>Thm. Thm. Thm.</em>

    <em></em>What sounded to be hooves ground against stone as a creature ascended the steps. The ground shuddered as though cringing from every colossal footfall, and the din of battle grew muted as warriors turned toward the sound of thunder stalking the earth.

    Rat.Raaaaat! Merrick backed away, his face pale and jaw clenched. If the big wolfs running then maybe we should too!

    If his words did not convince her-

    <em>Brooooooooooaar!</em>

    -then the bellow that followed did.

    The Rat and the Hawk sprinted away as thunderous footfalls grew upon stone steps. The ground shook. Titanic breathing filled their ears. The hairs on her neck and back stood up, but she risked a backward nce.

    Wurhi nearly stumbled at what she saw.

    What emerged from below was a barbaric hulk of a titan; a creature whose utter purpose was to rend all life asunder. It was another mockery of humanity akin to the ogres of the Forest of Giants, but with a brutish, ruddy face far craggier. Tusks jutted from a bottom jaw that consumed most of its head and a waterfall of stringy spittle poured from the sides of rubbery lips.

    It drenched a mountainous chest and the wooly fur of two ponderous, goat-like legs that ended in dense, ebony hooves. A single horn rose from the top of its bald, misshapen skull that could have served as the deformed mast of a ship. Gargantuan in stature and dripping cruelty, it red at the world from a single, alien eye that swallowed most of its brow.

    With a roar, it raised its weapon with an arm that could have strangled a whale.

    Wurhi blinked in disbelief.

    A tree.

    It clutched a vast, dead oak in a brutal grip. The branches had been torn free, but the roots remained as though they were the spikes on a titanic mace.

    What <em>now</em>?! Merricks voice was shrill.

    Even if Wurhi could speak, she had no name to put to this one-eyed giant, except to call it a <em>tower.</em> Never in her life had she witnessed a living creature sorge - perhaps a full <em>ten </em>times her height and bearing the bulk of four Mabatian war elephants.

    <em>Boom. </em>

    It stepped down into the arena, and its footfall killed the battle before it. ves and cultists felt both weapons and jaws hang as the titan swept them all with its evil gaze. The panicked beasts took one frightened look at the creature and quit the arena, tearing their way through the cultists ranks as they fled into the passages. Even the sabre-toothed tiger had broken off its contest with its master, snarling at the titan in anger and trepidation.

    <em>Cyclops!</em> Gannicus shrill voice cried from among the escapees. Run! Run for your lives!

    Stop them! Milos roared, his wounds healing quickly beneath his shredded robe. Block the exits, Lycundars children! He stepped forward and addressed the cyclops. My pet! Strike our enemies! Feast!

    His voice was the crack of a whip over the one-eyed giants back, and the creature stiffened at its sound. Even as werewolves and acolytes spread over the arena, the cyclops broad nostrils red wider and its lips trembled over protruding fangs.

    <em>BANG! SCRRR! BANG! SCRRRR! BANG! SCRRRRRRR!</em>

    <em></em>The titan shook and pawed the earth with one broad, cloven hoof. A cloud of sand swept into the air as though caught in a desert gale. It roared a syble in a grindingnguage of which Wurhi had no knowledge.

    It lowered itself.

    Gave one final snort.

    And charged with titanic oaken cudgel held high.

    <em>BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!</em>

    <em></em>The mountain shook. The escapees shrieked and tried to flee.

    Milos roared in triumph and the cult roared with him.

    Lycundars image watched them all. In the moonlight, its snarls seemed silent howls of victory.

 The Final Battle of Lycundars Arena III

    The Final Battle of Lycundar''s Arena III

    <em>CRNCH!</em>

    <em></em>Screams sounded from the end of the passage. Something titanic shook the foundations of the mountain and Kyembe could only grit his teeth as he rushed toward the source. The Ameldan wretch had fled toward what sounded to be a pitched battle within the mountains core.

    What had urred?

    Had Cristabel already made her way there?

    Did these cultists have a falling out among themselves?

    The Spirit Killer froze in astonishment as he emerged from the tunnels mouth.

    <em>CRASH!</em>

    <em></em>A one-eyed cyclops, a titan from a time when gods were many and mortals few, rampaged through a blood-soaked arena to scatter figures like mere toys before it. Bellowing, it raised up a tree in a hand the size of a wagon and-

    <em>WHOOOOOSH!</em>

    <em>BOOOOM!</em>

    -smote the fleeing mortals. Bronze crumpled. Bodies <em>exploded</em> into crimson slurry or shattered like wooden dolls. It aimed for a clot of bronze-armed warriors, but its tremendous swings did not discern, catching ck robed cultists in the mix.

    <em>Whiiiish!</em>

    Shattered forms swept through the air as though hurled from catapults.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    By the stars! Kyembe ducked.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    <em></em>A bloody form shot over his head and crashed into the walls of the tunnel, ricocheting with gruesome speed until finallying to rest in a broken heap. Cursing, the Sengezian turned to slip back into the dark: he knew not the details of this melee, but Wurhi awaited somewhere nearby.

    A familiar glitter caught his eye.

    He stopped.

    perhaps nearer than he had thought.

    His friend - transformed into a rat and girded for war - scrambled higher into the seats around the arena with jewelled sword in hand. Alongside her ran another small figure with a tightly gripped spear. Kyembes spirits leapt to their peak. His friend lived! He had hoped, but had also felt a mounting dread-

    There, my pet! Some muscle-bound scoundrel pointed at Wurhi. Crush her! She is the cause of all this!

    The cyclops turned and red at the little Zabyan. Both she and the spearman screamed and turned to flee, but the cyclops would only need a few sweeping steps to catch them.

    Not while I stand, creature. Kyembe guided his eldritch energies into his ring and raised it toward the titan. Sorge was it that he would not obliterate it with a single beam, but if he struck the eye-

    <em>Interloper!</em> An acolyte pointed at him. Many heads turned in his direction.

    No! Not <em>now!</em> he snarled.

    The frenzied cultists rushed him. Werewolves surged through the mass of acolytes, bounding toward him with fangs and ws readied. Desperately, he passed the energy into his ring more swiftly, but soon the horde had nearly fallen upon him. Cursing, he aimed his ring toward them.

    <em>Vrooooosh!</em>

    <em></em>Men and werewolves exploded into ash but still more surged forward. Damn all of you! he brandished his sword. Wurhi! Wurhi! I cannot help you! Wurhi run! His deep voice boomed across the battlefield.

    Thest he saw of his friend was her turning toward his voice.

    As the cyclops raised its cudgel, he realized in horror that she could not escape it in time. Then the cult was upon him and his world became a storm of steel, bronze, silver and blood.

    Lycundar take you! The cultist leapt forward with dagger poised.

    <em>Whooosh!</em>

    <em>Chok!</em>

    <em></em>St. Cristabels vermillion de cleaved him from hip to shoulder, flinging one dissolving half to the ground and the other from the peak of the mountain. Thetter glowed from Amitiyahs tears as it soared through the blowing snow to ssh against the stones below.

    The knight quickly searched for more challengers, but found she had atst cleared the mountain. A broken trail of hissing forms dissolved into slurry in her wake, and the final watch-sheltersy empty. There was no more mountain to climb: only the wind, moon and cascade of blowing snow rose above her.

    <em>ROOOOOAAAAAR!</em>

    <em></em>An earth-shattering bellow from within the mountain seized her attention. What deviltry is <em>this?</em> She sprinted for the centre of the summit. Halting at the edge of the chasm, she gasped at what she saw looming high above a pitched battle below.

    Amitiyahs tears! A titan! she cried with delight. Atst! The swift wind to glory has blown to me a worthy foe! yet how do I reach him?

    For a breath, she considered the problem. With Wurhi and Kyembe somewhere below, she loathed the thought of reversing course through one of the tunnels that marked her earlier climb. If they came beneath that creatures attention while she wandered through dark passages, then something dire could befall them.

    Her eyes narrowed at the walls of the chasm and she noted the cyclops course below.

    A mad scheme formed in her mind.

    If I am meant to seed in this, then so I shall. The saint hoisted her shield onto her back and took her bearing sword in both hands. Gazing down upon the chasm, she took a breath to steady herself.

    She bent her knees.

    And took a leap of faith.

    Air rushed by her ears as she plummeted toward the sands below, gathering speed by the heartbeat. With a clench of her jaw, she drove her de into the rock.

    <em>Hssssss! SCRRRRRR!</em>

    Its enchanted edge bit into the stone while the Tears of Amitiyah melted it, and the jarring impact slowed her descent. Carving a caustic trench into the side of the chasm, she ground downward with a terrible scrape of metal upon stone.

    With faith as her guide, she suddenly kicked against the wall to rip her de free.

    The knight gathered terrible swiftness as she free-fell toward the battle.

    Kyembe? Wurhi turned, so shocked by the familiar voice that she had to look back. Her eyes widened. There he was, as though he stepped right out of her hopes: the towering Sengezian fighting a rising tide of cultists.

    Yet he hade toote.

    Rat! Its gaining! Merrick cried.

    The cyclops bore down on them, its breath rushing like a hurricane. Chittering in panic, she scrambled away, but Berard - that cowardly, drooling son of a dog - was blocking the closest exit.

    There was no chance for escape.

    <em>BOOM!</em>

    <em></em>The titan took another step and despair gripped her. All the trials shed faced to break out, all shed gone through, and now Kyembe had finally arrived simply to watch her die?

    <em>BOOM!</em>

    Another step.

    The giant raised its club. It was close now, striding directly beneath the hole in the ceiling. All sound seemed to fall away. In the face of death, all Wurhi could hear was its thunderous steps, its breath and-

    <em>SCCCCRRRRR!</em>

    <em> -</em>a hideous scraping sound that put teeth and ws on edge.

    wait what?

    What <em>was </em>that sound? Like metal grinding upon stone. She looked up to see the cyclops pause at the noise, its single eye widening in dull surprise. Its mouth agape, it slowly raised its head to look up.

    It squinted as a zing light - not merely that of the moon - shone into its eye.

    <em>SSSSSCR-</em>

    <em></em>The scraping stopped.

    A form dropped from the hole in the ceiling, heralded by a familiar battle cry.

    For the glory of Amitiyah!<em> </em>St. Cristabel roared, wrapped in the nimbus of her gods light. Her sword was braced against her in a two-handed grip, with its deadly point levelled below.

    The Solidde Knight descended toward the cyclops like a falling star.

 The Rat in the Pit I

    The Rat in the Pit I

    <em></em>St. Cristabel plunged down with terrible speed.

    <em>SCLPTCH!</em>

    Her bearing sword drove deep into the titans only eye, splitting its pupil and bursting the orb beneath. A bloodcurdling scream shook the mountain, potent enough to grind crystal to dust. Warriors near the cyclops shrieked and fell to their knees, sping their ears. The cavern trembled with the giants agony. Yet the saint remained steadfast: a Solidde that did not shudder against tribtion.

    <em>Hsssss!</em>

    <em></em>The Tears of Amitiyah zed around her armoured form, eating deep through the cyclops eyeball. With a roar, she tore her de free, releasing a fountain of crimson.

    <em>GROAAAAAAR!</em>

    The anguished bellow that followed rocked the cavern as the titan stumbled, his footfalls hammering the ground and kicking up clouds of sand.

    Its club flew from shocked hands as it careened about, grasping for its wounded eye.

    <em></em>Oooooh hells! Merrick screamed. Down!

    <em>Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!</em>

    The oak tree whirled toward them.

    Wurhi chittered and dived among the seats.

    <em>BOOOOOOM! CRUNCH!</em>

    The cyclops club smote the stone, sting out a hail of wood and rock.

    <em> Whish! Whish! Whish! Whish!</em>

    <em></em>Shrapnel shot over the Zabyan and exploded the surrounding seats to dust. Stone shards rained down upon her trembling form; she was d she had reached cover in time. Were she a bit slower

    She shuddered. Another bellow drew her gaze back toward the battle. The one-eyed giant reached to grab Cristabel and pull her from his face, but the knight swung her bearing sword at its offending hand.

    <em>cchnk!</em>

    Another anguished roar split the arena.

    Three enormous fingers parted from spurting stumps; each wound hissed as Amitiyahs Tears ate into flesh. Be still, wretched beast! St. Cristabel drew her sword up.

    <em>SCHNK!</em>

    <em></em>She plunged the de through its eyelid - splitting it like ss  and puncturing its eye once more. This time, she twisted the de with one gauntleted hand while drawing up the other high over her head.

    Her fingers curled into a fist.

    <em>Bang!</em>

    <em></em>She struck a mighty blow into the pommel of her weapon.

    <em>Bang!</em>

    She drew her fist back.

    <em>Bang!</em>

    <em></em>She drew her fist back.

    <em>Bang!</em>

    <em></em>Again and again she hammered her de into the titans skull, each blow driving the point deeper until it burst into the creatures brain. The monster stiffened and the knight seized the hilt in both hands. I <em>spurn</em> you, beast: let burning wrath drive you back to the dark from whence you <em>crawled!</em>

    The Tears of Amitiyah red along the de.

    <em>Fwooosh!</em>

    <em></em>Caustic vitriol flooded the monsters skull. Grey matter dissolved into slurry that poured from its nostrils and ears. A shudder waved through its body, limbs convulsing in death throes. Like a siege tower consumed by me, the creature swayed on its hooves and began to copse.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    Its colossal body gathered speed, sending folk fleeing from its growing shadow. Cristabel ripped free her sword and grabbed hold of the cyclops horn, riding it down toward the earth.

    <em>BOOOM!</em>

    <em> CRACK!</em>

    <em></em>The ground bucked at the tremendous impact. It quaked and <em>flexed</em>.

    <em>CRRRRRRRK!</em>

    <em></em>Stone cracked beneath the sand, threatening to give way but - slowly - the tremors settled. When the final shudder ceased, the only sounds that remained were hundreds of shaking breaths, the increasing roar of the river beneath the arena, and the sound of metal nking triumphantly.

    With a jauntyugh, St. Cristabel leapt from the fallen body of the titan, with sword and shield in hand. Her eyes danced within her visor and the zing nimbus about her seemed to <em>roar</em>. <em>Yes!</em><em>That</em> was glorious! I failed to find the dragon in Riyen, I failed to battle the mighty ogress in Garumna, but in this giant, I have atst found a worthy foe to sing of to my god! She pointed her de toward Lycundars horde. You there! I havee for mypanion, Wurhi of Zabya! Have you seen her? Bring her out, and I shall show some mercy-

    Cristabel! Kyembe called from above, rising from the stone where he had cast himself during the quake. I have found her! She is there! He cried excitedly. She is <em>there!</em>

    The knight whirled toward the Zabyan, her eyes lighting up. Wurhi, you live!

    The thief pulled herself up from behind the back of a wrecked seat. Her heart sang in her chest. They were here! They were both here! Had she been in human form and not <em>utterly exhausted, </em>she might have leapt from sheer joy. In her state, the best she could manage was a feeble wave with her sword.

    What in all of Amitiyahs wisdom!? Cristabel drew back as though scalded. These devils change not only into wolves but <em>rats</em> as well? Beast, why do you sully Wurhis de? Tell us what you have done with her!

    Wurhi froze. By all demons and gods she realized. I never told her I was a shapeshifter! Nono-

    No! No Cristabel! Kyembe gesticted wildly. That is Wurhi! The rat is Wurhi!

    A pause. The knight squinted.

    It <em>is</em> you! Glory of Amitiyah upon us-<em>Why are you a rat?</em>! Cristabel suddenly screamed. What have these evil ckguards done to you!? You are <em>cursed </em>by<em></em>these vile wretches!

    The rat-woman squeaked and iled her hands in protest. No! No! Youre wrong! she screamed in her mind.

    I will <em>destroy </em>them for this! The Solidde Knight whirled once again on the horde. No daylight wille to you, ckguards! Embrace the light of the moon while you can, for the next light you shall witness will be the <em>ze of my wrath!</em>

    The little thief paused. She slowly dropped her arms and adopted a pose of greatest dejection, nodding along with Cristabels conclusion. Yes! Yes! They cursed me! she thought. So you should kill them quickly! No wait, slowly-

    <em>Enough!</em> Someone stomped the sand.

    Silence fell.

    <em>Thm. Thm. Thm.</em>

    Footsteps pounded through the cluster of ck robed cultists.

    Milos of Crotonia stalked from their ranks, his teeth grinding. Primal hate burned in his eyes as hoarse breathing hissed through lips trembling in rage. I am <em>beyond</em> finished with all of <em>this!</em> His voice cracked. The <em>rat</em> is not cursed! It is <em>she</em> that carries curses! She spreads them like her <em>filthy vermin kin spread gue!</em>

    He cast his arms over the arena. <em>Look at what you have wrought!</em> Our brothers dead! Ourir scarred! My pets ruined and destroyed! the Sacred Alpha shook, drawing his gaze up toward the statue of Lycundar. Rising over the arena from its new perch, it watched them all silently with a sinister presence that was more than stone.

    And all wrought beneath the gaze of our <em>god!</em> Never! Never in some hundred years of walking under Lycundars fearsome guidance have I endured such <em>humiliation! </em>But<em> no more! No more</em> will I-

    <em>Vroooosh!</em>

    Kyembe fired at him mid-speech.

    Milos leapt back with an expletive.

    <em>Thoom!</em>

    The hellfire beam ploughed into the arena floor, melting sand and stone into the river below. Steam belched up, and the cult leader recoiled with a cry.

    <em>Crk.</em>

    The floor cracked further.

    The river grew louder.

    <em>Kill him, you fools!</em> Milos roared.

    The cult sprang toward the Sengezian. Wurhi gasped.

    Kyembe! St. Cristabel cried as the cursing Spirit Killer disappeared in a tide of ck robes and fur.

    Do not concern yourself with him, armoured one, for your own troubles will be greater, the Sacred Alpha drew a breath. You dare bring another gods name into Lycundars sanctumyou dare desecrate the pack? Step away from us, children of Lycundar.

    He drew to his full height. She is <em>mine.</em>

    Wurhi recoiled. Her primal fear upon first seeing him returned in full force. Animal instincts screamed at theing of a predator - one both unnatural and at the apex of all around it.

    She tried to scream a warning, but only a rats chitter emerged.

    The change fell over Milos of Crotonia with the ease of rain. Human flesh washed away unmasking a tide of beastly thew and iron hide. Limbs lengthened effortlessly, and ws the length of daggers sprang from swelling fingers. His face extended into a lupine muzzle and lips parted to reveal row upon row of fangs.

    The Zabyan gaped: she had thought Berard to be thergest of the wolf-men.

    She had been wrong.

    The Sacred Alpha loomed the size of an ogre: rising <em>twice</em> Cristabels height, and the saint was tall even for a <em>man.</em> Silver-grey fur coated his body and golden eyes radiated a cold savagery so ancient, that it reached from a time before humanity had awoken to higher thought. His skin rippled. Something swam just beneath the surface.

    <em>Schrrrp!</em>

    <em></em>Amitiyahs Tears! Cristabel cried.

    <em></em>His hide tore open, splitting into a dozen human-like maws that erupted like pox across his skin. As he drew a breath through his muzzle, the many mouths hissed and swelled with their own unnatural inhtions.

    They howled in unison.

    Their voices blended, twisting into something <em>more: </em>something<em></em>that stabbed Wurhis breast with unfathomed dread. Escapees cried out and fled from him, while acolytes copsed in awe so profound that it rent their senses. Even his tiger, filled with hatred as it was, could only cringe beneath its own terror.

    Abomination! St. Cristabel levelled her de toward her foe. What <em>are</em> you?

    <em>He who is cursed. He who is blessed,</em> hissed a dozen voices in chorus from the human-like lips. Milos muzzle growled in an undertone to his words. <em>I am flesh. And I am water.</em>

    His right arm rippled and flexed.

    <em>rrrp!</em>

    <em></em>Red-drenched bone erupted from the skin and joined together into armoured tes. The flesh drew back from his digits while ws fused and lengthened. In heartbeats, his armoured forearm terminated in an immense, curving de of aberrantly hardened bone.

    His blood dripped from the edge.

    <em>Come, interloper.</em> He ran a finger across the cleaver. A bead of red rose on his thumb, before being sucked back into the closing wound. <em>I will send you to your god.</em>

    <em>Bang!</em>

    <em></em>The knight struck pommel to shield. I have already met him, abomination, and the time I see him again shall be by <em>his</em> edict, not <em>yours. Now, have at you!</em>

    The saint and the beast let loose twin roars of challenge.

    They charged across the sand: a wave of metal racing toward a wave of unnatural flesh.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    <em></em>Bone-de struck sapphire shield, sliding off the golden mammoth head. Cristabel drove her sword at Milos, sweeping to spit his belly open. The massive werewolf took one nce at her vitriol-coated de and leapt back.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    <em></em>It swept the air just before his torso.He gave ground and she followed; his bone-de shed at the closing knight with the speed of a whip.

    <em>Crack! Crack! </em>Crack!

    <em>Hsssssss!</em>

    <em></em>He struck the knights shield again and again, but only slowed the smaller juggernaut. Amitiyahs Tears clung to the edge of his cleaver, eating into the bone. <em>You bear a mighty blessing!</em> Milos snarled. <em>I see that your god doles out favours like amon trollop!</em>

    <em></em>Vile hypocrisy for one who bears his gods corrupt favour so thoroughly!

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    Her de swept out but he slipped from its reach with supernatural celerity.

    <em>Crnch</em>!

    By act of will, he mmed part of his bone-sword to the sand, taking the vitriol with it. The de shuddered as it regenerated itself, bing whole in mere moments. Cristabels eyes narrowed.

    Milos snorted. <em>I speak no hypocrisy: there is no true blessing under Lycundar. Only a curse made to bow to ones strength of will!</em>

    <em> Swiiiiish!</em>

    The cleaver dipped low, sweeping up sand to spray into the saints eyes. As she raised her shield to block it, he shot forth.

    His bone-brand slipped through her guard.

    Wurhi screamed.

    The point drove into the sapphire-hued chain covering her armpit.

    <em>Bang! Chnk!</em>

    <em></em>Lupine eyes went wide.

    It had struck with enough force to fell a horse. Yet, while it made Cristabel stumble, the Valkyrie-forged armour held with a strength far beyond that of steel.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    <em></em>Her vermillion de swept up.

    <em>Chok!</em>

    Thirteen mouths howled in unison.

    Cristabels bearing sword split the bone cleaver in twain, sending half ttering to the sand. It hissed as Amitiyahs Tears ate it away. Even from a distance, Wurhi could smell the stink of vitriol. Milos drew back, willing the rest of his weapon to shed the remains of caustic ether.

    Such low tactics cannot fell me. The saint stalked after him. And such paltry strength cannot break my armour. Yield. You are swift, beast, but I <em>shall</em> catch you and cast your broken body to the sand.

    Milos voices grunted. <em>In my youth, I faced a lion whose hide resisted every de and spear. It too thought itself invincible. </em>His limbs swelled, rippling, as bone grew upon itself inyers. His arms expanded into hulking, armoured cudgels asrge as battering rams. <em>Until we beat it to death.</em>

    With a snarl, he rushed her.

    <em>Whoooooosh!</em>

    <em>BANG!</em>

    A bone club struck the saints shield with force so terrific that she stumbled back.

    <em>Bang! </em>

    Another blow struck.

    <em>Bang!</em>

    And another.

    Each bludgeoning sted through her armour, jarring and shuddering her body to the bone. While his blows could not fell her, they shook her footing, and the devilishly swift werewolf struck so that she could not regain it. Suddenly, the invincible knight was on the defensive, retreating from his fury.

    Wurhis heart froze. Oh shit, she thought. Shit! Shit!

    Dammit, behind you! Merrick cried.

    <em>Whoooosh!</em>

    Wurhi ducked Berards maul as it swept the air where her head had been. She rolled and sprang to her feet, snarling at the towering lycanthrope. Merrick rushed to join her.

    Once again, the two thieves faced the ck-coated beast.

 The Rat in the Pit II

    The Rat in the Pit II

    Men died around Kyembe like flies.

    The Sengezian danced and leapt from their encirclement, but they swarmed over the seats like enraged bees. His sword-staff struck out in a blur, ying or wounding with each cut, and the haft grew slick with gore.

    And not just with that of his foes.

    A score of cuts marked his own body, inflicted by fortunate lupine ws or sword-blows. They stalked him, not giving him leave to draw forth his healing energies.

    He growled, frustrated.

    Wurhi and Merrick struggled with the ck-coated Berard, the silver-coated Sacred Alpha drove titanic blows into Cristabel, and Kyembe struggled for his life with rabble. Below, the acolytes swarmed the pit fighters throughout the blood-stained sands.

    He cursed his choices: were he to slip away and join Wurhi or Cristabel, he would bring this army down on them. Yet, he could not stand against this force alone forever. He nced back down to the sands. There was only one way for it.

    With a roar, he charged the cult directly. His lips pulled back in a snarl as he raised his weapon above his head. The acolytes paused at his rush - none too eager to be the first to die to his de - while the werewolves surged forward with ws extended.

    They closed.

    Kyembes sword-staff came down-

    <em>Thmp.</em>

    <em></em>-but not on his foes.

    The Sengezian drove the haft into the ground, ivory flexing as it caught his weight. The half-dark elf vaulted over the onrushing lycanthropes - their jaws snapping at his heels above - and soared down the slope of the arena seats. Startled, masked acolytes ducked.

    As he flew, he shortened his de and channeled his eldritch power.

    <em>Vrooosh!</em>

    His sword awakened in hellfire.

    He struck the moment his feet touched stone.

    zing heat fell among the acolytes.

    <em> Booom!</em>

    <em></em>Bodies erupted into boiling gore as his de sheared through ck robed figures. Theirrades recoiled from scalding viscera as he charged, sweeping his de in arcs to drive them back. Forcing his way toward the arena floor, he cut a path of ming ruin through the cult, and atst reached the edge of the arena. He leapt down onto the sands with his lithe arms coated in burns, and a road of hellfire and broken bodies lying in his wake.

    Channelling his healing magics, Kyembe jumped into the horde of acolytes attacking the pit fighters, and slew cultists with every step. He had sheared through the line and made to join with the ves when a young captive, spying his blood-soaked form, struck at him.

    Wait! He parried the spear. I am with you! Friend to Wurhi!

    Then youre a friend of ours! A squat man stabbed down one of the cultists. Theres no end to these bastards and we need all the help we can get!

    Then <em>we</em> must make an end to them. He turned, shedding golden witch-light to heal the burns across his arms. Let us behead these snakes.

    Less talking! More fighting for our lives! a red-headed woman shrieked.

    In the seats above, the tide that Kyembe had fought split into two groups. Some rushed for the captives. Others charged to support Berard. None would approach the terrible struggle between the Sacred Alpha and Solidde Knight, yet Kyembes sharp eyes spied one who did.

    Recovered from its earlier trepidation, the titanic sabre-toothed tiger circled the duel. The cats eyes watched for an opportunity to strike

    but were drawn by another sight.

    <em>Bang!</em>

    Cristabel gritted her teeth.

    <em>Bang!</em>

    A bone-mace smote her shield.

    <em>Crk. </em>

    <em></em>Agony stabbed through her forearm as it cracked, but the pain washed away as her gods nimbus embraced her, healing as it did. Three times did one of his blows rupture a bone, but the knight held steadfast.

    Mangy cur! she roared.

    <em>Whoosh</em>!

    <em>Crunch!</em>

    <em></em>Her de bit deep into one of the clubs, but the bone-weapon shuddered and split, shedding outeryers like a moths cocoon. In heartbeats, it was restored. She struck at him again, but he quickly retreated, using superior reach to keep her at bay. Both ire and excitement grew within the knight. You are indeed a mighty foe! she called. The song of this battle will balm some of Amitiyahs grief!

    <em>You will not be there to sing it. I see now it will take a great length of time for one of us to destroy the otherbut can your friends survive that long? Even now the cult swarms to y the rat.</em>

    Cristabel stiffened.

    For an instant, her attention shifted.

    Milos pounced.

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    <em> Bang!</em>

    <em></em>He thrust through her guard to strike his bone-club against her helm and breastte. The impact rocked through the saints skull and she flew from her feet,nding with the force of a copsing smithy.

    He leapt upon her recumbent form with giant cudgels raised.

    They fell in a flurry.

    <em>Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Ba-</em>

    <em></em>Monstrous blows crashed against her body, driving her into the sand. She warded them off with de and shield, but her arms numbed from their force.

    <em>Crk. Crk. </em>

    <em></em>The stone began to crack beneath her.

    Rat! Behind us! Merrick cried.

    Wurhi chittered at him. Stop saying that! she screamed internally. She already knew what he spoke of: ws rushed across stone and her nose had caught the scent of blood and lupine musk. The wolf-demons wereing to reinforce their brother.

    And she and Merrick still could not bring this big bastard down.

    They had nked him quickly, but Berard had taken to ignoring the Hawk, focusing only on Wurhi. Despite Merricks spear driving into him again and again, it did not pierce deep and the wounds healed in an instant. The lycanthropes primal celerity had nearly ended the Zabyan half-a-dozen times. He was an unschooled brawler, but his experience, speed, and power kept the thief off-bnce.

    Her eyes narrowed on the monster that had dragged her to this mountain and he red back at his bane, flicking his head as the blood ran from his brow

    Wait! The blood!

    The Zabyan dove low, her wounded hand scooping up a palm-full of stone dust. He brought his hammer down to catch her, but she halted at the edge of his reach.

    <em>Whish!</em>

    <em></em>The cudgel went wide.

    She cast the debris in his face.

    He yelped, staggering back, and Merrick jabbed his spear to tangle the beasts hind legs. Berard stumbled, trying to rub the debris from his eyes as the blood ran from his brow and coated his hand, spoiling his vision.

    With the werewolf blinded, Wurhi dove into his reach.

    <em>hnk!</em>

    <em></em>An impact shook her arm as she drove the wizard kings sword into his belly. Silver bit home, skewering his insides. A bestial scream ripped from Berard. He grimaced and wed at his gut. Wurhi tore her de free within a spray of red.

    <em>Schnk!</em>

    <em></em>She stabbed him again.

    <em>Schnk!</em>

    <em></em>And again.

    The werewolf snarled, swiping blindly with his ws, but she dropped below his reach. Her de whipped into his powerful thigh, shearing the great artery in it. Crimson sprayed with every pump of his heart. Berards snarls withered to yelps of panic as he tried to staunch the wound.

    He bent by instinct.

    Blind as he was, he could not see Wurhis silver rising to meet him.

    <em>Schnk.</em>

    Her de sank into his throat and burst out the other side, impaling the werewolfs neck. He shuddered, choking on blood and metal as flesh rapidly transformed back into that of a man. With lifeblood fountaining from two great wounds, the ck-coated beasts voice died in his throat and his golden eyes dulled.

    Wurhi the Rat rose, withdrawing her de as Berard copsed into a pool of spreading red; her retribution dispatched.

    A deep, shuddering breath rasped from therge mans chest.

    It proved to be hisst.

    The massive wolf-man fell as Wurhi rushed away, for howls of remorse and anger had erupted at her back. These wolf-devils vengeance would be swift. Merrick had fled before she had inflicted the second wound. She sprinted to catch him.

    Bloody piss! Were not going to make it! He paled, ncing over his shoulder.

    Wurhi grimaced and followed his gaze.

    Five werewolves had broken ahead of the enraged acolytes. On all fours, the lycanthropes sheared away the distance between them and their quarry. The Rat and Hawk vaulted over the wall and rolled onto the sands, bounding to their feet and breaking into a t run. Her nostrils red. The sound and scent of lycanthrope did not fade. She heard the dull impact of bodiesnding on sand.

    The sound of ws scratched the earth, growing in volume.

    She nced past the struggle between the saint and the cult leader, her blood freezing at the dreadful blows driven into herpanion. Cristabel! she thought in horror. Beyond the duelling titans raged the battle of Lycundars cult and their captives.

    Kyembe had joined thetter and stiffened their resistance with the violence of twenty yers, but more of the cult surrounded them. The werewolves circled the escapees as a pack of wild dogs stalking a herd of gazelle. They avoided the mighty Spirit Killer and instead picked at the weaker captives, dragging them away from the ranks and falling upon them with savage ws. As more fell, Wurhi knew they could not hold out, and the two thieves could not break through the encirclement to aid them.

    The sabre-toothed tiger stalked closer to Milos back, primal will crushing its fear. Their eyes met for an instant, and she gave it a grimace before whirling about.

    The Zabyan thief dropped low, spreading arms, sword and tail. She red at the loping shapeshifters and bit down on her own terror: fear did not matter now. She hade too far to die. If she had to y <em>five</em> wolf-demons to live, then she would y five dirty, filthy, flea-ridden, privates-licking, behind-sniffing, cringing, mangy wolf-demo-

    Rat! Behind you! Merrick cried.

    She snarled. If the Hawk said that one more time, she might kill <em>him</em> first-

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    Wind rushed over head as something massive leapt through the air.

    The werewolves yelped and skidded to a halt.

    <em>Bang!</em>

    <em></em>The titanic sabre-toothed tiger collided with them like an avnche. Large wolf-demons were flung about like reed dolls. Some were driven to the earth with bones snapping while one was catapulted into the air. Watching the iling shapeshifter, the hunting cat bounded up and caught him in his massive jaws. Fangs impaled the lycanthropes chest, which cracked and copsed from the immense force.

    Hended hard on two others, pinning them with his front paws, and looked to Wurhi expectantly.

    <em>Yeeeeeees!</em> Best cat that ever lived! Merrick charged toward one of the werewolves as it attempted to scramble to its feet. Wurhi chittered her agreement and fell upon the other who was free of the hunting cat.

    Her de struck five times in quick session; the first finding the heart of the werewolf she had fallen upon, the next to sh open an artery of the one that Merrick had pinned with his spear, and three more times slitting the throats of the trio in the tigers grip.

    She wiped her silver on the fur of thest, gave the tiger an appreciative pat on the side - not paying attention when it stared at her again - then whirled back toward the battle. Her eyes narrowed at Milos as he continued trying to crush the stubborn saint.

    The cats eyes narrowed with hers.

    Palpable loathing rose between them.

    The Hawk looked at them. Where are you- He followed their gazes. oh, <em>piss, </em>youre not serious? Look, best we stay out of that, we get close and likely well get melted or wed or chewed up or shed oooooh <eme on! Get back here, you crazed bastards!</em>

    The Rat and the cat were already charging toward the leader of wolves.

    Cursing himself, his fortune and every god he could, the Hawk reluctantly followed.

 The Rat in the Pit III

    The Rat in the Pit III

    <em>Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!</em>

    <em></em>Milos of Crotonia poured rage of both man and beast into his fallen foe. Bone cudgels-crashed into the knight with the force of catapult stones, yet - to his mounting frustration - she would not die.

    Her armour should have caved in!

    Her body should have broken!

    He could have sworn it had!

    The cracking of bones reached his pointed ears, but would soon be followed by shes of sweetness within the caustic stench of vitriol. She continued resisting his onught. The rage of the beast rose in his mind, threatening the reason of the man within. <em>Die!</em> he hissed from twelve maws. <em>Die! Why will you not die!?</em>

    <em>Bang! Bang! BANG!</em>

    The nimbus of vitriol ate his body with every blow, but the resilience of the curse countered it. His eyes narrowed, noting her movements were weakening. Perhaps he was dazing her. Perhaps he was overwhelming her cursed magic.

    It did not matter.

    So long as he could keep her pinned long enough for Lycundars children to finish the rebels, they could all fall upon her, tear free that cursed winged helmet and crush that wretched skull-

    <em>WHAM!</em>

    <em></em>Such was his focus that he did not hear his rebelling pets rush.

    The sabre-toothed tiger mmed into him, throwing him off the knight and sending him stumbling back. The hunting cat wrapped all four paws around the lycanthrope, raking deep trenches into his flesh. Its massive body blocked his vision, and a sharp pain shot through Milos from fangs piercing deep into his shoulder.

    His lupine maw howled in agony, but his unnatural mouths howled in rage.

    <em>Wretch! Traitorous wretch!</em> the twelve tongues hissed. <em>After all I have done for you!? Die with them!</em>

    The man within cried out, wishing to re-capture his pet, but the wolf was <em>long</em> finished with patience. Growling, it focused on his skeleton, envisioning it flowing into a wicked shape.

    Something swift.

    Something sharp.

    <em>cchhhhnk!</em>

    <em></em>The cat yowled in agony.

    Spikes of bone - supernaturally sharp - erupted from Milos flesh, piercing the tigers fortified hide and digging deep into its body. The wolf within roared in triumph as the felines hot blood sprayed over his fur, even as the man cried out in consternation. The Sacred Alpha reached up.

    The clubs of bone rippled.

    <em>Shhrp.</em>

    <em></em>They split into vast, bone-sheathed maws - an odious cross of lupine and crocodilian shape - which opened to bite the cat in twain.

    An enraged chitter sounded from beside him.

    <em>Schnk.</em>

    His body went cold.

    And <em>burned</em>.

    Both man and beast within panicked as silver slid deep<em></em>into his side.

    His howl shattered the air and he cast away the titanic hunting cat in fury. The poor beastnded in a bloody heap on the sand as Milos whirled on his tormentor. Blood poured from his wound; the beast within retreated from the bite of silver.

    With a growl, he warped the flesh around the injury to seal it shut. The bleeding stymied, but his wrath did not. <em>You! Of course it would be you!</em>

    His wolfs eyes narrowed on the familiar rat-woman.

    The bone maws on his arms split open and ground their fangs.

    They would be tasting rat instead of cat.

    This was a mistake, Wurhi scrambled back from the warping wolf-devil.

    Milos stalked forward with fangs bared and human-like mouths whispering a susurrus of grudges. The unnatural jaws that were his arms - amalgamations of lupine maws and scorpion ws - chewed the air and shed long lines of spittle. His form rippled like akes surface gripped in a storm. To his side, the sabre-toothed tiger groaned as his brown fur washed crimson. The Zabyan winced. She had grown fond of the beast, yet there was little she could for him now.

    Her own life needed saving.

    She turned to dart around Milos left, but he swept after her with unbridled speed. She tried for the right, but he shadowed her still. She swallowed; the bastard was far swifter than either his beast-man or Berard.

    Her mind raced while her heart roared in her ears.

    Shit! Shit!

    What could she do!? Sand in the eyes? No, he was too swift: hed kill her while she sought a handful. Closing in? No, he was too swift: hed kill her on the way in. Throwing her sword? No, that was the only thing that would hurt him!

    Think, Wurhi! <em>Think!</em> her mind shrieked. Wait! The Hawk! If he could-

    Behind you!

    <em>Whish!</em>

    <em></em>A bronze spear sailed over her shoulder.

    <em>Thmp.</em>

    <em></em>It bounced off the Sacred Alphas chest.

    It ttered to the sand. Both the Rat and cult leader stared down as it rolled along the ground. I tried, Rat! the Hawk cried behind her.

    His voice rapidly receded into the distance.

    what she would have given to kill him before this monster finished her off.

    Grimacing, her eyes rose, and she caught a flicker to his back. Her heart leapt. A chance! If she could hold his attention, there was a chance! Baring her teeth in feigned ferocity, she darted forward, her sword shing in a feint. She would fool him into thinking it was an attack, stop just short of his reach and-

    <em>Crnch. </em>

    <em></em>A shock ran through her body. Fangs crunched deep into her sword arm. Blood poured from between his jaws. The bones in her arm fractured, protruding through skin and fur.

    Then came the pain.

    A shriek ripped from her core as he squeezed her ruined limb in his jaws and dragged her from the ground. Caught between two fires, she instinctively wrapped her rat body around her assant, keeping her full weight from her arm lest it tear free. Her sword was pinned between his fangs.

    Stay awake, Wurhi! she screamed internally. Cant pass out! Youll die! Youvee <em>too</em> far to die!

    Milos lips parted in a lupine grin at her cries, and his teeth shone in the light of the full moon. His flesh rippled and tendrils of sinew - like writhing sand-worms - burst from his flesh. Each of them ended in a pointed hook of bone. <em>I am going to y you now. This is how it should be. Once again, I hold your life-</em>

    Face me and try holding <em>this</em>, viin.

    The cult leader spun toward the familiar voice-

    <em>SCCCCHHHNK!</em>

    <em> -</em>and took Cristabels bearing sword in his chest.

    With a roar, the saint drove the de through bone and viscera until it burst from his back. It split his heart in twain; divine vitriol flooded his chest cavity with a vengeance.

    <em>Hssssss!</em>

    <em></em>Wurhis nose burned from the caustic stench. Milos body began to run like candlewax and he shrieked from every mouth. His unnatural jaws snapped open, freeing her arm and sending her tumbling to the earth. Her sword ttered from her limp hand.

    <em>BANG!</em>

    The knights shield struck the massive werewolf with such force that it threw him from his feet. She sprang on him, seizing an arm in her mighty grip.

    She twisted.

    <em>Crnch!</em>

    His scream rocked the arena while she grasped his other arm.

    <em>Crnch!</em>

    He screamed again as it shattered, but his wounds had already begun to heal. She drove a fist into his snout, fracturing it. Wurhi! I cannot keep him down! she nced to herrade. Bring your silver to finish him!

    The Zabyan rose weakly to her feet. Her head was fog on the end of her neck. Her fur had washed red and her fractured arm was useless. Flinching, she tried to take her sword in her other hand, but still could not bend those fingers properly due to the beast-mans handiwork.

    Gingerly she bent low, grasped the de between her teeth, and began to stumble toward the struggling titans. The saint had a hold of Milos throat, violently bashing his head into the earth while throttling him in her mighty grip. Vitriol poured over his flesh, but still he resisted.

    While snapping at Cristabels hands, Milos spied Wurhi approaching with the silver sword. Fear gripped his eyes at the sight of the dangerous de, and his body rippled desperately. Hundreds of tendrils burst from his flesh, cracking through the air and coiling about the knights armoured limbs and torso. Using this leverage, he hoisted her from the earth, and her gauntlets slipped from his renewing throat.

    The Sacred Alpha staggered to his feet.

    He made for a grim sight. Much of his flesh was gone, exposing bone, writhing muscle, and organs that swam through his body with the ease of fish. Only a few twitching lines of sinew and his thick spine connected his head to his torso.

    <em></em>As the knight savagely ripped away tendrils and others burned from the vitriol, more sprang up to take their ce. nting his feet, Milos began to whirl her above his head. The saint bellowed as she was spun like bs, gathering terrible momentum with every pass.

    Cristabel! the Sengezian cried, but he proved too inundated by cultists to aid her. Wurhi could only gape helplessly as the knights form blurred and rushed above the sand.

    <em>Crack!</em>

    Milos loosed her at full speed.

    Cristabel arced across the arena, shooting between Lycundars writhing necks and into the dark of the cyclops cavern.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    Wurhi winced at the sickening crunch of metal and flesh colliding with stone.

    <em> Enoughisenough</em> the werewolf growled.

    He staggered toward her, wearing weariness like a cloak. His cursed body fought to heal its dreadful wounds; vitriol-soaked flesh sloughed off to reveal newborn muscle knitting together. With a grunt, he shifted the maws of his arms to their original hands and gripped the golden hilt of the bearing sword impaling his chest. With a scream that pierced the mountain, he dragged the vermillion de from his body.

    Cold and vengeful eyes fixed upon Wurhi. She yelped as he drew back for a throw.

    <em>Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!</em>

    <em>Thnk!</em>

    <em></em>The swordnded heavily, burying itself within the rock.

    She turned and stumbled. Panic surged through the injured rat-woman; she willed her legs to run toward the other side of the arena. Breathing rapidly through her snout, she mped her teeth down on the de between them as blood streamed from the wounds in her fractured arm. She needed to reach the saint. If Cristabel could heal her injuries and face Milos with her, the two women could finish him while he was still weak.

    He would be slow now.

    His body was barely-

    <em>Whoosh!</em>

    <em></em>Something immense shot at her from behind.

    With a whimper, she cringed low as it sailed by.

    Milos drove into the floor before her, kicking up a spray of sand. Like a nightmaree alive, he rose - panting - and slowly spread his arms to block her path.

    Wurhi chittered at him. She had nearly made the other side of the arena - so close that Lycundars shadow loomed over her. Were she just a little faster and he a little slower

    But there was no helping it now. Both her hands were ruined. His body renewed by the breath. And he had her cornered.

    She was done.

    Beyond Lycundars visage, Cristabels golden light shone in the dark of the cyclops cavern, growing closer. Wurhi wheezed bitterly. The saint was as resilient as a cockroach, but she would never make it back to save her.

    <em>mend you</em> Milos panted. <em>You have showna great will to surviveyou would have be a magnificent agent of both meand He Who Consumes Himself</em>

    <em></em>Wurhi snarled and backed away. No! She was <em>not</em> done! As long as she was not dead, she was not done!

    The golden light drew closer. The shadow of Lycundars statue lengthened as the saint reached its base. Cristabel climbed out from behind it and took in the battlefield at a nce. Her eyes narrowed.

    You wont make it, Wurhi thought. You cant. Not before he kills me. If I dont think of something, you had better chop him into tiny little-

    To her surprise, the saint withdrew around the statue.

    Was she running?

    Impossible.

    <em>To thinka simple thief brought our pack to its knees, </em>the Sacred Alpha whispered, half-to himself. <em>Undoneby a mere rat in a pit. Remarkable. Know this, rat, you will live on in my thoughts. though, I suppose that will be smallfort to you.</em>

    <em></em>She could not run anymore. Her body was spent.

    He loomed above her now, with ws glinting.

    <em>Out ofregard. I will make it quick. Farewell, Wurhi of Zabya.</em>

    <em>CRNCH!</em>

    <em></em>Something shifted.

    Something impossiblyrge.

    Something never meant to shift.

    <em>Aaaaaaaaaaargh!</em> Cristabels voice roared with titanic exertion.

    Wurhi blinked. Behind Milos, shadows swayed around Lycundars snarling maws. The light around them waswas

    She gasped.

    No, she was wrong.

    The light was not shifting around the statue.

    The statue was <em>moving: </em>tilting forward as incredible strength lifted its base from behind. Milos spun about and froze in horror. <em>N-no! Lycundar! Remove your vile hands from him, servant of the Weeping God! Stop! Do not further desecrate his image!</em>

    In his shock, his full attention narrowed on the vision of his gods effigy dangerously tilting forward. That was all Wurhi needed.

    <em>Schnk!</em>

    Her head darted forward, teeth gripping her de, and clumsily, drove the sword into his ankle. With a violent twist of her neck, she tore his tendon asunder.

    Aaaaaaargh! Milos wailed and fell to one knee, but the Zabyan sprang upon him, shing his other calf. Before she could do more, he gave her a backward swipe that knocked her away, sending her stumbling out of his reach.

    Her lips pulled back from her bloody sword as if to smile.

    <em>Thmmmmmm. Crk. CRK!</em>

    Stone crumbled as Lycundars statue tilted further forward. Cries of rm echoed through the arena.

    Wurhi hobbled the hell away.

    Howling with frustration, Milos tried to drag himself to his feet, but his hamstrung legs could notply: their wounded flesh returning to that of mortal man. Panic shone in his eyes as he desperately willed his legs to create tendons while dragging his body forward. Stone sheared, finally giving way in a deafening roar. Lycundars fearsome heads rushed toward the arena floor; his shadow deepened over the cult leader.

    <em>Schrrrp!</em>

    Unnatural tendrils stretched across his wounds, forming new bonds. Control returned to his legs.<em></em>The Sacred Alpha sprang up on all fours.

    He tensed for a leap.

    <em>BOOOM! SPLATTER!</em>

    Milos of Crotonia was crushed beneath the weight of his own gods image.

    Lycundars heads shattered in the moonlight, seeming to cry out in loss.

    <em>CRK! CRK! CRASH!</em>

    <em></em>The arena floor buckled inward and the earth roared as rock split asunder.

    It imploded.

    <em>WHOOOOOOSH!</em>

    The river rushed forth, sting apart stone as it fled its pressurized prison. Lycundars crumbling image - sttered with the twitching form of the Sacred Alpha - toppled into the rapids and disappeared within the rivers raging belly.

    Thus the ancient image of He Who Consumes Himself was, indeed, consumed.

    <em>CRACK!</em>

    Fissures crawled through the arena. The mountain shook. Pebbles and stone dust rained from the ceiling, giving way torger stones and boulders that plummeted to dash themselves on the crumbling floor below.

    All within the cavern shrieked in panic.

    By all the gods and demons, the bloody mountainsing down! Merrick cried.

 The Rat in the Pit IV

    The Rat in the Pit IV

    As the ground bucked, Wurhi of Zabya tried to scramble from the growing fissure. The river yawned behind her, swelling and washing over the sands; its roar filled her ears and her fur grew slick from its spray. Her heart shook harder than the stones beneath her feet, yet even terror could not spur her body to movement, and it gave out all the same. Far too much strain and not enough blood. She copsed to the stones, and the crawling sensation of the change took her - the beast within too fatigued to remain.

    Soon only a small Zabyan woman, bloodied and weakened,y upon the ground.

    Wurhi! Kyembe cried.

    She dragged up her swimming eyes.

    Ahead, the battle was over.

    The victor was the mountain.

    Both ve and cultist bolted for the exit, fleeing the summits fury in a chaotic swarm. Kyembe the Spirit Killer ran <em>toward</em> the growing fissure. Golden light yed about his hands as his long legs crossed the distance. Wurhi! He sped her and poured healing energies into her body. Atst, I have you! I have you, my friend!

    Wurhi of Zabya found herself sobbing. Atst her ordeal wasing to an end. But one of their number was missing.

    Cristabel! Kyembe cried. Hurry!

    Wurhi trembled and forced her body to turn. How was the saint to cross the maelstrom opening between her and safety?

    Her eyes went wide.

    The Solidde Knight had rushed into the seats and hefted the cyclops oaken club over her head. Roaring Amitiyahs name, she charged toward the arenas crumbling centre, spun as though preparing for a hammer toss, then cast both the titanic club and herself from the edge of the seats.

    Knight and tree shot through the air,nding hard upon the rapids. The titans club bobbed and bucked while Cristabel mbered over the top and sprinted across like a charging bull, leaping from the end as it was sucked into the turbulent river.

    <em>Crash!</em>

    <em></em>Her armoured body met the copsing edge of the arena and she scrambled up as it crumbled away. She sprinted toward the two gaping soutnders, lifting her visor to expose a sweat-washed, freckled countenance filled with relief. We are reunited! she pronounced. We are reunited atst!

    Kyembe blinked at her. Cristabel, at this moment, you might be the most attractive woman I have ever met.

    Admire meter! St. Cristabel retrieved her bearing sword. When we all still live and are not buried beneath a mountain!

    Fair! Kyembe stuck Wurhis sword through his belt and lifted her up. Hang on to me!

    As he and the Traemean fled from the copsing cavern, Wurhis eyes drifted across the field. Death had reaped a fine harvest this night. The cyclops body sank through the weakening floor which crumbled beneath its weight. Acolytes and werewolves  now transformed to men in death - littered the field alongside too many escapees. She winced at seeing thetter: they hade so close to freedom only to die with it just beyond their grasp.

    Her breath caught as her gaze fell upon a miserable sight.

    The sabre-toothed tigery in a pool of its own lifeblood, its form still, as the ground began to crumble near it. The beautiful beast had saved her twice and given Milos as much trouble as any of them. He had found his opportunity to rebel against a cruel master, but it hade at a terrible cost.

    Wurhi sighed. She would remember him as he had been: beautiful and terrifying, not broken on the sand, with chest rising weakly-

    Wait, chest rising weakly!? Yes! He lived!

    Cristabel! the Zabyan screamed. Stop! Hes still alive! a desperate hand pointed to the hunting cat. Save him! He helped us! Please, save him!

    The knight took in the situation at a nce and changed course without hesitation. She hoisted the titanic cat onto her broad shoulders as though he were a sack of yams. Her vitriol turned sweet as it touched the valiant cats flesh. Come, brave beast! she ran after Kyembe. This is no grave for one such as you!

    Or any of us! the Sengezian shouted. Run for life, Cristabel!

    And she did.

    Solidde Knight and Spirit Killer - each bearing a wounded warrior - charged through the crumbling arena, leaping across stones as they broke away from the floor. The riverpped at their heels and the ceiling coughed veils of stone dust. Lycundars mountain thrashed and sought to smother all within, as though the wolf god himself were voicing his rage. Kyembe and Cristabel darted into the tunnel where the cult had fled, dodging plummeting rocks and holding their breaths against rising dust. Stone flecks stung their eyes. Lungs burned from exertion.

    Were close! Wurhi screamed. Fresh air beckoned her nose from ahead. Were close!

    Up ahead moonlight shone into the opening of the grand tunnel.

    It grew with every step forward. Still, the mountain roared louder.

    Stone heaved beneath their feet.

    The ceiling crumbled above their heads, determined to bury them.

    Then, quite suddenly, the air turned crisp and cold as they stumbled through the mouth of the tunnel. They were outside.

    The palisade before the cavern had fallen and their eyes could barely pierce through the blowing snow. Yet they kept running. Through the blindness they ran. Through the biting cold. They ran until they atst ran <em>into</em> something.

    Oof! cried a voice like scratching ss as Cristabel bowled over a small figure. Who the he-Bloody piss! Youre alive! Merrick the Hawk cried.

    What was left of the ves turned wearily toward them. Wurhi was pleased to see familiar faces: Saxa, Agron and Gannicus panted with their hands on their knees. Perhaps only a score of others had lived through the ordeal, and all watched the summits silhouette as it gave a great sigh.

    <em>THOOM!</em>

    The earth bucked so hard that some pitched from their feet. A cloud of stone dust  ushered by thunder - belched from the heart of the mountain to spray into the wind. As thest shocks faded, the great cavern that led into the nightmare had sealed itself.

    The arena of Lycundar had hosted its final battle.

    The mountain would never again take the cult into its belly.

    No! Sacred Alpha! Our home! came a cry. Wurhi looked sharply to the west. There, marked against the snow in silhouette, loomed the remains of Lycundars cult. They were broken. Only a pitiful number remained of what once could have been an army. Four lonely werewolves raised their muzzles and bayed their sorrow to the moon. ck robed men wrung their hands and tore their hair.

    Yet, the remains of the wolf gods followers still outnumbered the former ves three to one. They turned to re at the survivors. Filthymbs! one cried. We will see you pay for this! Our fallen brothers will grant us strength!

    Groaning, Kyembe raised his ring and Cristabel set down the hunting cat to draw up her sword. The freed captives slowly raised their bronze. All were wan with weariness, but their eyes burned in resolve.

    They would not die here.

    Not now.

    Not without a fight, and not by the hands of these scum.

    You will go to feed our god the lead acolyte snarled. Even if it cost us our lives to see it do-

    <em>Whish! Thnk!</em>

    A crossbow bolt struck the threatening man deep in his chest.

    All froze.

    I think you have drawn quite enough lives for one lifetime.

    An iron-ck steed rode out of the blowing snow, bearing the lean form of Jeva. He was d in a silvery chain shirt and held a device for which his cult was known: a steel-limbed crossbow.

    He raised a hand as though summoning soldiers for the twilight of the gods.

    Riders emerged from the white with the clink of steel. Riders bearing armour and weapons that sported a cold gleam. Riders whose eyes held the bite and focus of iron.

    The Cult of Steel hade. In force.

    Remember, Jeva said. Steel to hurt and silver to finish the wolf-men. He pointed to Kyembe, Wurhi, Cristabel and the other survivors. Leave these folks be, they are allies.

    The seneschals cold eyes returned to Lycundars children. Execute the rest.

    Spurs touched nks. Hoofs churned the snow. des rang from their sheathes.

    Screams and howls shuddered through the night as steel, bronze and silver bit flesh, hellfire shed, and vitriol ate bone. When atst the wind died and the snows began to settle, the field bore the pierced remains of the wolf gods own, sprinkling ash, and the pungent odour of vitriol.

    On the night of the full moon, this cult of Lycundar had been ughtered to thest.

    No more would men stalk the streets of Laexondael, desiring to emte the wolf.

 The Third Oath I

    The Third Oath I

    A glut of bodies choked the river.

    ck robed corpses bubbled from the mountains sodden heart, twisted from their struggle through the underground current. They rushed through the rapids, tumbling over each other - kicking up spray, cracking bone and tearing dead sinew - untiling to rest in a growing heap where water atst slowed to ice.

    The cultists might have be their gods hunters or simply his meal in the afterworld, but here, they were nothing more than bird-food. Crows swarmed from their roosts in the surrounding pines while white scaled fish with bulging eyes emerged from mud-beds below. Carrion-feeders of all kindred gathered for a grisly banquet, gorging themselves before the flesh fully froze. In a strange irony, even a pair of lean wolves slinked from between the darkened trunks to pull a body into the nearby forest.

    The cyclops proved especially tantalizing, and one could scarcely see its corpse for the swarm of winter scavengers above and below. As the broken remains of his oaken club drifted toward his carcass, the feasters suddenly stilled. Eyes grew wide as instinct overwhelmed hunger, and they scattered in all directions.

    All avoided the scarred oak; more precisely, they avoided that which <em>clung </em>to it. Limp tendrils capped by hooks of pointed bone dug into tree bark, while below the battered oak and freezing current floated a squamous mash of flesh. It drifted along, bobbing like another ruined piece of meat in the wash, but twitched with faint stirrings of life.

    The tendrils shuddered, ripping free of the wood, allowing the twitching mass of muscle to drift toward the river bank.

    Atst, it slid onto the moonlit shore.

    <em>Spllssssh!</em>

    <em></em>It sprayed water from sodden tissues as though it were a sponge squeezed by a giants hand. Then it began to swell. In rhythmic pulses it grew, drawing in sweet air after a great stretch of time. Its heart and breath quickened now that its sojourn through the frigid waters beneath the mountain had ended; they had slowed to prevent suffocation. It breathed its fill.

    It began its work.

    Shuddering, the mass shifted upon the shore. Flesh split and joined. Crumbled bone twisted together. The shapeless thing began to take a shape, writhing through the formation of maws, ws, and tangles of limbs. Atst, it recovered the form with which it was most familiar.

    <em>Schhlllch.</em>

    <em></em>It resumed the form of a man; one powerfully built and panting his misting breath before a reddening face. Milos of Crotonia rolled onto his bare back with arms and legs syed and, as his eyes met the moon, his strained voice emerged from taut lips.

    Well, Milos, he whispered. You have had a <em>bad</em> couple of days.

    The cult leaderwell, <em>former</em> cult leader, could only chuckle in the night breeze at the absurdity of it all. He had lost everything. Everything save for his own life, out of foolish arrogance. <em>If</em> he made it back to the Council of Twelve, and <em>if</em> they deigned to keep him alive, he would ask to be demoted from the position of Sacred Alpha immediately. He would work beneath a younger wolf until he learned some damned humility again, and if he<em></em>saw Wurhi the Rat or either of herpatriots, he would

    flee with all the speed he could muster.

    There would be a time for reckoning with those that destroyed his pack, but only when he was strong and <em>they</em> were weak. Only when victory was assured and he could gut them before their own horrified eyes.

    There woulde a time when he would find opportunity.

    He was sure of this.

    His body slowly rose to his hands and knees. But if I ever see that Haldrych Ameldan he paused. Oh, I would do what? The damage is done, and the boy does not matter anymore.

    Giving a defeated groan, his form shifted as though water were cascading over it. A breathter, the man was gone. In his stead was a beautiful silver wolf whose coat gleamed in the moonlight, and he lifted his muzzle for a mournful howl.

    He paused, breaking off the pained cry and ncing about furtively. Were his enemies close? Would they find him from the noise? Were they waiting somewhere in the trees with their fire and silver and vitriol? His muzzle shut quickly; he would howl when it was safe, perhaps when he was three days away at a run.

    Shaking the frost from his coat, Milos of Crotonia bounded into the trees.

    His final thought was to his own treacherous cat: At the least, I slew <em>him.</em>

    Hale and <em>un</em>in, the sabre-toothed tiger sat upon his haunches atop a snow-crusted hill. His golden eyes scanned the camp, watching the forms of the humans silhouetted by light of fire and moon. The humans that fought beside him were tired. The new humans - the ones in shiny shirts - were not.

    His gaze shifted to arge fire in the distance, where the bad humans were piled and burning in the snow.

    Good.

    Long had he waited to see that sight.

    Long had he waited to see the monster that caged him - that killed his mother - dead. He had watched him be crushed beneath the big stone wolf that the humans had carved and now he was gone. His bad humans were gone, and the human that smelled of sourness and sweetness had saved his life. It was a life that was - for the first time in his short existence - all his own.

    He hade to freedom.

    The cat turned from the camp and toward the trees and mountains under moonlight. The brisk breeze stroked his fur, the scent of wild tickled his nostrils and the snow melted against his warm paws. He closed his eyes and drank deep of the midnight air. Only a single bound separated him from the glorious wilderness. He would be its king:rger, mightier and faster than nearly anything in the mountains. He could go where he wished and do as he wished from now until his fur turned grey. And what he wished to do was

    Was

    The cats thoughts paused.

    He had never thought this far before.

    What did he wish to do in the wild?

    He knew little of it, and he had never been free. His mind was sharp enough to know that he was anything but natural. He knew the words that the humans spoke and, from observing the other beasts that Milos kept, knew that they did not. In the wilderness he would be alone, at the pinnacle of his kind.

    Did he truly want that?

    Perhaps

    His thoughts drifted back to the little, rodent-smelling woman that had helped him gain his freedom and his life.

    Perhaps not.

    He could bide his time to decide - he was used to biding his time - and he could change his mind once decided.

    His eyes focused on the cold wilds once more, pressing them into memory.

    After all, he was <em>free</em>.

    <em>Crackle.</em>

    For someone atst tasting freedom, you are strangely sombre, Wurhi, Cristabel stirred the bonfire with a long stick.

    Others hunched about the me, blowing misting breath into their hands.

    Near-death does that. Merricks teeth chattered. The hawk-faced man rubbed his reddened hands near the popping, crackling heat. That and <em>freezing. </em>Bloody piss, wish we could be gone already, and not wait until morning. I want a real hearth, a cupa wine, and a roof over my head.

    Not I. Agron hugged himself and trembled, but the squat man bore an ted smile. He stared into the sky; he had hardly torn his gaze from it since the clouds had cleared to uncover the stars. If I <em>never</em> have stone around me for the rest of my life, Ill die the happiest man in the world. but its a shame Crixus didnt get to make it out.

    Gannicus troubled the bandage swaddling his arm. Im more worried about <em>us.</em> Some of us have homes to return to. Some dont.

    Anythings better than those pits, Gan. Were all good in a fight: at least we can try and make a go of things now. Saxa massaged a pulled thew in her leg. Her orange-red hair hung limply around her shoulders as she nced up to Wurhi. Ive gotta thank you, Rat. We all do. If it werent for you, wed all be wolf food.

    Wurhi nced at her. Yeahthanks.

    Her eyes drifted back to Kyembe and Jevas lean figures standing between the fires. The two men exchanged quiet words in the shadows with a rxed manner. They had been speaking for some time now, and the Zabyan wished in a way they would never stop. In all the whirl of blood and snow, she had not yet had the chance to tell Kyembe of her fault in all this: her theft of the Eye of Radiin, undertaken without his knowledge.

    The secret hung from her neck like the jewel itself, biting into her throat. She wanted to be rid of it, and yet feared what its telling would bring. If he abandoned her now, she could little me him: <em>she</em> would have if she stood where he did. Yet, he had proved more forgiving and softer than she had ever been in her life.

    With any hope, he would be now.

    She grimaced as the Sengezian sped forearms with the seneschal and turned to draw toward their fire. Rising to her feet, she dusted the frost from herself. If she did not do it now, she never would. Cristabel, could youe with me?

    The knight looked at her curiously. very well.

    Wurhi trudged through the snow with the saint close behind. Her eyes caught those of Jeva and he paused, watching her for a long moment. The old man gave her a short bow before turning to join the rest of the cult of steel. The hard-eyed people of his sect watched all about with a strange, cold removal.

    Kyembe, she called to the Sengezian. Theres something I want to tell you.

    An odd looked passed through his crimson eyes, but he showed no surprise. Can we speak by the fire? Or is this something only for friendly ears?

    Friendly ears. Wurhi jerked her head toward the outskirts of the encampment, just outside the firelight. She could only hope they would <em>stay</em> friendly. W-walk with me.

    Cristabel and Kyembe looked to each other. Lead the way, he said.

    The little thief could hardly feel her own body as they followed her through the snow, save for the cold tension gripping her chest and belly. When the trio were atst out of the circle of light and none stood near, she turned to them.

    Expectant eyes waited. She took a breath.

    It hade time toy out all of her cards.

    This was it.

    or was it?

    A wild, desperate urge struck her. Why not lie? The wolves were dead, and that left only her and the Hawk to know the truth of things. He had no reason to tell anybody - especially since it mighte out that he tried to kill her. Even if she did not lie, she could simply say nothing. The matter was done.

    It was all over. All she had to do was let it go and-

    This was all my fault, she drove the words out. Balling her tiny fists, she forced herself to hold their gazes. Her body trembled, but she knew that if she did not tell them now, then the secret would hang from her neck until it one day strangled her.

    In a sense, she would <em>never</em> leave the pit if she lied.

    II took that big jewel that Thesiliea and Ippolyte warned us about. It was stupid. Stupid! But I thought it would be easy. Thought you wouldnt ever have to know. She trembled. But its owner knew those wolves, and they came into Paradise looking for the jewel and me. All the things that happened, it was because of meIm She drew a deep, tremulous breath. Im so, so sorry. I shouldve told you I was going to steal i-no. She shook her head vigorously. You said no, and so I shouldnt have done it unless we both agreed. That was our oath

    and I broke it, she finished in her mind, as she could not bear to say those words aloud.

    As she spoke, she had watched Kyembe and Cristabel carefully, but the warriors had remained as imprable as a stone wall. The silence drew on until she thought shed tremble out of her own skin.

 The Third Oath II

    The Third Oath II

    Finally, the saint sighed, squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her face to the heavens.

    Kyembe made a wry expression. Wurhi he said slowly. "I already guessed that. Not all of it, but I knew you took the Eye.

    The Zabyan blinked. What? When? How?

    He gestured toward Jeva by the fires. While we searched for you, we were told that House Ameldan had been robbed the day you were taken. He gave her a reproachful look. I may sometimes act a fool, but I am <em>not </em>a fool. At least not enough to miss what was in to see.

    Oh she grumbled. Soso what are you going to do?

    He drew a deep breath. I am going to tell you the same as you said to me in the Forest of Giants. His eyes narrowed on her. Dont <em>ever</em> do this again. Understand?

    She winced at her own words thrown back at her. Never. I wont do it.

    Kyembe peered at her carefully, searching her expression. Crimson eyes seemed to burn through her. You know what? I do not believe you will. His body rxed as though a burden had slid from him. Good. Then it is done.

    She blinked. What? Really? But what about all that happened? I nearly died! <em>You</em> nearly died! A bunch of people died! She looked to the saint. And what about <em>you?</em>

    St. Cristabel atst opened her eyes. I have no right to anger, for you made no oath with me. I knew well that you were a rogue when we joinedpany. Am I to be shocked when you do roguishness? And as for the result of your actionsdid you hear how that young woman addressed you by the fire? <em>Truly</em> listen to it? It was as though she spoke to a hero.

    The Zabyan scoffed. What? Im no hero.

    You are not, the knight agreed. But you <em>did</em> things that were valorous. If you did not steal this bauble, then true, Paradise would not have suffered attack, but it is also true that all these folk would still be in this foul cults grip. Others would have been abducted and in in the future: I believe that Laexondael has be a safer ce thanks to your onepse in judgement. You <em>did</em> spurn your oathbut sometimes greater goodes from smaller ill, if one makes better choices afterward. And you did. Whether it be for justice, vengeance or merely survival, you saved many lives and helped destroy a blight. And look to your hand and arm.

    Wurhi did. The appendage was whole again, thanks to the Tears of Amitiyah. They had turned sweet and mended her flesh earlier. My god is pleased with your acts of valour, it seems, and so am I. I do not condone your actions, friend, but I see your remorse and I believe in it.

    I do not hold much worth in the judgement of demons and gods, but I ce a lot on the judgement of friends. Kyembe ced his hands on the Zabyan and Traemeans shoulders. I will say this, Wurhi: if you had not told me, I would have left you by springsing. Nothing you could have said would have stopped that. But you told the truth and, to me, that is enough.

    But-

    No need for more exining, you said you will not do it again, so it is done, he slyly repeated more of her words from the Forest of Giants.

    But our oath! Wurhi cried. I broke it!

    He rolled his eyes. What is all thisining? Do you <em>want</em> me to part ways with you? Deepughter poured from him, but an edgey to his mirth, which slowly died into a sigh. Truly, my friend, I cannot say that I am not angry with you, but what is done is done and you told the truth about it. None of us are dead or maimed, and as for our oath, we are now even: I strained its spirit in the Forest of Giants as you did here. So, it is bruised, but not broken. And-

    He raised his hand. -it can be renewed, stronger than before. When first we made our oath, we were two desperate fools looking for enough coin to keep ourselves alive. When next we renewed it, we were partners after a theft, looking to travel together for protection. Now, though?

    His hand clenched into a fist. We are <empanions</em>, <em>friends andpeers</em>. We have saved each others lives. We have confided in each other, we have won, and we have lost. We have pushed the bounds of our oaths ande to new understanding: only now do we make this oath with knowledge of each other. This will be our third, and will be the strongest between us.

    He looked at her as though the weight of their lives would hang on his following request. It will not be broken lightly. Will you make it with me, Wurhi of Zabya?

    Wurhis hand shot up before he had finished. With everything Ive got, Kyembe of Sengezi.

    Kyembe kissed his knuckles. I, Kyembe of Sengezi, will travel with you, Wurhi of Zabya, until we agree to part or circumstance separates us. I will watch your back as you watch mine, and I will tell you of anything that could endanger you. I will not betray you, dishonour you, or steal from you.

    Wurhi kissed her knuckles. I, Wurhi of Zabya, will travel with you, Kyembe of Sengezi, until we agree to part or circumstance separates us. I will watch your back as you watch mine, and I will tell you of anything that could endanger you. I will not betray you, dishonour you, or steal from you.

    <em>Clnk.</em>

    praytell, does there lie space for another in this oath?

    Wurhi and Kyembes eyes drew to Cristabel.

    The knight gave a rueful smile. Her hand had also risen into a fist. Would you not have me in yourpany?

    Wurhi and Kyembes gazes drew to each other. I am surprised you would make an oath with us, he said. You seek glory and battle and so forth, while we are scoundrels.

    And rogues. Wurhi added.

    Thieves. Kyembe added.

    Killers. Wurhi added.

    I am a killer just as you, and plundering ones in enemies is an honoured tradition in Traemean warcraft. Further, in the space of a few months you both found Gergorixs Egg, saw the tyrant Avernix destroyed and led me to one of the greatest battles of my time. I follow the swift wind to glory, friends, and it seems that the wind blows where you walk. Also

    Her cheeks grew slightly red beneath her freckles. I have quickly grownfond of both of you, and would not wish to part so quickly.

    Kyembes grin grew broad. Well, by the stars! I am fond of you as well! If I am to count the Solidde Knight as one of mypeers, I would say that fortune has smiled down upon me. What say you, Wurhi?

    The Zabyan peered at the knight appraisingly. I dont know, I just got rid of a bunch of cultists and now Im going to take on one more?

    Cristabel sputtered. I am <em>not</em> a cultist!

    I dunno, you and Milos both go on and on and on about your gods<em>and</em> you both worship by way of horrible, horrible violence

    I- the saint stammered. That is <em>different!</em> Amitiyahs noble grief must be balmed, while the foul wolf gluts himself-

    The knight paused as she saw Wurhi failing to hold back bubblingughter. Im joking! Joking! Dont smash me or anything! Im going to tell you true, Cristabel, I think youre as crazy as an angry camel that got into his masters wine and poppy milk, but youre <em>my </em>kind of crazy!

    Wurhis relief and excitement erupted at once, bringing her into giggling, light-headed giddiness. Besides, with you around wed look all official in the north! Think about all the parties and other shit we could get into! Wed rob everyone blind! <em>Blind!</em>

    I cannot help but fear that I might have erred. Friends, perhaps I was too hasty.

    You are also toote! Kyembes crimson eyes twinkled as he wrapped an arm about her shoulders. You are one of us now! Tried and true! Come, I think I have grown tired of snow and wolves. I say we go back south, and youe with us.

    Wurhi nodded vigorously.

    The Sengezians face drifted closer to the Traemeans ear, and his voice quieted as though inviting a lover to bed. You shall see what <em>real</em> weather is like, and find an entire newnd to sing of to your god. Come now, does that not sound appealing?

    Cristabel folded her armoured arms and sighed. I cannot help but feel that I am being had Her eyes sparkled with excitement. But I care not! If you betray me or insult me, I shall consider the oath broken, cleave you both in twain and then weep for our lost fellowship!

    Wurhi and Kyembes smiles faded. The Sengezian began to lean back. I cannot help but feel that we might have erred-

    Toote shall be the cry! The saint smiled broadly, and her dimples appeared in her cheeks. She grasped Kyembe by the waist to prevent his escape, slipped her gauntlet from her hand, kissed her knuckles and extended her fist. I, Saint Cristabel Esnore of Traemea will travel with you, Wurhi of Zabya and Kyembe of Sengezi, until we agree to part or circumstance separates us. I will watch your back as you watch mine, and I will tell you of anything that could endanger you. I will not betray you, dishonour you, or steal from you.

    Kyembeughed helplessly, then kissed his knuckles.

    His fist extended, touching hers. I extend my oath to you, Saint Cristabel Esnore of Traemea.

    Simultaneously, The Rat kissed her knuckles and touched them to those of the Solidde Knight and the Spirit Killer. I extend my oath to you, Saint Cristabel Esnore of Traemea.

    Their knuckles pressed together in a triad, linking them by way of word and bond. With this oath, they would-

    Watch out! Kyembe suddenly cried.

    A massive form blurred out of the dark, crashing into their joined fists. For an instant, a huge, brown furred head pressed into their circle and - in a sense - the oath of three became <em>four.</em>

    <em></em>Then the trio of humans were bowled over by the sabre-toothed tigers immense bulk.

    You! Wurhi cried, looking up into the cats golden eyes. She bounded to her feet and rubbed his snowy nk. Id wondered where youd gone to! I thought youd left for the wild, why did youe back? Wait

    She thought on his sapience. were you listening to us? she asked in Laexondaelic.

    Kyembe groaned, rising up from the cold embrace of the snow and Cristabels armour. Wurhi, why are you talking to the cat? Hecannot His jaw fell open as the sabre-toothed tiger nodded along with her words. understand you?

    He can, but Ill that exinter! She nearly bounced with excitement.

    Cristabel rose up, gaping alongside the Sengezian. Later? That is a matter of note enough for urgency-

    Later! Later! She waved them off, focusing on the cat. So, is that it? Do you want toe with us?

    The tiger stared at her for a moment, not realizing that he had unconsciously begun to lean into her stroking.

    Then he nodded.

    YYyyyyyeeees! Wurhi jumped up and down, rubbing his coat with both hands. Mentally, she conjured up the image of herself<em></em>lying in a pnquin with a great predatory cat at her feet. She had always wanted a sleek leopard or cheetah, or perhaps a regal lion or tigress.

    She tossed that image into a ditch, recing it with a beautiful, titanic stabbing cat of the north. Oh yeeeeees, this was <em>much</em> better! She would need a bigger pnquin and perhaps a pair of elephants to carry it but what was life without goals?

    Wee to the group! Uher She looked at him seriously. Whats your name? I never heard Milos call you by a nameor <em>any </em>of his beasts

    The cat growled, slowly shaking his head.

    Wurhi snorted incredulously. Didnt name you, huh? Somehow, that was like him. Well <em>well</em> treat you better. Wont we? She shot a look at her twopanions.

    The Saint and the Spirit Killer looked at each other. Are we truly doing this? Kyembe asked. He saved your life, so I say the more the merrier, but <em>you</em> will pay to feed him.

    Agreed, the knight looked to the tiger appraisingly. But it is no good for such a valiant and majestic creature to go unnamed. I say we dub him she paused. What ofbattle cat?

    Three pairs of eyes drifted to her. What? He is a cat who battles! Is that not appropriate!?

    Kyembe patted her shoulder with a pitying look. You have a terrible sense of naming.

    I do <em>not!</em> she protested, but the other three had moved on.

    Now, now, he needs a <em>kingly</em> name. I saySimba! He pronounced proudly. It is the word for lion from the Tribes of Ruwami!

    Three sets of eyes drifted to him. What? The name is regal!

    But hes not a lion, is he? Wurhi pointed out.

    Cristabel patted his shoulder with a pitying look. You have a terrible sense of naming.

    I do not want to hear that from <em>you!</em>

    Quiet, Im thinking. Wurhis eyes narrowed on the great cat, tracing the powerful lines of his form and his mighty skull - like a weapon forged by nature itself - which contained those terrible teeth. The fangs in particr, jutting far below his jaw, drew her attention. They gleamed white in the moonlight, like deadly, ivory

    Sword. She looked into the cats golden eyes. I think I should name you Sword. She tapped the de at her hip. Because you are born with what weve got to make. Do you like it?

    The cat looked at the beautiful jewelled hilt of the de that had - to his knowledge - in his loathsome master and freed him. Something shone in his golden eyes.

    He growled and nodded vigorously.

    Well. Kyembe shrugged. You have terrible naming sense too, Wurhi, but - fortunately for you - it seems that our new friend has <em>terrible taste</em>.

    Sword looked at Kyembe evenly.

    Wurhi thought she must have imagined his shoulders were shrugging in return.

    She burst intoughter, and the others joined her soon enough.

    Atst, the Rat was no longer in the pit.

    Oaths had been renewed.

    Though she did not gain the Eye of Radiin, theirpany had grown instead. There would have been a time when Wurhi the Rat would not have seen that as holding much value. Now, she would not trade them for all the rubies in the world.

    As theirughter drifted into the night, their minds settled on mirth and celebration. An idle feeling tugged at the very back of their thoughts, as though they had all forgotten some final thing. Yet, they cared not, and the feeling was dismissed.

    They were alive.

    They were together.

    Any final detail must have been a tiny, insignificant after-thought.

 Epilogue: The After-Thought [End and Afterword]

    Epilogue: The After-Thought [End and Afterword]

    Some hours earlier, Haldrych Ameldan sprinted through a tunnel as the mountain shook around him. Some terrible impact had rocked the stones in his wake and he thanked his own quick wits that he had retreated from the mess in the arena. Giddy from life, he could not feel his body as he sprinted for the mouth of the tunnel. He emerged, panting and wet - from sweat, he surmised - into the moonlight, blowing snow, and roaring wind.

    He felt as though he were within the eye of the worlds end, and he paused on the natural balcony where he and Adelmar once plotted to avenge poor Marctinus. Now he was alone, but alive. So delighted was he that he failed to notice the cracked stone of the gallery - which Adelmar had warned him of - beginning to give way as the mountain shook.

    <em>Crack!</em>

    <em></em>When it began to copse, it was toote.

    No! the young poet screamed as he fell among the boulders.

    The world became a blur.

    Rocks tossed this way and that as he tumbled down the avnche. Several times, he thought himself dead, but luck preserved him. He crashed into the snow with a groan and curled up to protect his head.

    <em>Thmp. Thmp. Thmp.</em>

    <em></em>Stones rained down around him and though some struck his body, all were so small they merely left bruises. When the mountains wrath atst quieted, he found himself whole amidst the wreckage.

    Cautiously, Haldrych pulled himself to his feet with shaking hands clutching a nearby boulder. He was on the teau, just before the lonely stand of trees. The snows were dying down. The tunnel had copsed behind him, but left an incline of rock that he might scale to another part of the mountain.

    II lived! he cried. I survived your foolishness, Adelmar! I survived your petty wrath, mother! I survived your idiocy, holy alpha! And I survived <em>you, </em>Rat!

    He hade to it atst: survival. No, not mere survival, but victory! Two battles that imed so many lives, yet Haldrych Ameldan had lived through them by his quick warriors wits! His body surged from excitement, even as the sting worsened in his side.

    Already, inspired words rose in his mind: the epic poem he would pen would make him famous! I shall call it<em>The Wolves of Laexondael</em>no, no, <em>The Eye of Radiin</em> for that is how this bega-No, no. It should be named after its hero: <em>The Triumph of Haldrych Ameldan Against the Barbarous Hordes! </em>Yes! Perfect!

    He began tough, but found his breath short. Well, he had run a long time.

    The young poet sighed, beginning to shiver against the cold. It was time to find his way back into the mountain. It would be warmer there, and he could wait out the night. Perhaps he could find some clothes to change into as well: his robe was very, very wet. He reached down to touch the distasteful wetness while drawing the Eye of Radiin from within.

    He paused. Within the folds of drenched ck fabric was a slit in the side of the robe.

    When had that gotten there?

    He moved his fingers to examine it.

    <em>Splsh.</em>

    His heart went dead.

    Red.

    Touching the wetness, his hand hade away dripping in red.

    <em>Thmp. Thmp. Thmp! Thmp! Thmp!</em>

    <em></em>His heartbeat quickened in his ears, drowning out the wind and rustle of trees. He struggled to open the rip in his robe.

    <em>Scrrrp.</em>

    He forced the torn cloth apart with trembling hands.

    Ah! Aaaaaargh! he cried in horror.

    He had been wrong.

    The sting in his side was no burn from exertion.

    The silver sword <em>had</em> found its way back to him.

    Point first.

    A long cut ran the width of his torso, so deep that he thoughtno, were those entrails? <em>His</em> entrails?

    Aaarrrrrgh! he screamed, despairing, and copsed into the snow clutching his side.

    <em>Thmp! Thmp! Thmp! Thmp! Thmp!</em>

    His heart pounded in his ears, pumping more of his precious lifeblood through his fingers. With dawning horror, he looked behind him. The slope was stained red where he had fallen. How much blood had he lost?

    N-no, the future warrior-poet moaned, his lips quivering as his eyes and nose ran. No, II need to dress the wound.

    His delicate digits - used only to touch reed pens, hoist wine cups and caress womens skin - fumbled clumsily to tear a piece of his robe free. If he could dress the wound then he wouldhe would

    He would do <em>what? </em>His trembling fingers held his blood-soaked robe helplessly.

    II dont know what to do! cried the champion of legend in the making. Some of his tutors had sought to teach him how to dress a wound, but he had found those lessons tedious, and preferred not to be bothered with them.

    H-help me! His desperate eyes sought <em>anyone</em> within the trees or alongside the mountain. S-someone help me! Help me! Haldrych Ameldan is here! Im <em>here</em>!

    Even were anyone about, his voice had grown so weak that he could barely hear it above the thundering of his own heart.

    <em>Thmp! Thmp! Thmp! Thmp! Thmp!</em>

    Ach! the would-be legend coughed, and a sudden weight shifted in his small clothes. Heat and warmth spread between his legs. A foulness touched his nostrils.

    He had soiled himself.

    Humiliation shuddered through him, but it was the least of his concerns for when he had coughed, a crimson mist had sprayed before him. His fall must have ruptured something precious within the core of his already wounded body.

    He sunk into the snow. Aaaargh! Aaaaargh! the proud heir to House Ameldan wretched like a dying bird, wailing his despair. He began to crawl in desperation. N-No! he moaned. Not like thisnot like this. I have a destinyI dont want to die! I dont want to die!

    <em>Thmp! Thmp! Thmp! Thmp! Thmp!</em>

    His heart continued to scream as it shed more of his lifeblood.

    His soft body crawled on all fours beneath the trees, croaking out his sorrow. A long path of redy behind him in the snow.

    <em>Thmp! Thmp! Thmp! Thmp Thmp</em>

    His heart slowed. His eyes began to see strange images in the trees: shadows that slipped between ces in the dark. Eyes that seemed to watch him. Familiar faces that swam before his dying gaze.

    Help me he moaned. Adelmar, Adelmar help me"

    His fading voice called out for his oldest friend - a friend that would nevere.

    Haldrych Ameldan had abandoned him to save his own life.

    <em>ThmpThmpThmpThmp</em>

    <em></em>His heart slowed further.

    S-someone. Anyone.holy alphaBerardJairus

    His pack brothers'' would nevere. He had abandoned <em>them</em> to their fate as well.

    <em>ThmpThmpThmp</em>

    <em></em>Terror consumed him.

    An image shed before his eyes: he had been young, bleeding and crying from a scrape after falling in the garden. Even before the servants hade to him, and even before his father, a small woman had rushed to his side, pressing a handkerchief to the scrape and asking if he was alright. Her voice had been both small and tender.

    M-mother he croaked.

    <em>Thmp. Thmp.</em>

    <em></em>H-help

    His words froze.

    She would note to help him. She never would again.

    He had ensured that himself.

    A final image rose in his mind: a pair of eyes. Eyes that watched his animalistic features as he killed them. Eyes that never filled with outrage or horror. Eyes that bore only confusion in the end. He looked up, perhaps wondering if he would see those eyes one more time before his own closed.

    He did not. She had note to take him to the after-world.

    Only those ominous shadows awaited.

    They surged toward him like a pack of starving wolves.

    <em>Thmp.</em>

    <em></em>His heartbeat stopped.

    Haldrych of House Ameldan - patron of The Lovers Paradise, middling poet, peddler of delusions, fool and kinyer - fell forward onto the snow.

    A final sigh - choked in blood - hissed out between his teeth.

    In the end, his grand tale of heroism had ended thusly:

    Two battles fled.

    A friend abandoned to die.

    And a single life taken by his delicate hands: that of his own mother.

    She had been asleep in her own bed, and he had not even done <em>that</em> unaided.

    In the months that followed, a stir rose in Laexondael. Rumours flew of a death-cult that had coiled around the citys elite, one put down by the cult of steel. Duke Kirinius set forth his battalion to catch the rest; many traitors were sniffed out among the ranks of the city. Others went into hiding, and bronze wolf-bracers were soon found abandoned in alleyways alongside shattered masks.

    In time, a sense of normalcy was restored.

    Paradise rebuilt and its patrons returned to find a new shrine in its foyer: one that honoured those who fell during the cults invasion. The Hawk began again his thrilling burries, catching the hearts of the citys poets and song-makers. Aristocrats and merchants found themselves nervous during the night and not only for fear of the master thief: one does not take the revtion that their neighbours might have been werewolves lightly.

    They began to hire proven warriors for protection, and those who had survived the wolves fighting pits were among the first they sought. Saxa, Gannicus and Agron - among the others - quickly foundfortable positions. Though they still bore scars from the pits - some physical and some mental - they could begin anew.

    The cult of steel was honoured by the Duke and its presence grew greatly in the city. As for Jeva, he continued in his beloved pleasure templealong with other things best left unsaid.

    Kyembe, Wurhi, and Cristabel stayed in Paradise until spring and - for their part in the cults destruction - never again did they have to purchase their own drinks. They spent many more nights passed out beneath tables in themon room. Ku-Hassandra, Ippolyte and Thesiliea soon departed for the City of ss, but not before the wizard reminded Kyembe of his promise one final time.

    Sword found he enjoyed life under the sun, moon and stars. He was well-fed and merely had to walk beside Wurhi when she was about town to look impressive. He was incredibly well suited to looking impressive. Part of him craved the thrill ofbat once more, but his instincts told him that woulde in one form or another.

    Yet, it was not a glorious time for all.

    The House Ameldan quickly fell into chaos: their heir had been assumed to be another victim of the wolves in the mountains. None who knew the truth cared enough to tell it. Affairs fell into disarray, and sessorship was called into question: thest of the Ameldan blood had dried up with its final master.

    Duke Kirinius dered theirnds returned to his protection, and the servants quickly found the manor shuttered and left to gather dust. Adrift, they were forced out to seek lives anew. Some would prosper. Many would not.

    All of them cursed the name of Haldrych Ameldan.

    They were among the only ones who did.

    No other cared enough to think on the fate of one mediocre poet lost among so many lives. In the end, Haldrych Ameldan had burned away every blessing of his privileged life for a dream he had not understood nor truly wished for. More than anything, he desired to be like the heroes of his favoured epics - to walk that imperial road of glory and riches. For that, he had in the one person who loved him with all her heart, sold his soul to a demon god, and abandoned the truest friend he had ever known.

    In return?

    Spring found the mouldering corpse of a single young cultist prostrate on a mountain, stilled in its own dried blood and filth. Imagining himself to be a great warrior poet, the coward had sought legend and glory. Instead, he had died in terror, humiliation, and loneliness.

    And he was quickly forgotten.

    The only eye that would every upon him was the Eye of Radiin.

    The jewel sparkled; its darkened pupil fallen to fix on the body of thest in the line of the man who had stolen it. If anyone were to witness it, they might have sworn that some satisfactiony in its stony gaze.

    <strong>The End</strong>

    <strong>Afterword</strong>

    And with that, we atst finish the first step that we began together during <em>The Dreaming Sceptre</em>. Thank you all for reading, it''s been great walking together in this journey.

    And now? To quote the T-800 in <em>Terminator 2: </em>"I need a vacation."

    I''m going to take a break while I finish grad school. Juggling both has been a challenge, to say the least, and especially as life has gotten busier. I''m going to be taking this time to write at a more measured pace and to sit back and n how, what and where to take the series. As such, I''ll say that this fiction isplete as it marks the end of this leg of the journey.

    Kyembe, Wurhi, Cristabel and now Sword are far from done, and I will be taking the time to...try a few things and see how they return.

    I thank <strong>all</strong> of you: anyone who''s ever read, who''s ever made a positivement, pointed out errors, left a kind review or rating or just encouraged me through different methods. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

    It''s been an honour.

    Now, for thest time - for a while at least - I want you all to take care of yourselves.

    After all, there''s only one of each of you.

    On some road, we''ll walk together again.

    Farewell for now.

    <strong>- Traitorman</strong>

    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and

    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!