《The New Dark Lord [Stubbing August]》


 Prologue

    The chamber had been constructed to Silenos¡¯ exact specifications, demanding every scrap of House Shaiagrazni¡¯s not-inconsiderable technologies to ensure that it conformed to every minutiae of his designs. The work had been long, tedious, slow. But now it was finished, and he gazed upon the result with a scrutiny born from self preservation.


    A dull, silvery surface extended outwards, elliptical in shape and rounded on each of its faces. At its broadest point, the room was thirty feet across. At its tallest it measured eighteen from floor to ceiling. Silenos strode through the interior and noted the absence of any strong reverberations or yield within the ground.


    Tungsten was its composition, over a foot thick and worked with the most powerful magics available. It would have turned aside cannonfire at point-blank range without so much as a scratch, withstood engulfment in temperatures able to burn iron into vapour without losing its solidity, and weathered forces able to collapse mountains with its mass barely shifted at all.


    Silenos estimated that it might be enough, should the worst occur, to slow the Entity down long enough for his ritual to be halted from the outside. If not, disaster would reign.


    But there could be no progress without risk, he¡¯d learned that during his earliest days in House Shaiagrazni.


    ¡°Are the sigils prepared?¡± Silenos asked, glancing at his idiot apprentice. Adonis was short, squat and black-haired, with a pudgy face that betrayed poor control over his gut¡¯s impulses and sweaty, clammy skin born from a life of living close to the limits of his stress threshold. It was not an uncommon appearance for Shaiagrazni apprentices.


    House Shaiagrazni was the greatest and oldest institute of magic the world had ever known, and it achieved this position through its unending demand of excellence. To gain the name Shaiagrazni, and be adopted into the Household, an individual would have to prove themselves a prodigy beyond prodigiousness and amass knowledge and power that most experienced magicians could only fantasise about.


    The process of achieving such things was not easy, even for those with the inherent gifts that made it possible. Silenos¡¯ own studies had lasted him forty years, then another sixty to advance once he earned the name Shaiagrazni and become a House Elder.


    In the half-century since, he had taken on over a dozen apprentices. Only Adonis had remained with him for more than a year. Talent and resilience keeping him in place.


    ¡°The preparations are complete, Master.¡± Adonis replied hastily, as he always did. The boy didn¡¯t meet his eyes, which was good, Silenos had already punished an act of just such defiance one month prior, and twisting the boy¡¯s spine had been tedious enough that he was in no mood to find another, more creative punishment.


    Moved by instinct, he took another glance at the room around him. It remained as blemishless and resilient as his first study had betrayed, but something still gnawed at Silenos. He crushed the sensation. Now was no time for abstract worries and insubstantial fears, there was work to be done. Work that would shape the next century of human history.


    The chamber was assembled, the bindings complete. All that remained was for Silenos to draw the Entity out into his world, and strike his bargain. He stepped forwards, readying his magic and calling out to all present.


    ¡°Leave.¡± He ordered. ¡°Save for Adonis, I want none here to disturb me.¡±


    At best, the attendants and servitors would distract him, and at worst their fragile, inferior minds would provide the Entity with a handhold on the world. The magics it could unleash through a human vessel were limited, but an Entity of the magnitude he was calling on might well overpower him regardless, or shatter its bindings from the outside to bring forth the full volume of its power.


    The former would kill him, the latter would kill millions.


    Silenos inhaled, focused, then let his magic ooze out to infuse the sigils carved around him. They drunk it hungrily, feeding on the nourishing flow of his power, refracting arcane energies into light, heat and every other facet of electromagnetism Shaiagrazni had yet discovered. The chamber was sealed behind them, cutting off the flood of light from its open door, but by then the interior was already illuminated by raw power.


    Adonis kept silent, and Silenos used the quietude well. Continuing to supply the lattice of runes with power, patiently waiting as he measured volume and frequency, allowing the chamber¡¯s sigils to swell and glut themselves upon it. Moment by moment, the preparation all came to fruition. Ritual nearing completion, he felt a bead of sweat upon his brow.


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    It had been years since true worry had racked Silenos, he¡¯d almost forgotten how it felt.


    The Entity manifested with a crack of air, the atmosphere crystallising solid, then snapping in half. A choir sang out from nowhere, their voices straining to sing a note of purple colouration, their vocal chords tightening amid muscles made of snakes. Something slithered up from the universe¡¯s ceiling, yet somehow descended in doing so, and its form grew corporeal and substantial before Silenos¡¯ very eyes.


    It was not a thing of matter, or at least not any matter that could take sustainable shape under the harsh governance of physical law. More akin to some interaction of forces and principals, though even that implied a degree of consistency not native to the Entity¡¯s nature.


    Silenos watched and waited as the shifting volume of nothingness found itself, congealing and writhing, spending its earliest moments in his world becoming master of its laws. Then it spoke.


    The creature¡¯s voice ran through him, bypassing the air entirely and carrying itself on waves of magic rather than sound. It was a million things, the sound of steel grating on flint, acid eating lime, a wife being beaten and an old man¡¯s life ending at last. Silenos spent his own time accustoming himself to it, adjusting and interpreting the alien tones, picking out the sentiments and words they conveyed.


    I have been summoned. What for.


    The Entity¡¯s voice did not contain any semblance of emotion or impression, yet it was far from stoic. An inconsistent, shaking tone that seemed to begin each syllable at a different volume and pitch from the last, entering Silenos¡¯ mind like nails scraping across a chalkboard. He was well used to such effects from Entities, however, and moved past them to recite his introduction.


    ¡°I am Silenos, Senior of House Shaiagrazni, and I wish to make a bargain with you. Ask of me what you will and I will grant it, provided you meet my terms.¡±


    It was not necessary to speak with vocalised words, the Entity would hear any thoughts Silenos directed its way. Still, habit held strong. He waited for the Entity to respond. Sometimes they took as long as a human, sometimes no time at all. And sometimes they could take years to answer. Silenos had no intention of giving it that long, but he was well prepared to tolerate the idiosyncrasies of such things. The rewards were well worth it.


    What is your request.


    He told the Entity. Silenos had dealt with two of its kind already, and walked away stronger from each encounter. One had allowed him to see magic itself¨C an ability so vanishingly rare that most among his own Household still did not believe he had it. The other had lengthened his lifespan, and thus allowed for centuries more knowledge to be accrued before death began its approach.


    This time, however, he wanted something more. Raw power, that rarest, innate gift that segregated the strongest of magicians from the rabble at birth. Among the thousand Named of House Shaiagrazni, close to a hundred exceeded him in magical strength. He aimed to fix that.


    I can grant this.


    Silenos waited for more, and sure enough the Entity continued.


    I demand five thousand beating hearts be cut from their owners while they still live, and for you to pledge yourself to me. In exchange, I shall grant you the power you seek.


    He almost laughed. Entities asked for pledges of servitude constantly, it was always the gold standard of deal-making for them. To earn a permanent mortal puppet was to gain some long-standing means of influencing the world. Even House Shaiagrazni¡¯s tolerance of forbidden magic and dark knowledge did not extend so far as to permitting that.


    ¡°I will not be making such a deal.¡± Silenos said, forcing himself to look straight-on as the conjured Entity spasmed against the corners of reality. He could see the world liquefying somewhat where its body intersected, and forced himself to ignore it.


    As a Senior, it would be well within your powers, and your mentor would be no issue.


    He froze, thinking for one long moment at the Entity¡¯s words, as the truth slowly dawned on him. Lethargically, Silenos turned to look at Adonis, and found the boy staring with wide eyes at the conjured presence before them.


    Decades in House Shaiagrazni had taught Silenos many things, and the telltale sight of terror was chief among them. He saw it in the boy¡¯s face, and he saw an undeniable direction to it. The look of one who had been caught, and knew they were guilty. He took a step towards him, preparing his own powers.


    The Entity didn¡¯t need a person to speak vocally, it could communicate by simply hearing the words in their mind. Adonis had been speaking with it from the start, not Silenos, and a deal was about to be struck.


    His power reached the air, thickening, drawing close to wrap around Adonis and burst him like an overripe grape. The Entity¡¯s was quicker still.


    Silenos felt the world itself split like a jagged wound torn across taut skin, the air churning and boiling as it was snatched into a roaring gale and dragged into the schism. He felt it tugging at his body almost instantly, pulling like great, invisible fingers hooking their way into the robes about his frame and the hair atop his scalp.


    Adonis smiled. Damn him, he smiled! A sneering, smug rat in human skin, actually daring to feel pride for overturning a ritual painstakingly designed by his superior. Silenos could feel the weight of power at play, it was an amount he had no hope of matching.


    Through making its contract with his apprentice, the Entity had managed to exert more of its strength upon the world. Such was the basic function of summoning it at all- and yet finding it turned against him, Silenos could only curse the fates for letting such an irony strike him down.


    His feet didn¡¯t leave the ground. Rather, the ground left his feet, and then the world left his skin. Silenos observed it all with a distant, sick fascination. He felt himself drawn high, long, low and inwards. Felt himself unmade, then remade, then shuffled back to how he¡¯d started. He felt an uncountable volume of events and non-events pass him by, and through it all a blinding light grew ever more intense as it coalesced around him.


    The last sight he caught of his reality was the triumphant, arrogant grin of an upstart apprentice.

 Chapter 1

    Silenos was in a chamber once more, but one far more primitive than the containment he¡¯d constructed for The Entity. Its surfaces were of stone, not tungsten, and were bare of any runic workings that might have worked to conduct magical energies. The place was cold, made colder by his being naked. Evidently, whatever magics had been called on to displace him, they had failed to permit his clothing passage too. An inconvenience. He¡¯d had a great many useful tools and relics upon his person, being without them would impede him.


    But he had more immediate concerns. Around him, Silenos saw a gathered crowd of people, circling him entirely and standing some half-dozen strides back. Eyes wide, faces slack with awe, postures cautious and tentative. They were headed by a woman of golden eyes and hair, taller than most, slenderer than many and stupider than practically all. Surely stupider, to be eying him with such open ferocity and conviction.


    ¡°It worked.¡± The woman whispered, as if disbelieving what her eyes told her. Silenos found that more irritating than anything else, incomprehension had always needled him, as it might any other of House Shaiagrazni. He felt the draft, suddenly, and considered making the people around him into clothes. As a Fleshcrafter, he could work living tissue well enough that even a single one could have covered most of him.


    That train of thought was interrupted, however, as the woman spoke again.


    ¡°Forgive me, Saviour.¡± She lowered her head at the words, reverent. Silenos watched as all present mimicked her. ¡°I welcome you to our world, and thank you for coming to save it.¡±


    Silenos paused, and reconsidered. He wasn¡¯t certain what these people thought to be calling him Saviour, but if nothing else they clearly acknowledged the respect he was due. That much was reason enough to leave them alive, for the time being at least.


    ¡°Who are you, and where am I?¡± He asked, aiming his question at the woman. With luck the savages now surrounding him had reason to have selected her as the speaker amongst their number, perhaps even good enough reasons for Silenos to receive some straight answers.


    ¡°Forgive me for not explaining already.¡± She replied, bowing her head so ludicrously low, Silenos suspected it might have injured her neck. ¡°You are in the nation of Elkatin, and my name is Ensharia. We¡­Are in need of your help.¡±


    Silenos could have guessed they needed help from their calling him Saviour, but he decided to forgive the tautology. Plenty more information had been passed his way, in any case. Most important among it the fact that neither name Ensharia had spoken correlated with any he was familiar with.


    ¡°Help dealing with what?¡± He asked. ¡°I take it you are being¡­Attacked?¡±


    ¡°Oppressed.¡± She replied, spite dripping from her lips. ¡°The Dark Lord, he calls himself, a magician of unrivalled power and evil. He uses his foul magics to ravage our lands with necromantic armies, twisting the very elements against us.¡±


    He observed several things in rapid succession, the most important being Enshara¡¯s description of necromancy as foul. It would appear that the magics forbidden to most of Silenos¡¯ world were just as taboo in this new land, at least within the nation of Elkatin. That might cause issues. As a Necromancer himself, Silenos was well familiar with idiots attempting to kill him in some misguided zeal, but that didn¡¯t mean he wasn¡¯t well aware of the danger they posed. Taken off-guard and unawares, even a magician of his prowess could be slain. All it would take was a single stroke of luck at the right time.


    But there were other things to be considered, too.


    ¡°How large are these armies?¡± Silenos asked.


    He had no intention of actually helping, not in the slightest. Whatever these idiots thought they¡¯d done to call on a Saviour, he could only conclude it had failed. House Shaiagrazni did not protect those too inept to defend themselves, nor did it risk its members in useless endeavours. But if Silenos was to navigate his new surroundings, he¡¯d benefit from learning the scope and scale of its apparently largest threat.


    Ensharia paused, though, mouthing out in silence for a few moments before she finally answered him.


    ¡°It may be best if you follow me, Saviour. My King and Queen can give you more in-depth information than any here.¡±


    Resisting the urge to ask why they had not greeted them, Silenos merely nodded and stepped forwards.


    ¡°Take me to them.¡± He instructed her.


    The woman hesitated.


    ¡°You¡­Would like some clothes first, yes?¡±


    Silenos glanced down, then sighed.


    ¡°If you insist, yes.¡± He did loathe wasting time, and it was far slower to don new apparel than simply craft it around him from raw material, but he suspected that using his Fleshcrafting upon those now watching him would lead to a tenuous diplomatic relation.


    Fortunately, the idiots had some clothing prepared for him. It seemed well made enough, largely silks and linens, fabrics Silenos didn¡¯t see in the apparel of those around him, and with far greater craftsmanship. He supposed it was considered good work by the standards of the savages around him now.


    Ensharia led him alone, which left Silenos to wonder about the purpose of her company. He eyed them as they made their way out of the chamber, considering the zeal and trembling hands so common across them. It was hard to imagine any people of substance would conduct themselves like that, but harder still to think ordinary rabble might have been given audience to the arrival of their land¡¯s saviour. An irksome conundrum, and one Silenos was not given long to consider.


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    Winding corridors awaited him ahead, and he navigated them with Ensharia¡¯s guide. Carefully committing the turns and twists to memory, employing the mnemonic techniques he¡¯d spent a century accruing. Their walk lasted them more than a few minutes, betraying the scale of the surrounding building itself, and Silenos was able to glimpse it more directly as they passed by a long window betraying the sight of sprawling courtyards and towering spires outside.


    ¡°Admiring the view, Saviour?¡± Ensharia asked, looking rather pleased to see him studying it. ¡°Castle Vardrire is one of the largest in the world, dwarfing any other structure in Elkatin.¡±


    In fact, he¡¯d been trying to hold back a sneer. The architecture was primitive, betraying a lack of any complex working of glass or large-scale production of steel. He could only imagine it was wrought by a people too simple to manage such technologies.


    ¡°It must have taken considerable time.¡± Silenos replied. Typically, the woman interpreted his words as a compliment.


    ¡°Almost sixty years.¡± She replied, happily. ¡°With some of the finest architects in Elkatin dedicating decades of their lives to its various stages.¡±


    Silenos knew some, a very fair few, who might have made a similar structure themselves in mere weeks, using nothing but their magic and the necessary raw materials. It seemed strongly evident to him that the nation around him had few magicians of power comparable to his own.


    His pondering was interrupted as Ensharia took him to a large set of double doors guarded by a pair of tall men in glinting plate. Curious armour, Silenos could tell it was not steel by its colouration, and a glance with his arcane sight showed flickers of magical energy infusing the metal. That it had been worked into such large planes and articulated joints betrayed a level of craftsmanship he¡¯d not have expected from the architecture, and both moved without the need for verbal communication or order.


    The door swung open upon near-frictionless hinges, revealing an expansive hall on the other side.


    At one end of it a pair of thrones were seated, carved of smooth stone and occupied by an aged male and female. The space between Silenos and them was carpeted in a long crimson streak, with great stone pillars connecting floor to ceiling on either side like the bars of a cage. Ensharia was immediate in making her way forwards, taking a dozen steps, then dropping to her knees before them. Silenos followed after, but did not prostrate.


    Whatever world he had found himself in- and he was growing increasingly certain that this land did not share a planet with his own- he remained a Senior of House Shaiazrazni. Some could kill him, none could make him kneel.


    ¡°My King.¡± Ensharia declared, with her face aimed towards the ground. ¡°The ritual was a success, I present to you the Saviour.¡±


    Silenos moved his eyes to the male, meeting the old man¡¯s gaze. He looked to be between sixty and seventy, physically speaking, but by the creases of stress and worry upon his brow, the man may well have been younger than his flesh would claim. Wispy silver hair clung lightly to his scalp, drifting as his head was animated by speech.


    ¡°It is an honour.¡± He said, surprising Silenos by nodding deeply enough to almost approximate a bow himself.


    Resisting the urge to let himself soften at the show of deference, Silenos spoke.


    ¡°I have been told your people are being assailed by forces external to your nation, and that you expect me to aid in your plight. How, might I ask, was I brought here?¡±


    The King did not seem surprised by the question, while the Queen did not seem to consider it at all. Silenos could only assume the males of this new land held rulership over the females. It was a common enough system, many civilisations- or things that thought themselves civilised- fell into it. A simple evolutionary flaw, he suspected, of one sex being larger and stronger than the other among a species which fought and hunted for survival long before accumulating the resources to build cities.


    ¡°There are stories in our nation.¡± The King replied, at last. ¡°And there are truths in those stories, secrets¡­Rituals among them. One such ritual was known to have possessed the means to bring forth a being of great power, and greater danger. We used it during our time of greatest need, and it promised us a Saviour. You.¡±


    House Shaiagrazni respected the value of knowledge above all other things, and so Silenos never quite escaped a state of awe upon seeing it handed out so freely by those in other orders. He¡¯d just found himself saved asking another half-dozen questions.


    ¡°I see.¡± He replied. ¡°And what, exactly, do you require me to save you from at the moment? I am aware of your general predicament, but what imminent threats are there?¡±


    Another pause followed, forcing onto Silenos the choice of either allowing his displeasure to show, or making the effort of keeping it contained. He did the latter. It was to be suspected, he knew, that mental sluggishness was commonplace in this land, for it was rare that any human civilization evolved a culture as meritocratic as House Shaiagrazni.


    ¡°As we speak, the Dark Lord¡¯s forces are marching on our city, the capital of our nation. Scouts have reported that they number in the hundreds of thousands, undead in almost their entirety, rotting, vicious abominations sustained only by magic. Our defenders number a mere ninety thousand, with a further forty thousand conscripted from the general populace. Historically¡­This has not been a ratio that serves to our advantage.¡±


    Silenos considered that.


    ¡°How many magicians are counted among your defenders?¡±


    ¡°One hundred and six magicians of war.¡± The King replied. ¡°Bolstered by a further hundred and nine conscripted from the city¡¯s general populace.¡±


    It was a meagre number. House Shaiagrazni¡¯s surrounding nations had magicians numbering at one among every four hundred ordinary humans, and would have mustered several times as many in such a population. And as a rule, scarcity of magicians correlated with the talent of those magicians in a given population. Silenos worked through the relevant calculations in his head.


    ¡°When will this army be arriving?¡± He asked, distractedly. The King surprised him at that.


    ¡°It arrived before you did, and encircles our city as we speak.¡±


    Silenos was led by Esharia to see the army outside, rather quickly demanding that he be allowed to study it himself, and thinking as they went. There were few reasons for him to stay, as he saw it. A magician powerful enough to conjure armies was likely more than worthy to dominate the primitives around him now, and far be it from Silenos to interrupt with the natural order of things. Still, knowledge was useful. He needed to see the forces in question.


    They were, as it happened, rather numerous. Covering the landscape as a writhing black carpet of rotting meat and rusting metal, stretching out almost to the horizon. As far as armies went, he¡¯d seen bigger. But rarely conjured by one individual.


    Silenos studied it with eyes of magic, rather than light, to see what he might glean of the work. And he felt a stab of disgust .


    Different densities of arcane power made themselves apparent to his sight with shifts in shade and tone, and he¡¯d expected a respectable darkness. Instead he saw pale, fragile whiteness only barely discoloured at the edges. It was a frail magic that produced such colour, and a frail magic meant a frail magician.


    This is who these idiots are being dominated by? This¡­Incompetent?


    It was revolting, disgusting, and unacceptable. Silenos would not stand by and watch people suborned by such a blithering idiot.


    They needed some proper leadership.

 Chapter 2

    ¡°I must meet with the general of this army.¡± Silenos declared, as he looked up from his maps. It hadn¡¯t taken long to have them assembled, to the savages¡¯ credit, and they appeared relatively recent. He¡¯d spent the better part of a half hour studying them, committing the etched lines detailing fortifications, street paths and bridges to memory.


    ¡°What for?¡± Ensharia asked, face a canvas upon which her confusion was scrawled with excruciating clarity. ¡°They¡¯re undead!¡±


    Silenos did not roll his eyes, but it was a near thing.


    ¡°Undead are limited.¡± He explained. ¡°Particularly the varieties congealing outside, I would wager they are being controlled by officers or generals of more¡­Sapience.¡±


    It was an understatement, Necromancy capable of leaving the subject¡¯s mind even mostly intact was of the highest order. Silenos himself could barely manage it, and he had no doubt that anyone inept enough to create the army now threatening him would find it beyond their scope entirely.


    He turned back to the maps. The major weakness of Equiscia, the city in which he now found himself, was its river-entrances. The waters that fed them had long since diminished in the centuries since their construction, and though they still boasted strong currents, he suspected an undead could easily crawl through. The lack of need for air meant being swept under would be no threat to them, and if they were damaged somewhat in the bludgeoning effects of being carried along, their combat effectiveness would remain at a large fraction of its norm.


    Yes, the river ways. Send larger reanimates in first to break apart the aged iron bars keeping them blocked off, then allow the masses to swarm in along with the waters. That¡¯s what Silenos would do, if he were attacking. That¡¯s what any competent General would do. Anything else would be a mere distraction from the infiltration force.


    ¡°Are you listening?¡± Ensharia demanded, glaring at him. Silenos raised his head, frowning.


    ¡°Of course not.¡± He replied. ¡°I was busy thinking, my genius is far more demanding of attention than your babbling.¡±


    She glared at him. The woman¡¯s veneration remained, but had been quickly cut by irritable impatience as she¡¯d gotten to know Silenos. Apparently she was a Paladin, a holy knight of her kingdom. Such things had not existed in House Shaiagrazni, but he was familiar with the concept. An odious one, in his opinion.


    ¡°I was saying that the Dark Lord¡¯s Generals might simply take the chance to kill you if you go out to meet them.¡±


    Silenos sighed.


    ¡°They might try, but I am not unaccustomed to assassination attempts. I suspect I will withstand any they might employ, and will gain far more from this than we stand to lose.¡±


    A closer look at whatever elites would doubtless be present, for one.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­Our only hope.¡± Ensharia said after a moment, not meeting his eye, face aimed pointedly at her own feet and pale skin flushed pinkish. ¡°Please, don¡¯t do this, if we lose you we¡¯re doomed. I¡¯m¡­Not even sure we aren¡¯t doomed already.¡±


    Silenos studied the woman, seeing the emotion clear as day across her features and feeling an undeniable wave of¡­Utter revulsion. What petty mental conditioning had this warrior experienced, to be left so volatile? It was like conversing with an open wound. Pathetic.


    He set off soon after, though the woman insisted on accompanying him. Silenos found himself half tempted to kill the idiot as punishment for insulting his powers when she claimed to be capable of defending him with her divine magic, but more pragmatic heads prevailed.


    The two of them exited the city shortly, travelling by horse- Silenos decided it was worth accepting the sub-par mechanisms of natural selection rather than tip his hand by Biomantically crafting a superior vehicle- and headed for the head of the enemy¡¯s forces. He weathered the slow, drawn-out travel with eyes kept ahead and open.


    A large mass of infantry seemed to be the major core of the enemy army, though Silenos caught other facets to it, as well. Dullahan had been gathered in the thousands, their black horses standing twenty hands high, putrefying flesh bloated and writhing with dense musculature almost as much as the maggots laying within. Their armour was dark, but, he knew from experience, strong. Headless riders were a higher order of undead than the zombies making up most of the enemy, but they would not be of the most use in a siege. Sieges were the order of footmen, not cavaliers.


    Which meant he couldn¡¯t be certain that the enemy¡¯s forces hadn¡¯t been tailor-made for just such an attack, he made a mental note to study them further before an open battle when he got the chance, it would be a useful point of comparison.


    ¡°Black riders.¡± He heard Ensharia whisper, and turned to see the woman glaring at them. ¡°Fallen Knights, I¡¯ve seen those creatures walk through hails of arrows, split men fully in half from crown to groin. Even withstand a ballista bolt, once.¡±


    Silenos had seen much the same sort of prowess demonstrated from the creatures, though it had never inspired the awe he now heard in the Paladin¡¯s voice. He supposed that was consequential of his own world¡¯s technology. Dullahan were rather less impressive seen through the sights of a musket than they were from those of a bow.


    ¡°Let us continue.¡± He said instead.


    The Dullahan had been placed around the army¡¯s head, Silenos soon found, and he knew which of the numerous undead shielded by their ranks was in charge at but a single glance. The Belladonnan Puppeteer was a thing of magic powerful enough to register in his vision even without his actively looking for it.


    It was not a large thing, which made it uncharacteristic for the stronger undead. The Beladonnan Puppeteer was perhaps the same height as most men, with any of the surrounding Dullahan towering over it by easily two feet or more. Its frame was slender, its body near a state of total desiccation, preserved from rot, yet dehydrated into a withered husk by the very processes that left it free of the decay plaguing its lesser kin. Silenos caught Ensharia covering her nose in disgust from the corner of his eye.


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    ¡°This is the first time an emissary has been sent by the people of Elkatin.¡± The Beladonnan Puppeteer observed, speaking with the same, emotionally vacant tone that most sapient undead did. ¡°Are you here to surrender?¡±


    An idiotic guess, from what Silenos had seen this new world¡¯s residents were as superstitious of Necromancy as his own. They would sooner kill themselves than be at the mercy of such beings. A lot was common between Elkitan and his world, in fact, including the undead. Dullahan and Beladonnan Puppeteers, two higher-grade constructs he recognised on sight. That was interesting.


    ¡°I am here to see if I might deter you from this trivial conflict.¡± Silenos replied.


    ¡°Your accent is different from any I have heard.¡± The Puppeteer noted, without even acknowledging his words. ¡°And I have heard thousands, am I to take it you are the ¡°Saviour¡± spoken of in Elkitanian prophecy?¡±


    The Paladin stepped forwards behind Silenos at that, her voice cutting out.


    ¡°How could you possibly know about that?¡±


    Silenos spoke over her, before the idiot could have the chance to realise the obvious, that the enemy had informants within their walls, and vocalise the fact in her stupidity.


    ¡°I am.¡± He replied. ¡°And I am familiar with your reason for being here, leave now and there is no need for conflict.¡±


    Puppeteers were sapient. Like all undead they were compelled to obey their creators, but that was nothing more than an impulse. The eternal danger of creating cognitive beings was that their intellect might prove stronger than their instinct. It would not be impossible to reason such a thing out of following its orders.


    ¡°That is not an option.¡± The Puppeteer replied, and Silenos cut in quickly.


    ¡°Yes it is, you know it is, you have, doubtless, been considering the very fact that it is. You are not forced to obey, you choose to. You can choose not to obey just as easily as you can choose to fart or hold your breath.¡±


    A moment passed, but no gesticulation came from the Puppeteer. It was to be expected. Though not actively rotting, the being¡¯s dead nerves were no more capable of transmitting the spasms of unconscious thought and body language. Silenos watched it more from habit than anything.


    ¡°You have two hours to surrender.¡± The undead said, at last. He knew then that there would be no reaching it. Though unemotional as any, Beladonnan Puppeteers had cognition enough that tone could inflect their voices, at least in some small part. He could hear clear as day that its mind had been made up. Silenos nodded.


    ¡°Very well then, Ensharia, let us leave.¡± He began walking, and spent the first few moments anticipating an attack. None came. The two of them were allowed to take their leave, breathing in air that grew less clotted with the scent of decay with each step away from the army they took. Soon enough they were back at the walls.


    ¡°I warned you.¡± The Paladin sighed. SIlenos glanced at her. She was becoming too comfortable by far around him, but this wasn¡¯t the time to correct her, he had more pressing concerns.


    ¡°Guard the waterways.¡± He instructed. ¡°The enemy will attempt to enter through there, where are the city¡¯s graveyards?¡±


    She stared at him. ¡°Graveyards? You¡¯re worried about them¡­Reanimating our dead?¡±


    ¡°That.¡± Silenos confirmed. ¡°And I wish to pay my respects to our fallen.¡±


    The woman¡¯s face lit up at that, like some simpering dog, and she was quick in directing him. Silenos wasted no time following the path.


    <hr>


    Ensharia had watched the Saviour leave close to an hour ago, and she was eagerly aware that their time was running short. It had been noon when they first summoned him, and, not coincidentally, merely two hours from sunset when they met the enemy¡¯s army. Undead were weakened by the light, the weakest of them at least. When it was fully dark, the attack would come.


    She trembled, feeling the familiar convulsions of adrenaline racking her muscles, fighting to remain still where she stood vigil. Her body was encased in moonplate, pale and harder than steel, her fists closed tight about the handle of her shield and mace, her body coiled and ready to loose the strength of fifty men. Still, her mouth was dry, her nostrils stinging with the unmistakable scent of rotted meat as it grew ever stronger on the wind.


    Where is he?


    The enemy was closing in, she could see now, heading for the city¡¯s walls like a giant swarm of cockroaches, crawling over each other, blotting out the floor, moving on inexorably as a wave of pitch. They were on the walls before long.


    Arrows flitted down to strike, broadheads and bluntheads to split wide gashes in enemy bodies and break bone. Stones were cast from walls, burning oils poured over, and the waterways turned to a massacre as men stood behind the reinforcements hastily added to their barricades and ruined necrotic flesh from getting through. It was all professional, experienced, well done. All carried out with the hard-earned skill of men who had fought undead many times. And all pointless.


    The enemy were too numerous, and their advantage grew by the moment. Even as Ensharia fought, rupturing heads and tearing off limbs with each swing of her mace, she could feel the battle¡¯s inevitable end drawing near. A Dullahan beheaded a man with one swing, coming for her wordlessly. Its black blade missed her head by an inch, and her mace missed its chest by a hand. They encircled, trading swings and swipes, thrusts and deathblows, then Ensharia broke the deadlock with a flash of holy light. Smoke wisped from the enemy, its flesh burned, but not charred, by her eviscerating magic, and Ensharia struck whilst it was distracted. An unguarded blow to the neck, snapping the spine and leaving the horseman to fall.


    But there were more. Unmounted, not as deadly on foot as on horseback, but each the equal of a hundred men on their own. Even with the defensive advantage of a fortress, there would be no victory.


    The ground trembled, and Ensharia turned to see a horror. It was enormous, towering easily sixty feet high, taller than the walls themselves. Its body was a bloated, bulbous thing, and it reeked of necromantic magic. Its flesh was black, coated in some form of scales, and its strength was palpable in every move, body driven by musculature sufficient to send its hundred-foot limbs darting around with the speed of sling bullets. It crossed the city within a minute, falling upon the defenders at the wall, and Ensharia awaited her death. There would be no fighting such a thing, not even any trying. One swipe of one limb and they would die. She doubted her body would even register as more difficult to crush than any other.


    Saviour, where are you?


    But its swipe didn¡¯t come. Not for the humans, at least. Instead the creature stepped cleanly over the walls, its krakenous tendrils swinging along the enemy¡¯s army. Hundreds were obliterated. Zombies popped like grapes, Dullahan tossed skyward and sent spinning a dozen times before they landed, broken like dolls in spite of their dark plate. Arrows and sling bullets hit it, even artillery, wherever the monsters had salvaged such things. It simply powered through, cutting a path through the enemy¡¯s forces and crippling their advance. Ensharia could only watch in awe.


    The ruin did not take long to finish. A few minutes, perhaps, then the enemy was retreating. Undead felt no fear, but their leaders were rational, if they fled it was because they knew there would be no realistic chance of winning. The creature turned its focus onto the city as the horizon grew black with flesh, moving swiftly back to the wall.


    Ensharia saw him then, standing atop the stony fortification. Tall, bronze-skinned and with hair as black as any Dullahan¡¯s armour. He awaited the monster, watching fearlessly as it came before him and lowered itself into a bow, inky tendrils bent beneath it, stone-hard body glinting in the moonlight. Silenos the Saviour watched the thing impassively, merely nodding once at its bow, then turned to head her way.

 Chapter 3

    The world was still, save for the beating of Ensharia¡¯s heart and the convulsing of blood vessels as they surged with oxygenated power. The Saviour was still standing still, gazing down at the abomination as it knelt before him. Show of deference seeming somehow out of place, wrong, at odds with everything. Unnatural.


    Seen closer, she could gauge more detail in the undead. See the curious, hardened substance that clung to so much of its body, recognise how it thickened and sharpened around the ends of its limbs. Observe how every fractional movement left its limbs practically inflating with muscular strength as the fibres below tensed and expanded.


    There was an uncanniness to the way it was shaped, something Ensharia couldn¡¯t quite put her finger on at first. Nature created things in particular patterns, allowing natural laws to govern how and why they fitted together, limited by chance and single-generational survivability. This thing broke all of those laws, less a reanimated animal and more¡­A machine made of meat and bone.


    Before she even knew it, Ensharia was heading for the Saviour, her feet trudging hard and clumsy along the blood-slick battlements. The air reeked of death and dying, but even that horror barely registered to her compared to the growing terror that took root as she drew nearer to the man and his pet monster.


    ¡°You created this?¡± She asked, glaring at him, past caring at his status, destiny or the respect it left him due. The Saviour turned his head, slowly, to glance at her, as if she were some buzzing fly in the periphery of his vision. Then nodded.


    ¡°It is how the greatest undead are made.¡± He explained. ¡°One can undo the putrefaction of mere corpses and use them as material, merge them into something greater.¡±


    The way he spoke of it, the way he explained it, the Saviour almost seemed proud to have wrought such an abomination. It made her sick, and Ensharia felt her guts squirm as the thing moved again, limbs jostling like the crushing tendrils of a kraken. There was a sharpness to the movements that made a new thought occur to Ensharia.


    ¡°It looks like it¡¯s in agony.¡± She gasped, staring at the writhing thing. ¡°Like every moment is¡­Torment.¡±


    The Saviour¡¯s eyes widened, and he stared at her.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± He replied, sounding genuinely, sincerely flattered. Without another word, the man turned, heading down from the battlements, leaving Ensharia alone.


    She was left there, standing in a field still wet with congealing blood, nostrils assailed by the reek of necromancy. Ensharia took a few moments to fully process what had happened, what she¡¯d seen, what it meant. And then she made her decision. She¡¯d never been one to delay or agonise over a problem, rapid action was among the tenets of her order, it was needed when one fought against the world¡¯s foulest horrors. She would not stand for a False Saviour, and so Ensharia headed out to make the matter right. Moving towards her King and Queen.


    More quickly than she deserved, she was granted her audience.


    Ensharia¡¯s monarchs looked restored by victory, the lines upon their faces thinned, the slumping fatigue about their shoulders reduced. King Arodan¡¯s face cracked with a smile as he saw her, eyes bright and glinting.


    ¡°I heard of your victory, Paladin.¡± He grinned. ¡°It was a remarkable thing, our Saviour has certainly not failed to impress, eh?¡±


    The look upon his face was one of such distilled happiness and relief that Ensharia hated herself for the truth she was about to unveil, feeling as though it were the desecration of something sacred.


    What isn¡¯t desecrated these days? How much more of this world is there left to be fouled?


    ¡°My King, I apologise for bringing you such grim news at a time like this, but I fear I would be neglecting my duty if I did not share it with you. It is simply too important to be ignored or delayed.¡±


    Instantly, Arodan¡¯s features hardened.


    ¡°What is it?¡± He asked, joviality melted away, replaced by a kingly seriousness. Ensharia took a moment to steel herself before telling him, and then she shared all that had happened on the wall, what she¡¯d seen, and who she¡¯d seen responsible. By the time she finished, her King looked far grimmer and more severe than before. But not, she realised, surprised.


    ¡°I had heard of the Saviour¡¯s use of the Dark Arts.¡± He confessed, after a moment. The words sent a stab of shock through her, like a spear to the guts.


    ¡°You know?!¡± She croaked, mind moving slow, suddenly, uncomprehending as her king nodded.


    ¡°I did, Ensharia, I did not tell you because I imagined you would be¡­Distracted by the knowledge, we now have some breathing room, thanks to him, however. Which is why I would have shared it with you had you not already known.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± Ensharia blinked, fighting her own mind for clarity, trying to carve through the madness of her conversation. ¡°But you were fine with him fighting for you? Turning the powers of evil to your ends?¡±


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    She was so wrapped up by the weight of what was being said, that it barely occurred to her how dangerously close her tone was to insubordination. How precipitously near the edge of accusation her assessments were growing.


    ¡°He is our Saviour.¡± The King echoed, more forcefully now. ¡°Whatever means he utilises to beat back the forces of darkness, I think we can agree, is tertiary to the fact that he is using them to do just that. This is not a time to be picky, Paladin. A lot of men- a lot of children- now draw breath because we weren¡¯t.¡±


    Ensharia¡¯s disgust was more than she could bear, and she rose, forcing herself to make a respectful nod before taking her leave, trembling with rage. It wasn¡¯t right, it wasn¡¯t moral. The undead were not tools to be wielded at one¡¯s convenience, nature could not just be disregarded as became necessary. What she¡¯d seen last night had been a behemoth made from human corpses, corpses that never consented in life to be twisted and mangled with magic. It was an act of perversion to do so.


    Outside, in the main hall, Ensharia came past a group of soldiers, four in all. They were twitching with the familiar throes of residual adrenaline, bodies using tiny, jerky little motions to burn off as much of the excess energy as it could manage after mustering everything it had for the fight. None were wounded, she could see.


    ¡°You there.¡± Ensharia called. ¡°Soldier, a word.¡± The first among them paused, turning his gaze to her, then froze in realisation.


    Paladins were not generally feared, and for good reason. They were servants of God, defenders of the innocent and, now above all times, destroyers of undead. Ensharia liked to think that they inspired hope and happiness rather than horror and fear. Despite that, it was difficult not to intimidate a man who had seen her fight. There was simply something to the world¡¯s Talents that left them unnerving for most to behold.


    She saw it now as the man tripped over his words. He probably wasn¡¯t a fool, or even a coward. It was just difficult to string a coherent sentence together when it was aimed at a person strong enough to lift a barded warhorse over her head.


    ¡°Sir!¡± He managed at last, back going lance-straight, eyes going plate-wide. ¡°An honour, sir, we- me and my boys, we saw you fight last night, the way you destroyed that Dullahan¡­¡±


    Ensharia wasn¡¯t proud of it, for the simple reason that she¡¯d seen the Saviour¡¯s undead servitor crush half a dozen Dullahan with one swipe of its tendril. If she¡¯d had to fight a creature like that, could she have won? She doubted it. And a Paladin who doubted her victory against an undead was no Paladin at all.


    ¡°What did you think of the undead?¡± She asked the group, abruptly. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind my inquiring. You know the one, it came from our side of the walls and cleared the battlements out when they were overrun. Walking through volleys of arrows, crushing bodies to pulp.¡±


    She resisted the urge to shiver at the memory.


    To her surprise, and disgust, a bunch of grins lit up on the men¡¯s faces.


    ¡°It was remarkable.¡± One replied, instantly. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anything like it, didn¡¯t even know things could get that big.¡±


    ¡°The Saviour did it, didn¡¯t he?¡± Another asked. ¡°I saw it bowing to him, he controlled it, right? He took the Dark Lord¡¯s power and turned it against him, protected us with it.¡±


    The others continued in much the same fashion, and Ensharia realised that it had been, perhaps, just a shade foolish of her to expect any different. When given the choice between spiritual fulfilment and their lives, people would invariably settle on the latter. Not everyone could be a Paladin, not even everyone with the Talent.


    She moved on from them shortly, encountering yet more people, testing them with that same question. All seemed to cling to the same tragic misconception, that their Saviour had simply seized control over the Dark Lord¡¯s magics to fight with. She found that, no matter how many shared the misunderstanding, she could not bring herself to tell them that he was a Necromancer in truth. Couldn¡¯t bear to shatter that joyous delusion with a cruel truth.


    And why should she want to, in any case? The more Ensharia thought about it, the more trivial and fleeting the call of honour and righteousness felt. Such things might motivate a man, might motivate a Paladin, but they did not save lives, not as directly as the Saviour had. Who was she to put something that had stopped so much death and ruination beneath her own order¡¯s tenets?


    Pride was the deadliest sin, and it came in many forms. Ensharia¡¯s was a pride of purity, she saw that now, and she would not allow her own shortcomings to hurt others. With no small measure of reluctance, she moved to find the Saviour, finding her limbs suddenly heavy beneath her, her chest suddenly tight.


    He was not difficult to find, occupying the outskirts of the city, rebuilding and clearing debris with his expression no different to when he¡¯d watched the undead hordes torn apart by his own power. Ensharia came to stop in front of the man, waiting for him to look up and notice her. He did not. She cleared her throat, and still he kept his gaze on the books. Ensharia felt a stab of un-Paladin-like irritation at that, finally speaking.


    ¡°Saviour, might I have a word, please?¡± She asked. At last he lifted his gaze to affix it onto her.


    ¡°Speak.¡± He instructed, and Ensharia noticed for the first time how thick the man¡¯s aura of command was. He had surely been a king in his own land, or an emperor, because conveying orders to a Paladin seemed as natural to him as breath.


    She took a breath of her own, then obeyed.


    ¡°I have been having difficulties in coming to terms with your¡­¡± She looked around, confirmed they were alone, then continued. ¡°...Powers. The Dark Arts, as it were. Necromancy chief among them. For most of today, I¡¯ve been trying to wrap my head around your usage of such magic, or even galvanise others to reject you as Saviour and find salvation through less morally compromising means.¡±


    Ensharia had expected such an admission to wound, or at least enrage the Saviour. For his granite features to finally shift with betrayal, anger, disgust. She did see an emotion flit across them, and found herself shocked to realise it was irritation. A rat might have chewed through one of his boots and earned the same response.


    ¡°However,¡± Ensharia continued, ¡°I took some time to process what you did, as I said. And I spoke with others. I saw the hope you¡¯ve already inspired with our- your- victory, the fear melting away from people. I heard the whispers of supply lines opening up once more now that your abomination can guard them, and I realised¡­This is bigger than me. Bigger than my emotions and uncertainties, bigger even than the Paladin Order¡¯s tenets. People¡¯s lives are at stake, and if you, our Saviour, are confident you can control such powers, then¡­I will trust you.¡±


    The Saviour blinked, once, after perhaps minutes of leaving his eyes unmoved as the rest of him.


    ¡°Okay.¡± He replied. ¡°If you¡¯re finished then start helping with this debris, I estimate that you ought to be capable of hauling over a tonne from the ground based on the density of muscle fibre and magic in your body.¡±

 Chapter 4

    Silenos¡¯ position had changed, for the better in some ways, for the worse in others. He was not ignorant as to the tenuous position in which he, and the city, now resided.


    Among his advantages was the fact that he had apparently earned some measure of respect and trust through his stratagem and magical aid during the last attack. To his disadvantage was the fact that their enemy would be moving to consolidate with other armies in the region, that the city¡¯s defenders had been either killed or wounded in multitudes, that much of their defences had been weakened by bombardment, and that he had now caught the direct focus of this Dark Lord onto the city itself. There were limits, Silenos knew, even to what a Senior of House Shaiagrazni could achieve, and he could sense himself approaching them.


    His options, however, were numerous.


    Numerous insofar as a pair was numerous, at least. He could flee or stay. Fleeing would guarantee Silenos¡¯ safety, but doom the city. In doing so it would cost him a powerful potential ally in claiming this world for House Shaiagrazni, and would have few benefits save, he supposed, free time. Silenos was confident he could flee from a city falling just as easy as a city awaiting attack.


    Which made the decision clear, he would stand with the defence and do whatever he could to make it successful, abandoning it only if his options seemed limited.


    Silenos spent the better part of a week acting to add whatever strength he could to the city¡¯s martial prowess. He used fleshcrafting to heal those who he could without exhausting himself, subtly improving their bodies as he restored them for greater strength and speed. The city¡¯s waterways, he decided, had held before, and so he did not do anything drastic that might have cut off its supply of drink. The walls were by far his greatest concern.


    Trebuchets, the most advanced weapon utilised by this savage world, were pitiful by comparison to the cannons used in Silenos¡¯ own land. Nonetheless, so too were these people¡¯s fortifications. The walls had been damaged by artillery fire, and scaled quickly before siege engines even before that. So Silenos turned his focus to rectifying that vulnerability above all others.


    It was not long before the horizon grew dark once more with approaching enemy forces, and the city¡¯s triumph melted back into fear. Even Silenos felt a stab of apprehension, for they saw instantly how much larger the new mass was than the last.


    There had been three armies within the general region around the city, Silenos had crippled much of one. The remaining two, he now saw, had merged with its remnants. Clearly this Dark Lord had at least enough intelligence to recognise the threat he posed, for the marching bodies drawing towards him numbered in the hundreds of thousands, at least.


    He could feel the worry running through his own forces, an uncharacteristically logical response from them. His bag of tricks was running empty.


    Many of the corpses in the city had been excavated and destroyed before his arrival, in some attempt by the people to prevent the Dark Lord from reanimating them and adding to his armies should he have taken it. Perhaps it was not such an unwise decision, but given the circumstances, it foiled much of what he might have done to protect them.


    His Grotesquery was intact, at least. Silenos tweaked it as the army neared, rethreading its body, maintaining its flesh. Most undead could not regenerate by themselves, though the ability to create such advanced reanimates was hardly uncommon in House Shaiagrazni, even still, Silenos opted to add a personal touch. The construct alone made up a considerable fraction of their martial power, had he been able to craft three or four more, there would have been no fear of defeat.


    Men took to the walls, and siege engines began their bombardments as the enemy armies closed in. Formations of rotting zombies and withered skeletons flew apart upon the impact of trebuchets, each one obliterating one body in its entirety, then scattering several more around it. The undead were unimpeded, simply marching on past their own devastation, acknowledging it as the triviality it was.


    Nearer, nearer, nearer still they came. Returning fire with their own engines, and pushing forth others. Siege towers, Silenos recognised them as, great constructs of wood and iron made to allow for easy, covered climbing onto the walls. A single cannon would have reduced one to so much kindling, and yet the shoddy hulls of lumber proved stubborn against mere trebuchet fire.


    The enemy was soon close enough for bowmen and crossbowmen to begin peppering them with arrows, utilising curious, blunt-tipped projectiles fired by over-drawn bows. It was a logical innovation, undead did not care much for skewered organs or ruptured arteries, by far the most reliable way to stop them was breaking their bones. And yet they came on regardless, inexorable march simply absorbing those casualties lost to cracked skulls and mangled limbs. Those undead with broken legs dragged them behind, those with destroyed craniums fell and moved no more, but not one lost its animacy.


    Silenos found a flicker of something at his heart, then. Something that might, before his years of conditioning and ascension, have been accurately described as fear. He crushed it like a maggot underfoot, surveying the destruction.


    He had no doubt that less than a twentieth of the enemy would actually fall or be injured before leaving the walls, which meant the battle would be decided on how quickly those walls held. The siege engines were priority one.


    His magic built, a snarling, flowing river of power in his fingers, hotter than magma, thicker than steel, deadlier than any force the primitives around him could muster with their technologies.


    Never one to specialise himself for battle, Silenos nevertheless had more than a few tricks up his sleeve to prepare for such things. He called on his Necromantic might, breaching that veil between life and death, running mental fingers through it and feeling the slide of souls against them. Silenos ignored them. He wasn¡¯t looking for wisps of deceased humanity now, he had no flesh with which to use them, instead he wanted the substance they lived in.


    The Abyss, made of Shadestuff. Unimaginative though the names were, they referred to magics older and more powerful than any individual within House Shaiagrazni. Silenos drew on them, readying a globule of the viscous fluid-like magic as he pulled it into reality.


    Shadestuff was blacker than black and deadlier than death, held carefully from his skin by a lifetime of practiced caution. Taking a moment to get his aim, Silenos propelled it at one of the siege towers.


    He had experimented with acid, once, to see the strongest varieties and their effects on living matter. The most corrosive solution had been able to strip a finger down to bone in mere moments. The shadestuff would have left that bone a swirling mist of carbon within the same timeframe.


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    It crashed against the tower, melting and obliterating wood so quickly there was no time for the effects of inertia and surface tension to be seen. Whatever it hit simply stopped existing before it could even be sapped of speed, projectile tunnelling clean through the structure, then falling to snatch away the bodies of a marching undead rank behind it.


    Silenos had already prepared another globule of shadestuff, following the first up and obliterating a second hole out of the siege tower. Two, it appeared, was more than the structure could withstand, and its lessened integrity finally surrendered to the assaults of gravity. It collapsed, raining tonnes of wood down upon the undead that continued mindlessly pushing it, even as their work was made pointless.


    He barely acknowledged the sight, instead hurling yet more shadestuff. Another tower fell, then another, and soon the enemy had no siege engines left at all. Silenos turned his focus on their ranks instead, feeding undead to the abyss by the dozen. He hurled down pools of the inky void to swallow them as they marched through, concentrated it into a slick, oil-thin stream and hosed entire formations out of existence. Destroyed hundreds, thousands. It was a droplet in the enemy¡¯s ocean of bodies.


    The concept of morale did not truly apply to an army of the dead, their psychologies, if the primitive magics that directed their locomotive forces could even be described as such, simply failed to register the necessary sensations. Fear, self-preservation, panic, confusion. All were irrelevancies. It was why petty Necromancers had ever been such a thorn in the world¡¯s side, even a near-total absence of skill could conjure a force that was unrelenting in the truest form. And if an army did not relent, then half the principals and stratagems of war humanity had ever devised were rendered useless.


    Siege engines ripped jagged holes in their ranks, bowfire left them twitching and spasming in the dirt, pikes skewered limbs and severed tendons as they shambled up ladders. Some undead even climbed the walls simply by gripping the stone, most falling, but those who made it managing to attack the enemy in the least expected places and further disrupt their defence.


    When victory came, it would be upon a mound of ruined reanimates feet deep. But there was no doubting which side would win. Twenty minutes had passed, and Silenos¡¯ enhanced cognition counted more than nine tenths of the enemy still active. A decimation, but not a devastation.


    The enemy did not experience anything that could be called morale, but undead still required direction. Without a guiding force of higher intelligence they would, at best, continue mindlessly attacking without use of the siege engines allowing them a foothold. Silenos peered through the army to locate his target.


    Years ago he¡¯d made his deal to gain the eyes that let him perceive magic as lesser men did light, and he put them to good use in finding his enemy for a beheading strike. It was the familiar glow of power he¡¯d seen surrounding the Belladonnan Puppeteer, which told him he¡¯d be contesting either the same individual, or the same order of being.


    Silenos gathered himself, and took flight from the castle walls. His back exploded into leather wings of twisted muscle fibre, beating at the air as exothermic chemistry vented pressurised, burning gas from vents crafted into his flanks. The propulsion was as great as Silenos was yet manage to engineer, carrying him across the world in moments. He flew over the heads of shambling hordes beneath, arcing straight for the undead¡¯s General.


    And he changed his body as he did.


    Limpet teeth were formed of a keratin-based compound boasting strength an order of magnitude beyond that of steel, and retaining it regardless of size. Silenos had studied the creatures to mimic the atomic structure that permitted them such properties, and he now wove it into thick armoured plates across his body. Beneath that his skin and flesh changed too, made to a composition similar to that of hair, its shear and tensile yields growing to almost rival cast bronze.


    His muscles swelled and rethreaded themselves into tightly woven bundles, ready to elongate or compress by many times their original dimensions, his nerves were reforged as dendrites thickened and myosin sheathes extended across their faces. Skeletal matter was broken down into constituent particles and recombined to be replaced with a boron carbide frame, and a hundred other parts of him were changed, improved, ascended.


    When Silenos landed, he was a thing of terror and genius. The dirt compressed underfoot as his taloned feet came down, body bloated and expanded to a height of nine feet and a breadth of three men by his work. Jagged edges of nacre glinted prismatically upon the ends of Silenos¡¯ arm, forming a great lance, and the world seemed to move at a fraction of its usual haste as sensory information ran along nervous tissue with speed to leave even sound behind.


    The Beladdonnan Puppeteer, of course, was the slower of them. Not moving in time to keep his thrust from striking entirely, only turning what would have ran its cranium through into a mere shoulder-stab. The thing¡¯s body was sent spiralling backwards, head over heels, and Silenos gave chase. His left arm was equipped with a keratinous mass shaped to a shield able to withstand cannon fire, and he rose it in time to block the jet of shadestuff thrown at him by his tumbling enemy. Still, he felt the organic barrier begin to wither and erode at contact. Few things could withstand such Necromantic power even for that long, blocking would not be a sustainable strategy.


    Undead congealed out of the ground, surging high like overpressure from a landmine, and Silenos turned his shield to warding off their own strikes next. They were higher grade than the majority attacking, higher even than the Dullahan, he knew. Lesser Reapers and Dreamsnatchers, things of compact frame, dense magic and deadly, glinting-black blades. Shadestuff trailed from their attacks, scratching at his form, and he found himself backing away.


    Flames lit the area like a bonfire just moments before the Belladonnon Puppeteers¡¯ fireball impacted him. Silenos felt keratin expand and crack, compacted hydrogen absorbing the heat and dispersing it from his body, yet still leaving enough to sear the flesh. An attack like that would have left steel a semi-solid sludge, and there were limits to biological resilience.


    Limits to his power in combat, too. Had Silenos the time and resource to construct even a single new grotesquery of considerable size, he would have seen these petty casters crushed between its strength and his own. By himself, against so many, he found himself failing.


    Silenos drove his lance through an undead, tearing it apart with a wrench, then felt his war body¡¯s tail whip around to break apart the jaw and neck of another. Blades dug into him from all sides, pin pricks and bee stings, but the weight that followed them was more concerning by far. It resisted his movement, threatened to hold his body, allowed the Puppeteer to ready another fireball. He braced for it.


    But the impact never came.


    There was a light, harsh and glaring, that left wisps of smoke hissing from the bodies of every undead present, like logs a mere instant before conflagrating. It had an intensity to it that almost masked the newcomer¡¯s approach, but Silenos¡¯ retinas were polarised against such damaging overload, and he could pick out the form of Ensharia as she charged in .


    He had no idea how the woman had gotten to him, so far from the front, nor why she¡¯d chosen to, but she moved with that sluggish, suicidal lethargy that came only from the combination of remarkable courage and weakness. An idiot, to be joining a fight of this calibre, but a useful idiot. He watched as her mace took a creature in its head and cast it down, bone cracking, snapping more heads to her. Then he moved in an instant.


    Silenos let his whip go high as his lance went forth, driving the enemy back just beyond the range of his skewering weapon, and into the wide, sweeping strike of the longer-ranged one. At the last moment he had the coiled musculature draw back from his limb, cracking its edged tip like a whip and hearing as the half-kilogram of nacre left sound itself behind.


    The snapping of atmospheric rupturing was so loud, even his supernatural ears barely picked up the sound of bone breaking beneath. The undead stumbled, kept from flying back by the simple physics of such a lot-mass collision, and Silenos was upon it in an instant. His lance was blocked, whip too close for use, shield serving only to pin the enemy down. So he closed the jaws of his war-body across the undead¡¯s neck and bit down.

 Chapter 5

    It had not taken long for the battle to end, after Silenos succeeded in killing the Puppeteer. As a rule, Silenos had seen enough combat to say that battles rarely lasted long at all when one side was controlled by sapient thought, and the other an overwhelming urge to put those sapient thinkers in their stomachs. Without the direction of siege engines and scaling ladders, the undead, remarkably stupid, he thought, even for amateurs, simply couldn¡¯t defend themselves against human engineering. Clustering for trebuchets fire to rend them apart, impotently clawing at wooden gates and stone walls while thrown boulders crushed skulls and spines. It took close of a day in all, due to the sheer weight of numbers, but the following butchery had stopped being a true battle hours before it finally ended.


    Ensharia and Silenos¡¯ deed in slaying the Puppeteer had not gone unnoticed, and both of them had been called forth by the King to be rewarded. Silenos suspected he would not really be rewarded, at least not in any meaningful way. These idiots seemed to have mistaken him for an altruist, and doubtless wanted to take advantage of that misidentified trait by honouring him through some position or other. General, champion, whichever was most suitable. Highly venerated roles in a society were perhaps the oldest way in all the world that the intelligent had of manipulating the stupid.


    If he was given a medal, Silenos might well kill the offending monarch on sheer principle.


    ¡°Do you think we¡¯ll get a medal?¡± Ensharia asked from his side, eyes wide as dinner plates, face glowing with naive expectation. Silenos had told her, after the fight, that she had done well to sacrifice her life in order to buy him the chance to strike, and had been a useful tool for leveraging his magnificent strength. She seemed to have thought he was joking. The woman¡¯s pale skin flushed red whenever a compliment was paid to her heroism, and her eyes glinted with pride at every awed stare Silenos received.


    For his part, Silenos could not claim to find the state disagreeable. Word had spread of his power, first from the destroyed siege engines, then the slain Puppeteer. People now gazed upon him with just a tinge of fear to supplement their respect. It was, finally, as things ought to be.


    The two of them made their way briskly through the castle, which Silenos noted had remained almost untouched despite the carnage outside. A trebuchet had clipped one of the outer walls at some point, but beyond such superficial degradation it had weathered the siege well. Likely because all of its defenders had been dying on walls at the city¡¯s edge, a mile away from it.


    Farther still from the conflict lay the King and Queen, both of whom greeted Silenos with smiles as he entered, neither of whom had so much as a single scratch upon them. It was very much to be expected. As was the wariness. Silenos saw it, however much they tried to keep it from their gazes. A silent, abstract fear of him, of his power. Good. It was the inevitable reaction of any who witnessed his abilities, and it was as things should be. Those with power needed respect from those without.


    ¡°Saviour.¡± The King called out, voice carrying across the hall as a booming wave. There were others present, finely-dressed and nourished enough that Silenos imagined they were a part of some aristocratic class. By their expressions, they seemed to have heard at least second-hand stories about him. More awe, more fear.


    ¡°For your services in the defence of our city, your heroic defeat of the enemy General, and your preservation of the human race, you have my and the Nation of Elkatin¡¯s thanks. We owe you a debt of gratitude, and will repay it however is within our power.¡±


    Silenos considered demanding some financial recompense, perhaps a slice of his own territory. Such things would give a useful grounding to eventually establish himself, once he¡¯d spent enough time learning of the new world.


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    But such a demand would also run the risk of irking his new allies, better to bite his tongue and accept whatever non-entity of a reward was handed over instead. He could always take a nation himself later.


    ¡°I thank you.¡± He nodded, not bowed, doing the King a near-unprecedented honour by treating him almost like an equal of his own. The man did not appear to notice what ridiculous consideration he¡¯d been shown.


    ¡°Alas.¡± He continued. ¡°Elkatin is only one Kingdom, and you are Saviour of the world itself. We cannot defeat the Dark Lord with just our own power, however great yours might be.¡±


    Silenos resisted the urge to laugh. They¡¯d barely even seen his power, and couldn¡¯t fathom it if they did, but he knew better than to treat himself as untouchable. He¡¯d nearly died in the battle, albeit due to circumstance and was not capable enough that he could be certain nothing would match him. The Great Ancestor, leader of House Shaiagrazni, they could have let their guard down. But not their lessers.


    ¡°What would you suggest we do as an alternative?¡± He asked the King. Whispers ran out through the court, muttered, scandalised disbelief. Silenos did not dignify them with a glance, he was well familiar with the response inferior minds tended to have of Shaiagrazni¡¯s Named speaking without undue reverence to their randomly-selected leaders. Whispering about it was simply the most inane thing they might have done.


    Clearly, though, his question was enough to entice them. Silenos felt the room cramp in as faces studied the conversation ever more intensely, awaiting an answer.


    ¡°...There are others.¡± The King said at last. ¡°People of great power, of magic, knowledge, strength and swiftness. People who might be turned to pit their strength against the Dark Lord and remove his scourge from the world.¡±


    SIlenos glanced at the Paladin, Ensharia, keeping his face carefully neutral.


    ¡°Would you describe her as such an individual?¡± He asked.


    The woman¡¯s eyes fell to her feet, clearly she was clever enough to realise what he was trying to do, but the King simply thought. Then slowly shook his head.


    ¡°Ensharia is remarkable, one of the strongest Paladins now active, but there are others in her order of greater power. She is, however, not countable among the foremost warriors of this world. None in the city can match her, but in the KIngdom there may be some who could, and in the surrounding lands it is all but guaranteed. We would need a hundred of her to win this war, not a dozen.¡±


    It was actually quite reassuring, and simultaneously was not. If Silenos had been sent to gather yet more individuals of the Paladin¡¯s power then he¡¯d have been wasting his time, with sufficient preparation he might have slaughtered fifty of her.


    ¡°Where are the first of these luminaries?¡± Silenos asked. The King waved his question aside so contemptuously he almost killed the monarch on sheer reflex.


    ¡°You will be provided with a list, but first we need your assurance that you can find these figures and secure their aid.¡±


    He considered the matter.


    ¡°I would like Ensharia to accompany me.¡± Silenos said, instantly. The woman was at least almost passable as a bodyguard, and with his Grotesquery destroyed he would have to make do. Silenos had not yet coined a way to reanimate an already destroyed undead, and too few defenders had perished to supply him with the many thousands of bodies needed to create such a behemoth.


    Silenos winced, his skin experiencing a sudden, phantom spasm of pain. The Biomantically-grown plates of keratin and hide that had largely been burned in his fight were gone, now, but some whisper of the agony they¡¯d been subjected to still remained. He made a note to dampen his pain receptors when next he transformed, such a reaction might be inconvenient in the heat of battle.


    ¡°Done.¡± The King nodded, triumphantly. ¡°And the two of you shall have the fleetest horses in Elkatin, too!¡±


    They left shortly after, their business done, and headed to prepare. Silenos was surprised by the Paladin slowly raising her voice, hesitantly directing a question at him.


    ¡°Why me, Saviour?¡± She asked, thoughtful, hopeful.


    Silenos threw another glance along her form. Perfectly sized, he thought, to both cover much of his body, and be quickly pulled in front of it should he suddenly need a shield.


    ¡°Because I see great potential in you.¡± He replied. A smile beamed across her face as they made their way off.

 Chapter 6

    House Shaiagrazni had vastly superior means of transportation to horses and carriages, but Silenos had been informed that such things would tend to draw unnecessary attention from the world at large were they to use them. It was unfortunate, infuriating, and inconvenient, but there was nothing to be done about it just yet, and so he simply compromised with reality and allowed himself to be transported by the slow, plodding musculature of natural selection and primitive engineering.


    Ensharia, apparently an optimist, had seemed pleased enough with the vehicle. Awed, even, by its construction. From what Silenos could recall, there had been times in his own people¡¯s history where such things were a rare commodity, the metal and craftsmanship involved yet to be made common by mass production, and so he perhaps should not have been surprised.


    He was, though not enough that he didn¡¯t get a lot of work done.


    Silenos read during his journey, and read well, having piled the carriage¡¯s storage with books covering as many subjects as he could and began devouring them at a rate of two or three each day. Boredom was not such a crippling barrier for him, not with hours of mere waiting on the road passing them by, and not with the regions of his brain that registered such sensations having long since been Fleshcrafted to remove the inconvenient flaws


    Book learning was not a flawless fountain of knowledge, but it was a start. A theoretical backbone which Silenos was careful to strengthen through questioning and inquiry with his new companion. He read of the world¡¯s Vigour, a curious form of magic that seemed to dwell within muscle and flesh to leave them hardened past physical limits. Somehow without even being identified by the new world¡¯s natives as magic at all.


    He learned of the Dark Lord¡¯s historic rise several decades prior, the fractured nations that had been so tragically slow in heeding the call of Paladins to unite against him. The resulting defensive war that was prepared too poorly and fought too hastily, allowing great swathes of territory to be claimed by the enemy before any serious defence could be galvanised against him by the previously warring or rivalling states.


    It was not lost on Silenos that his sources of such information were far from unbiased. Without an invented printing press, this new world¡¯s book creation was monopolised and hoarded by those few possessing the greatest wealth, history was recorded only as the people in power wished it to be, and having a Paladin to explain their error in disregarding the Paladins hardly left him more confident that he¡¯d gained a complete picture. Still, as the days progressed, he learned more than nothing.


    Of course, a large portion of Silenos¡¯ studies and conversations were directed towards the subject of those phenoms he now rode in pursuit of, and Ensharia was as eager to assist with his learning of them as she was all other things. The nearest, she explained, would be found in the arcane city of Magira, ¡®The Great Magus Walriq¡¯. As he understood it the magi were an order of caster native to the new world, whose powers seemed most similar to Silenos¡¯ own, though still prohibiting Necromancy and Fleshcrafting as so many of the savages did. He¡¯d yet to see any considerable magic from any of the new world¡¯s residents, but apparently Elkatin was not famous for its arcane power, only its holiness. That explained the near-extinction he¡¯d arrived in the midst of.


    A magus, found in Magira.


    Silenos did not comment on the repulsive naming scheme at play coinciding title to city designation, only waited for them to draw nearer their destination. On the seventh day, they came to it. Or rather they came to a small, pristine fountain in the centre of a field, circulating water with a fluidity and smoothness that seemed anachronistic of what Silenos had yet seen of the world¡¯s primitive technologies.


    ¡°We¡¯re here.¡± Ensharia breathed, her words distorted by a face twisted towards frowning rather than smiling. Silenos didn¡¯t need to ask why.


    Around the fountain was a field, grassy and flat. It stretched back for miles, occasionally yielding to hills and slopes, dips and dives in the earthy terrain, before finally fading to woodlands at its farthest perimeters. But there was no sign of any city, magical or otherwise.


    ¡°Have we got the wrong place?¡± Ensharia pressed. ¡°We¡­Surely we can¡¯t have, I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    Silenos did, though. He was not what this world would call a magus- his own world had never used that name to his knowledge- but House Shaiagrazni was an order of arcanists more than anything else. One world or another, one name or another, the magics they bound and the ways they did so were similar in nature. Magic was power.


    Magi, sorcerers, wizards, casters. Power brought arrogance, and there were few things the arrogant enjoyed more than inconveniencing their lessers with tedious testing.


    He tightened his eyes, took in the sight of the fountain, then sighed. It was practically screaming with magical power.


    ¡°I can see through your idiot illusion.¡± Silenos called out, letting his displeasure show. ¡°I am Silenos Shaiagrazni, Senior of House Shaiagrazni, master of the arcane arts. Arcane arts more complex and potent than your civilisation has yet to discover, that is. Reveal yourselves this instant before I grow bored and start destroying things to motivate you.¡±


    Fortunately, it did not take long for his calls to be heeded.


    The illusion went watery, first, physical world distorted. Losing form, as if it were moulded wax suddenly left melting under the sun. Within moments it fell away, revealing a hard stone ground leading to a tall metal gate, two men looking down from atop it. Both held crossbows, cocked and readied. Built with gears and pulleys, each one had clearly been engineered to multiply the strength of its wielder, storing tension built by drawing it with the turning of a wheel rather than brute force. Mathematics turned into death.


    Silenos resisted his urge to mock the savages for their weaponry.


    ¡°Identify.¡± One called, and Silenos affixed him with a look that he could only hope conveyed the true, transcendent stupidity of levelling such a demand at him mere moments after his declarations of name, rank and loyalties. Ensharia spoke before he could decide on how best to articulate the man¡¯s mental deficiencies.


    ¡°We are here on the business of King-¡±


    ¡°A woman!?¡± Another one snapped. ¡°There are no women allowed in Magira, girl, begone with you.¡±


    ¡°-Or are you one of the new whores travelling with your master?¡± The first added, thoughtful. Silenos suddenly got the impression that, despite the plate armour encasing her, Ensharia¡¯s body was being examined and weighed. Apparently she shared his impression, because her disgust was palpable.


    ¡°I have a letter of introduction.¡± Ensharia replied, quickly, fishing around her person and producing it with a demonstrable haste. It was the genuine article, signed by the King¡¯s own hand to both explain their presence and request entry on his behalf. With their altitude atop the gate, both men took a moment to shuffle down and reach through an opening in the metal to seize it, reading it quickly once they had. Apparently they¡¯d been selected for literacy, or else Magira simply allowed more of its populace to read than Elkatin, because they soon understood the contents and acted accordingly.


    ¡°Alright.¡± A voice came, at last. ¡°Fine, you can enter, but stick with the man.¡±


    A rumble, a rattle, and the gate¡¯s mechanisms began to turn as the letter was handed back. Silenos and Ensharia both stepped past the threshold and into the city together, moving fully past the illusion at last.


    Everything shifted, photonic trickery breaking down as Silenos bypassed the angles at which it had been woven to work. Illusory magic was a difficult thing to do right, few even among House Shaiagrazni could cast it precisely enough to be truly indistinguishable by close scrutiny, and so Silenos was not surprised as the city unfurled before him. Buildings reaching high, streets wide and scarcely occupied, everything presenting itself clean, smooth, glinting under the sun and wafting currents of magically sterilised air in all directions.


    To his side, Ensharia gasped. He turned to see her eyes wide, face a mask of awe and amazement.


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    ¡°Incredible.¡± She breathed, staring out at the sights. ¡°I¡¯d heard stories, ridiculous stories, but¡­God, it¡¯s like a city of angels.¡±


    Magira was a city of magic casters, not an uncommon sight in the lands of House Shaiagrazni. But Silenos could understand the sheer incredulity with which it might be beheld, seen from eyes that were as unused to the arcane as hers. Magic almost invariably found use in architecture first within nations that had access to it. Clearly Magira was no exception. One could build higher with magic by shaping materials more accurately, or else just working harder ones.


    Which begged the question of what exactly had been used for this city¡¯s construction.


    ¡°Diabase.¡± He noted, identifying the stone with a glance. It was one of the preferred materials of a puerile magical society, harder than other stones, not wholly uncommon, and quite workable with the sorts of energy and force that might be mustered by modest power. Ideal for those who wanted to feel as though they¡¯d somehow transcended ordinary rock.


    Evidently, his lack of respect for the choice was clear to Ensharia.


    ¡°You don¡¯t approve?¡± She prodded. Silenos shrugged as they made their way into the city, still examining it while he spoke.


    ¡°Magira is three centuries old, yes?¡± He asked. She nodded. ¡°Double my own age then, and easily six or seven of your generations. Diabase is acceptable for beginners in the art of magically-aided architecture, but I fear its continued use here after so long, even in the outskirts of the city, which must surely have been made most recently, betrays a lack of¡­Innovation.¡±


    She eyed him, seeming more concerned with Silenos than the city, now.


    ¡°What are your people like?¡± Ensharia asked, after a moment. ¡°The entire time I¡¯ve known you, even when bringing you to the greatest wonders I know, you¡¯ve never so much as arched an eyebrow. Are your people really so unrivalled by this world? Are¡­ Are you¡­Unrivalled, among your people?¡±


    He cracked a smile, and for once the display was sincere.


    ¡°I am not, in House Shaiagrazni, my order, there are perhaps a dozen who exceed me in magical mastery and knowledge, and many more who are my betters in raw power. I am not the oldest, most studied, not the wisest nor, even, am I the cleverest or most cunning. I will never rule my people.¡±


    She seemed surprised.


    ¡°That¡­You always seemed so¡­Certain, so demanding of others.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡± He nodded. ¡°Of my inferiors, just as my superiors are demanding of me. My people achieved wonders to dwarf those of this world specifically because we believe in elevating the greatest minds and powers to the greatest positions. This world, it would seem, has¡­Other criteria.¡±


    Ensharia looked at her feet.


    ¡°Many magi believe women to be inferior, ill suited for magic. Too emotional, lacking the discipline needed to control it.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡± Silenos noted. ¡°Imbeciles.¡±


    Misogyny, the word was, if he recalled. An archaic thing long since dispelled from his own people. What mattered was not that flesh found between a person¡¯s legs, he knew. It was the firing of synapses between their neurons. How he loathed the idiocy of a civilisation that would halve its own potential so arbitrarily. No wonder they were still crawling around with mud bricks.


    ¡°Let us continue, we have searching to do.¡± He declared.


    Their search was a tedious thing, not least because, despite her clear disapproval of the city¡¯s view regarding her sex, Ensharia simply refused to demonstrate any real perspective in seeing the displays around them. Every moment, it felt, he had to remind her to keep focus and not allow herself the distraction of gawping at one thing or another.


    Silenos himself hardly saw the appeal. Magic was being used brazenly, indulgent, as it might by the hands of some infant community who had yet to even realise the potential of their own powers. Toys being sold, petty conveniences for warming beds or blocking unwanted noise, massaging devices or servitor golems. It was all so dull.


    ¡°Is this not a city of research?¡± Silenos asked his companion, who looked distractedly back to him, and considered.


    ¡°They say so, but the magi say lots of things. It¡¯s a city of secrets, certainly, the Arcane Council has seen to that.¡±


    The Arcane Council, dictatorship split between a dozen. House Shaiagrazni actually used rather similar means in many cases, though was ultimately ruled by a single autocrat. Silenos had heard little of the magus rulers of Magira thus far, and everything he¡¯d seen of their work left him certain they needed oversight just as much as the Dark Lord.


    Something bothered Silenos, and it bothered him more the farther they moved into the city. He realised it before long. There were no corpses, at all. He could smell corpses, or feel them rather, and that sensation was entirely absent.


    Cremation, he imagined. Not an uncommon practice in his world- the enemies of House Shaiagrazni had long since learned not to leave their cities filled with potential soldiers should they war with the Necromancers- but an inconvenience nonetheless. He stifled his irritation and pressed on.


    As they drew closer to the city¡¯s centre, Silenos expected to see an increase in guards, soldiers, defences. He expected, perhaps, to find refugees, given that he had seen none anywhere else. When he did not, he consulted Ensharia once more.


    ¡°Magira tends to remain neutral and apolitical.¡± She explained. ¡°Unconcerned with the outside world.¡±


    ¡°Including matters of someone attempting to rule and conquer everything in the world?¡± He asked, not entirely shocked, just finding himself in need of certainty. She nodded.


    Imbeciles, as he¡¯d thought. Silenos almost wished he could watch them all invaded and crushed by their own mistakes.


    By far the largest of Magira¡¯s buildings was its university. That, Silenos had to admit, was a mark to the credit of its savage governors. It was guarded, though not in any way that might have impeded the movements of those frequenting it, and Silenos found himself stopped near the door by yet more gatekeepers. The letter appeared just as effective at granting passage as it had been to the city himself.


    Inside, the place was a monument constructed to spellcaster egotism. Everything was either large, or absurd. Its ceilings dozens of feet high, its walls littered with relics no doubt pilfered from the past conquests of its owners. The people were similarly¡­Absurd.


    Robed men, no women. Most elderly, some ancient, all bearing the sharp, straight postures of individuals who were confident in their own power, all bearing the flitting eyes of those surrounded by others they considered just as rightful in being likewise. Silenos recognised the demeanours instantaneously, they really were similar to those of his own people.


    Ensharia seemed cowed as they passed magi, despite the limited numbers. Silenos was merely curious. He found a few glances turned his way as they made a path through the university, eyes scrutinous and considering. His features, he had learned, were foreign to Ensharia¡¯s people, but here there was a blend of ethnicity almost as varied as House Shaiagrazni. Pale, olive, copper and ebon skin, curly, straight and wavy hairs. Eyes of brown, of blue, of green or even of red and black. It was a population clearly extracted from a continental mass, and perhaps even beyond.


    That was a good sign, it at the very least implied a sample size large enough that, through sheer weight of statistics, there ought to be at least one or two semi-talented individuals amongst them.


    Finally their trek through the ridiculous university reached its culmination, and he and Ensharia stepped into a voluminous chamber with walls of carved obsidian, lit from the centre by a great, towering pillar of light. A leyline, he knew.


    A crease in the world, where reality¡¯s skin was thinner and less separated from the hot magical blood pumping under the surface. Of course the magi had built their university around it, such things were powerful.


    But more dangerous. The Entities swam as bacteria in the veins of the world, and it was ever so easy to bring one forth when extracting the fluid in which they bred.


    There stood a group of men beside the leyline, who Silenos recognised instantly as among the most important around. Their magic betrayed that much, considerable in its volume as he studied it with his arcane gaze. Bonfires of power, perhaps small things compared to the scale he might have expected from his peers in House Shaiagrazni, but certainly greater than the spitting hearths that fuelled spellwork in most he¡¯d passed.


    He hadn¡¯t taken so much as a step towards them before another came into step ahead, barring Silenos¡¯ way with his body, and eying him coolly.


    ¡°Do you have an appointment to meet the Councillors?¡± He asked, gruff.


    ¡°Your tiny bureaucracy is but a writhing insect compared to the unfathomable might and import of my powers.¡± Silenos replied, diplomatically. ¡°Step aside now or I shall obliterate you like the semi-sapient bacterium you are.¡±


    Ensharia was hasty in adding her own voice to the mix, presenting their letter of introduction for the third time.


    ¡°Elkatin.¡± The guard read, lip curling with distaste. ¡°You¡¯re not pilgrims, are you?¡±


    Silenos had yet to teach himself the new world¡¯s languages, not even that of Elkatin itself, but he¡¯d been practising with the letter. Aside from merely memorising their alphabet and phonetics, he had come to intimately know that their purpose had been made very clear in its wording.


    Which told him that this man was merely antagonising them.


    ¡°Step aside.¡± He repeated. ¡°Or I shall move you.¡±


    A sneering grin plucked at the man¡¯s lips, and he¡¯d just barely opened his mouth when Silenos¡¯ thoughts touched his nerves.


    It would be politically inconvenient to destroy him entirely, and Silenos¡¯ magics were ill-suited for physical displays even in a world where their practice was not illegal. He was ever creative, however.


    Fleshcrafting sorceries seeped into the guard¡¯s muscles, forcibly convulsing them in the exact sequence needed to send him flying one way under his own strength. Silenos was careful to exert the full range of power available to the targeted tissues, ensuring that the obstacle was displaced a full ten feet by the time he finally stopped sliding on the smooth stone.


    All eyes were upon him and Ensharia, now, which suited him perfectly well. He stepped past the crumpled, groaning man and closed in on the magi. All were on edge, preparing magic, suspicious, ready for battle. Politely, he refrained from laughing at them.


    ¡°I am here to speak with the magus Walriq.¡± He told the group. ¡°Show me to him and I shall be on my way.¡±


    The catching of breath told Silenos that these men, at least, possessed the magical prowess needed to observe his own power. That was good, a dash of fear often helped to move conversation along in his experience.


    ¡°Walriq is dead.¡± One of the magi replied, gruffly. ¡°You¡¯re here a week late.¡±

 Chapter 7

    Ensharia gasped, and Silenos felt the convulsive tightening of irritation in his throat.


    ¡°How did he let himself die?¡± He asked, keeping his temper cool. Cellular regeneration, genetic immortality, redundant organs, soul-tethering, safeguard bodies. There were a hundred ways he¡¯d found to keep his own existence preserved, albeit most had been left untenable by his sudden transfer. It took a very young and very stupid caster to be killed.


    ¡°He was murdered.¡± One magus spat, literally spat, globule passing his lips and hitting the ground in contempt. ¡°His own apprentice, Arion Falls. Walriq is no more.¡±


    Silenos and Ensharia took their time gathering yet more information before finally moving once more. Falls was, indeed, the magus Walriq¡¯s apprentice, and a point of pride for even him. A windmage, he was apparently the kind of prodigy who emerged only once every few centuries, and had been expected by most to surpass even his mentor despite being only twenty years of age.


    It was believed, likewise, that he had overpowered and killed him the few days prior in an argument. Evidently, the natives were too stupid to see any kind of contradiction between his only ¡°one day¡± surpassing his mentor, and having personally killed him so recently.


    Ensharia waited until they¡¯d stepped out of the room before speaking, which Silenos appreciated for the wise judgement call it was. She had no way of knowing whether they were being observed magically, her eyes were not made of the same stuff as his.


    ¡°We can¡¯t get Walriq.¡± She sighed. ¡°But we can still track down Falls, right? If anything he might be even better.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps.¡± Silenos hummed, thoughtfully. Young casters were often capricious, the egotism and ambition that came so naturally to those of power tended to mix poorly, in his experience, with the hormonal chaos that was a body just barely out of puberty. Such an ally could be unreliable.


    ¡°He did kill his master.¡± Silenos noted, and found, pleasantly, that Ensharia was shaking her head.


    ¡°You think a magus would start an argument with someone they thought was stronger than them, or fail to recognise when they¡¯d been surpassed by their apprentice? Further, you think that apprentice would go on letting a city full of men who think might makes right think that he was only eventually going to be the better caster, if he¡¯d already outgrown the strongest?¡±


    A smile made itself known to Silenos, and he happily granted it space upon his features.


    ¡°Astute and logical deductions.¡± He informed the woman. ¡°Yes, we shall go and examine the apprentice in his cell.¡±


    Perhaps unsurprisingly, they met more resistance on their way to do so than they had moving for an audience with the magi. Accused murderers tended to be guarded well, Silenos knew, particularly when they carried the genetic material of a magical prodigy. The inconvenience of reaching Fall was nonetheless an opportunity to gather more information about him, and one he made the most of.


    He was stored below-ground, as might be expected of a windmage, and behind heavy guards. Several doors of thick iron barred the sole corridor leading to his cell, manned by individuals whose bodies carried an innate magic of the same order as Ensharia¡¯s. Silenos had no doubt any of them could toss his own form around like a ragdoll, such would be their strength, and made a mental note to study the phenomena responsible for humans being so passively imbued with power in this world. It was not known to the people of his own.


    More iron doors, big, thick things. Slabs of metal that might have found use in House Shaiagrazni as shields against cannon fire, it made Silenos consider the order of caster who lay bound behind them. He wasn¡¯t considering for long. They soon reached the final door, stepping past, entering the chamber that held magus Walriq¡¯s supposed killer.


    It was a young man, as Silenos might have expected. Seated against a far wall, and with the look of one who had been born handsome, but recently withered in circumstance. His clothes were ragged, features unkempt, surroundings grimy and dirty in such a way as to seemingly infect him. He looked up to study Silenos with eyes coloured an emerald green, tousled brown hair falling around them in greasy locks.


    Silenos spoke first.


    ¡°Arick Fall.¡± He identified. ¡°Did you kill your master?¡±


    The boy¡¯s face was tight with hostility instantly.


    ¡°Another interrogator?¡± He asked, then shook his head fractionally. ¡°No, you¡¯re not local, and you¡¯re not working for the city either.¡± He nodded to Ensharia. ¡°Unless you had an exception made for you to be bringing the bitch along.¡±


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    The Paladin bristled, but said nothing. A pity, Silenos would¡¯ve found it rather amusing to see her temper run out.


    ¡°Answer the question.¡± Silenos pressed. ¡°I¡¯m already bored, and should my boredom reach critical mass it- ah.¡± Of course, these savages had no concept of nuclear fission. ¡°I am an incredibly destructive and dangerous person prone to mercurial violence when my patience is tested.¡± He simplified.


    Silenos saw the boy¡¯s eyes focus for a moment, then his pale skin went paler still. Had he¡­Seen his magic? The gift of Sight was a rare thing to have naturally, but not unheard of. Not even amongst savages.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡± The magus said, after a pause. ¡°And people only say I did because they¡¯re jealous of me, they all know that, in Walriq¡¯s absence, there¡¯s no competition at all for greatest alive. It¡¯s just me, me, me, me. And without me, suddenly, that position is contested by about four others, any two of which would be hard-pressed to best me with both their powers combined.¡±


    An interesting answer.


    ¡°And so you would say your master remained superior to you as of his death?¡±


    The boy snorted.


    ¡°He made magus at fifteen, I barely managed it at thirteen. I was more gifted, nobody was stupid enough to think otherwise, but the difference wasn¡¯t that big. He had sixty years of experience on me, I doubt I¡¯d have beaten him one time in ten if we¡¯d fought in earnest.¡±


    Silenos believed him, such disparities were commonplace. Talent was two thirds of magic, but age made up much of what remained.


    ¡°How did he die then?¡± Ensharia asked.


    The magus stared at her, as if she¡¯d just drooled on herself.


    ¡°He was eighty.¡± He said, slowly. ¡°How do you think he died? The old man¡¯s heart stopped while he was balls-deep in some whore, I found the poor girl panicking next to his dead body when I came back half an hour later.¡±


    Silenos had once been told about Araquia the Great, one of the foremost casters of House Shaiagrazni. A woman of such power that she was able to split mesas in half with a thought and redirect entire rivers with a whispered word of power. She¡¯d died when he was still in training. Auto-erotic asphyxiation, as he had heard. Her safeguards had failed to act simply because it had, technically, been her own act that killled her. Such things were more common among masters of magic than most tended to know.


    And the magi of Magira surely knew that.


    There were other facts Silenos judged to be in Fall¡¯s favour. The second among a gathering of great powers was perhaps the least likely of all to challenge the first, in his experience. Such individuals were in a position to enjoy practically all the indulgences of the highest station, and were the least often challenged. It meant those rare occasions on which they interacted with their superior were far less grating, far more easily ignored. Some might have been impulsive enough to lash out, regardless, and yet that seemed even less likely. Magi were patient, intelligent individuals, as most casters were. And Fall was the greater genius between himself and his master. Had he decided to strike the old man down, he would simply have waited a half decade until he could be certain of doing so, not risked losing a contest to the death as he was.


    All that, and there were far less sloppy ways to kill a man sixty years one¡¯s elder. Silenos found himself more confident in the man¡¯s innocence with every passing moment.


    ¡°I believe you.¡± He said at last, and Fall leapt to his feet, animated by a new vigour. It was like watching true life given to a fresh corpse. Silenos had to hide his smile as he stifled it. ¡°But it makes no difference.¡± He continued. ¡°You will be executed tomorrow regardless, good day.¡± He turned for the door, taking his leave without another word.


    Ensharia was quiet behind him, face dark, eyes sad. Silenos recognised the primitive firing of empathetic synapses that had bound their species so tightly before sapience and knowledge had come to rule everything else.


    ¡°You dislike him.¡± He observed. ¡°And yet you are saddened by his death?¡±


    She eyed him, confused, concerned. Thoughtful as she took her time in considering how best to answer. The more Silenos spoke with this Paladin, the more he appreciated her habit of favouring silence over pointless speech.


    ¡°He¡¯s innocent, and I¡¯m a Paladin. I¡¯m opposed to capital punishment at the best of times, and this is the worst of them.¡±


    He could understand that much, at least, however different his own people¡¯s customs were. Standing beside principal rather than emotional reaction was admirable.


    ¡°You¡¯re also worried that we¡¯re losing a powerful ally.¡± Silenos observed, and Ensharia stiffened.


    ¡°Obviously.¡± She conceded. ¡°I¡¯m not an idealist, I understand that there¡¯s more at stake here than one man¡¯s life. We can¡¯t free him?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Silenos replied. ¡°If I had time, and a graveyard, perhaps, but I am not a direct combatant. Those magi we met, together, would be more than a match for me, however many other councillors of their level are in this city would further the gap, and then there would be several hundred more magi to contend with. It is impractical to free him.¡± A smile creased his face. ¡°But I have another plan.¡±


    Ensharia awaited it eagerly, and Silenos gave her the answer.


    ¡°I imagine Walriq has yet to be cremated, given how recent his death was. One day at least would be spared to examine his body, another to unlock whatever magical secrets may be held within. If we act quickly, tonight, I ought to be able to reanimate it, and unlike the drooling idiot you call a Dark Lord, I am able to bring back an individual with all the intellect and powers they held in life. When the situation calls for it.¡±


    A double-edged sword, always, but Silenos knew when a risk was worth taking. Walriq had impressed him. Ensharia seemed less thrilled.


    ¡°I suppose¡­It¡¯s for the best.¡± She managed, sounding more to be convincing herself than acquiescing to him.


    ¡°Splendid. Then you will help me by being the one to execute him.¡± Silenos announced, enjoying the look of shock upon her face rather a lot. ¡°It will, after all, gather all the more magi to witness if he¡¯s killed by something as humiliating as a woman, hm?¡±

 Chapter 8

    Ensharia had not known the Saviour for long, she realised. Under two weeks in fact. She¡¯d learned much about him in that time, however. And come to doubt much of what she initially assumed. He was callous, unpredictable, oddly cruel, at times, all of which seemed at odds with his ends of halting the Dark Lord. His mind, though, had been every bit the force described in her people¡¯s stories, and he¡¯d demonstrated the fact rather handily to her in how he convinced the Arcane Council to allow an outsider as Fall¡¯s executioner.


    It had been like watching a man work clay, moulding the magi with words instead of touch, but wielding no less skill than an expert sculptor. They had bent to his suggestions, absorbed his ideas, twisted and worked his implications until each one seemed certain they had coined the ideas themselves. The entire conversation had lasted ten minutes or less, and by its end, all present were dancing to the Saviour¡¯s tune.


    She had agreed herself, of course. And Ensharia was smart enough to know that she¡¯d almost certainly been manipulated just as seamlessly and completely. She was no genius, nor was she a schemer or politician. If the esteemed councilmen of Magira hadn¡¯t noticed themselves being subtly shifted along the currents of Silenos¡¯ consultancy, then she¡¯d never have had a chance at all.


    The day moved by, and Ensharia found herself getting a lot of looks from the inhabitants of Magira. She had not, of course, been permitted to actually stay in the university, rather she¡¯d had quarters prepared for her a short walk away. A short walk provided one could clear fifty feet per stride, at least. She kept to herself for the most part, building her courage, and resisting the urge to reinforce it with some wine. That was an increasingly difficult battle, these days. Every city taken by the Dark Lord was another whisper at the back of her mind to indulge, and her Saviour had only made things worse in that respect.


    Her Saviour.


    A fortnight had been too little time to become used to calling him by his title. It was a thing of folklore and mythology, made real only recently. And barely made real, at that. Silenos was brilliant, knowledgeable, and certainly powerful in all the ways he¡¯d been imagined. But more and more, she¡¯d seen him fall short of the heroic standards laid out by his preceding prophecies and promises.


    She was going to kill a man she knew to be innocent on his command. It was for the greater good, Ensharia knew, but even that was not without direction. Her doing so was merely to give a distraction while her Saviour reanimated a man¡¯s corpse, enslaving it permanently to his will using magics so unnatural her order had been formed in part to battle them.


    Compromise, sacrifice, pragmatism. It seemed to her that no three attributes ever mixed to so reliably create a moral degradation than those. But she¡¯d have been lying to claim it was that that had her skin crawling.


    He threatened to obliterate that man, just for doing his job.


    Would the Saviour have acted upon his threats and left that guard a corpse, had she not been so fast with their letter? She didn¡¯t know, couldn¡¯t know, and found herself hollowed out by the lack of knowledge. There seemed no point in asking him, he¡¯d either lie or be truthful, and it was beyond her to know which was which.


    Ensharia eyed the wine again. It was strong stuff, Magira tended to make all of their indulgences strong, and she felt it drawing her towards it for one long, irresistible moment. Then she got to her feet and headed for the door.


    She was a Paladin, and a Paladin was never without something to do. There were more productive, holy and decent things to spend her energy on than self pity. Ensharia headed back for the university.


    Despite being recognised and known by now, she found her trip inside one of innumerable stares and sneers. Ensharia seemed only to take three paces in the average time between the barbed words thrown at her, insults, propositions, even just observations made of her body. Many were content to simply tell her she was a whore.


    It had come to her attention that women were allowed within Magira, the particulars of magus Walriq¡¯s death attested to that much, there were simply few conditions in which it was permitted. The most common, apparently, was as a means of sexual release for its magi.


    Ensharia passed a few on her way, all of them pretty, all dressed up like dolls. Their faces were calm, collected, dutiful where they weren¡¯t feigning lust and love for the eyes of a man. She¡¯d seen such expressions before, and felt a familiar stab of admiration for the strength needed to wear them in such conditions. Then her focus was broken as she came to the first of many iron doors separating Fall from his captors.


    She was granted passage, the way people bearing royal seals tended to be, and had the entire walk down Fall¡¯s corridor to steel her nerves and master her wits. She was soon before him, eying the man through behind the bars of his cell, fascinated by the sight.


    Fear had eaten even more of him, she saw. His face more lined, his body held tighter in the clutches of its fearful trembling.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± He asked, an edge to his voice, a touch of panic to his eyes. ¡°Here to give me my last fuck before the end? Because I don¡¯t think I¡¯m in the mood right now.¡±


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    Ensharia was too mature a person to actually consider leaving for that, but it still took a notch out of her patience and compassion. She forced herself to calm for a moment before replying.


    ¡°I¡¯m a Paladin of the Order of Erogran.¡± She told him, coolly. ¡°And, as such, I feel it is my duty to comfort you in your final hours.¡±


    He blinked.


    ¡°I just said I wasn¡¯t in the mood-¡±


    ¡°Spiritually you idiot.¡± Ensharia snapped. ¡°I can-¡± She hesitated, spending another moment to control her temper, then continued. ¡°I can pray with you, if you would like, or I can take confession of your sins. I can¡­Advise you on making peace with yourself, or, if you would prefer, I can simply¡­Be here. As company, until the end arrives.¡±


    Fall stared at her, not seeming to quite comprehend what she¡¯d said at first. Moments passed, and his face shifted towards shock, then¡­Anger. She saw him begin to speak, a jagged, foul retort boiling up from his throat. But it died before reaching his lips. His face relaxed again, falling slack, eyes wide, helpless, staring. Then a tear began to slide down his cheek.


    ¡°Why would you do this for me?¡± He asked, voice already an unsteady croak, as was so common for the voices of those who cried without being used to it.


    Years, she¡¯d been a Paladin. And in that time Ensharia had done her work for hundreds. Delivering children, comforting orphans, fighting until her body digested itself from exhaustion and her urine was red with blood. But none of it was ever as hard as comforting the dying.


    Must you die for the greater good? Would our Saviour tell me if you didn¡¯t need to?


    She swallowed her doubt, and forced a show of confidence.


    ¡°Because I am a Paladin, and you are a dying man. I would not have your last moments in this world be any more cruel and painful than they need to be.


    Fall broke down fully into tears, at that, and she resisted the urge to violate security protocol by reaching out to take his hand through the bars. Once he had recovered, they began her work.


    It was dark when the guards came, looking surprised to find Ensharia with the prisoner, but clearly not caring enough to question it much.


    ¡°Time¡¯s up.¡± One of them grunted, a towering man made of slabbed musculature and scarred skin. His face was cold and cruel in all the ways a good soldier¡¯s was. Ensharia nodded, standing as Fall was seized by one last trembling.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± He whispered, and she only nodded, not wanting to speak, not wanting to accept his gratitude. It felt wrong to do so, with what she was planning, perverse. Ensharia took her leave quickly and without meeting any of the men¡¯s eyes.


    Magi had a sense of grandiosity in everything they did. Silenos had correctly predicted this, extrapolating the fact from the casters of his own world. Ensharia had seen it in the Saviour himself, too, by his choice of flowing, crimson robes and gem-crusted lining.


    She saw it more overtly now, standing in the centre of their execution hall. A gallery lined one half of the great, hemispherical building, seats made of smooth marble and filled with scores of magisters. Most with faces lined in middle-age, some clearly well into the last decades of their lives, and a precious few bearing the talent to have earned their robes while youth still left their skin smooth and taut.


    It had surprised her to find that most magi did not employ illusory magics to appear younger than they were, but Fall had explained it during their time together. It wasn¡¯t uncommon that a magus would do so, however such spellwork was considered the height of ill manners within a gathering of other magi.


    To her, that seemed an absurdity in such circumstances. They¡¯d all gathered like vultures before a condemned man¡¯s death, mostly for the sheer novelty of seeing it happen in as humiliating a way as any of them could consider. How could such creatures care about something like manners? How could they care about anything at all?


    Ensharia closed her eyes against the leering sights of the magi, whispering a prayer to herself as she stepped out into the room¡¯s centre. A great chandelier hung high over it, illuminating a dias below in constant, sterile light spewed forth by a dozen glowing crystals. It was upon this dias that Fall resided. His head was down, face pale, arms bound behind his back in thick, runic chains that linked themselves to a fixture in the floor. Ensharia could feel the binding spells at work, where they¡¯d been woven into the metal. Powerful stuff, able to keep even a magus of Fall¡¯s calibre from drawing on his power. That was good, she decided. It would allow her to end everything in a single stroke.


    Fall caught her approach quickly, eyes wide, questioning.


    ¡°You.¡± He gasped. ¡°They said it¡¯d be a woman, but¡­Fuck, I should¡¯ve guessed. So that¡¯s why you stayed with me?¡±


    It was a struggle to keep her face from cracking apart and letting the emotion swell up from below, but Ensharia forced herself to manage it. This time, out of any, she would not betray herself.


    ¡°I stayed with you because it was the right thing to do.¡± She replied, hoping that he heard the honesty in her words. ¡°And I¡¯ll be the one to carry out your sentence for the same reason.¡±


    ¡°Because my dying is right?¡± He hissed, hatred bleeding from him like ichor from a lanced heart. It was intense enough that even Ensharia found herself taking a backstep on reflex. Give her an undead any day, a demon, a vampire, a lich king, even. Give her any abomination at all over the eyes of a dying man.


    ¡°Because it will lead to what is right.¡± She replied, quietly, but found herself uncertain. She saw Fall¡¯s face twist from the corner of her vision, but in thought now, rather than rage. His voice rang out again, quieter.


    ¡°This is a diversion?¡± He guessed, and she looked up sharply. Just in time to see the triumph on his face as he realised his guess had been right.


    ¡°I see, but then that means I don¡¯t actually need to die, right?¡± The magus pressed. ¡°How many more minutes do you buy by killing me? Not as many as you have already with the ceremony, right? Is my life worth so little that you¡¯d spend it on that tiny measure of extra time?¡±


    He was doing the most dangerous thing a person could: making sense.


    A few extra minutes, not any stretch of time at all, really. Usually. But in battle, in a situation of death and danger, it could be all the time in the world. How much would she have done to win a few extra minutes during the siege? How many lives had been ended in those last few minutes before the Saviour killed the enemy¡¯s general?


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± She replied, quietly, and watched Fall¡¯s face melt into horror, hate and impotent rage as she hefted the axe high overhead. It was a simple thing, not a weapon she¡¯d have ever carried into battle, but it was enough to do its work this night. With a Paladin¡¯s strength behind it, and the fragile tissues of a magus without magic, she could be sure it would do its work.

 Chapter 9

    Ensharia swung down, sending the edged metal to bite hard into the chain connecting Fall¡¯s bound wrists to the great fixture by his feet. It was a thick thing, close to an inch of cold iron, but she drove the metal with strength enough that the axe broke apart on impact, and the robust links of chain followed suit. In an instant the magus was on his feet, body aglow with power, air rippling around him as atmospheric currents danced and congealed in accordance with his will.


    It took one second for the pressure to coalesce about his shackles, crushing and snapping them harmlessly from his wrists to fall empty. One more second saw a barrier of stone-dense air compressed around them, and it was the third second in which a sizzling lance of energy crunched into it, delivering power enough that Ensharia felt the hairs curl on her skin even as its heat was blocked feet shy of reaching her.


    ¡°Treacherous whore!¡± One magus roared.


    ¡°Teach us to let the bitch do a man¡¯s job!¡± Cried another.


    ¡°Only thing you can trust them to cut is a fucking steak!¡± Snarled a third. After that, the slurring came in such volume that Ensharia found it all blending incoherently together. Then even that was buried by the blasts of magic.


    Ensharia found herself thrown to one side of the room, and took a moment to realise it had been Arion Fall, the windmage, who had done so. He didn¡¯t glance at her as she stared up at him, focusing instead on defending himself from the fusillades of magic still being thrown across the room.


    Not one of the Arcane Councilmen had stood to contribute their own power, yet, and most of the similarly aged men appeared content to sit still and observe as well. Indeed, Ensharia realised it was largely the younger, and thus less trained, who were so vigorously throwing themselves at him.


    But that did not give her new ally any sort of advantage, merely provided an explanation for why he had yet to be torn apart.


    His barriers were like castle walls, but his enemies were like trebuchets. Arcs of propelled acid, shaped stones, metal barbs and fireballs hurtled for him, deflecting and breaking on his shield to leave the ground around him fractured and glowing with molten agony. Even while magic was turned to solidity in their offence, others took less direct measures. Poisonous gases coiling about Fall, energies running through the ground beneath his feet and heating it to molten slag.


    Ensharia was no magus, but she was a warrior, and she¡¯d been in enough battles to recognise the tide of one when she watched it from so close. Fall was losing, and losing faster with every moment that passed. She got to her feet.


    Closest to her was a younger magus, who fought by directing arcs of lightning at Fall. The static discharge seemed unable to penetrate its atmospheric barricade, glancing and deflecting off in all directions, blasting fist-sized chunks of stone from the ground in a dozen different places with every forked refraction. He didn¡¯t look up in time to see her close in, and Ensharia¡¯s mace caught him clean in the chest.


    She held back, still a Paladin, but a magus was not a warrior, and his body had not been rebuilt to a steely hardness by the same training hers had. His ribs broke and he fell, coughing blood. Ensharia moved on to the next.


    <hr>


    There was magic on the air, war magic. Silenos could feel it. Magi were nothing compared to the Named of House Shaiagrazni, only the greatest of them would have even managed to progress that far within Silenos¡¯ people, but he sensed many turning their power to violence. Dozens, scores, perhaps close to a hundred in all. Such a sum of magic was more than even he could scoff at, even without any of the less modestly powerful Councillors contributing to its sum.


    Obviously, Ensharia had made a mistake. He reminded himself to chastise the idiot later as he advanced through the city. Provided she lived, of course. One couldn¡¯t take that prospect for granted, with idiots.


    Had Silenos been advancing through a city held by House Shaiagrazni, there would have been ample defences to impede him. Fleshcrafted servitors of preternatural sensory potence and deadly combat effectiveness, runes and wards made to shatter upon contact with his magical presence and thus alert their casters. If nothing else, the occasional tripwire. Instead he found very little to halt him.


    That changed, however, as Silenos moved closer to his destination.


    He flew across Magira upon great Fleschrafted wings, their flesh made of keratinous compounds able to withstand the lifting forces generated by bundles of efficient, spring-coiled muscle fibre. The decades had long since made Silenos an adept at flight, but he still spent most of his airtime gliding, all too aware of the surprising volume generated when a creature of his mass held itself aloft through Newtonian principles.


    Years ago, Silenos had enjoyed the sensation of flight. Enjoyed it like nothing else. He had since outgrown such juvenile sensations, these days the wind upon his face and moonlight on his back was of tertiary concern. His power was but a means, and he closed in, quickly, on the ends.


    The magus Walriq¡¯s corpse was not stored in the university, as Silenos might have guessed, but rather a more secure building just half a kilometre from it. The thing was of diabase, as much of Magira was, and constructed squat and stout for defence. Its outer walls were thick enough to stop cannonfire, threaded with barriers of magic that might turn away any attempts to transmute their substance, and guarded on all sides by more of the unfeasibly potent physical specimens who had lined the corridor of the holding cell.


    None of which was quite sufficient to truly impede him, of course.


    Silenos dropped down, reconfiguring his body as he did. He did not choose to take his combat form, such a shape was ill suited for any form of subterfuge. Eleven feet and four thousand kilograms of supermaterial tended to attract attention. Instead he let his body fall into its standard form, having long since enhanced his humanoid visage as much as could be managed, and chose to engage his obstacles more magically than physically.


    The first didn¡¯t even see him approach, simply felt the touch of Silenos¡¯ fingers on his neck, then dropped to the ground convulsing as his spinal cord was insulated past the point of transmitting nervous impulses. The second and third noticed Silenos as one, charging in to attack him, mouths widening to cry out a warning for the rest. It never came, for Silenos had already extended his focus to envelope them.


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    Fleshcrafting was a delicate art, and its range was limited. If a caster were to empower their magic enough to make the jump of dozens of metres, as was often done to target far-off areas with other forms, then the excess energy would destroy whatever fine precision allowed for the truly formidable uses of it. Silenos was not so distant as that, however, and his mastery allowed a degree of surgical sleightness over the five or so metres separating him from his targets now.


    He caused vocal convulsions, first, letting neck muscles squeeze their own windpipes past the point of making any sound at all. Then he targeted his enemies¡¯ pineal glands, flooding their systems with the levels of melatonin that might be present from days without rest, while simultaneously purging them of any adrenal stimulants that might fight its effects. Both were unconscious within a minute, and would remain so.


    Silenos stepped irritably over them. It would have been far easier to simply kill the savages, but also politically inconvenient. It was customary for a caster, and, he had learned, this world¡¯s magi, to allow minor assaults to their retainers, but to destroy their property outright would be an insult too big to ignore. Silenos hadn¡¯t the time to be making grave enemies like that, and so he limited himself. Fortunately no more guards stepped out to slow him as he slithered further inside.


    There was death on the air, clearly smelled, so close, and Silenos followed it. Soon finding the corpse tucked safely away inside. He hadn¡¯t a clue what the magus Walriq looked like, but he recognised the robes and age of him, and didn¡¯t waste time humouring the idea that there may have simply been some other, unrelated senior caster killed at a similar time. The man was laid back across a stone slab of the sort that might have found use in some ancient-age empire. His clothing was identical to the others of his kind, dark robes signifying power and seniority, and his hands were folded over one another atop his stomach.


    A beard flowed down from the magus¡¯ face, mixing above with long, grey hair, framing a squat face covered with lines that told of much time spent frowning in his life. Silenos moved quickly, extending his magic for the corpse.


    Fortunately, it seemed the savages of his city had possessed some knowledge of preservative measures for a dead body. Silenos detected no progressed rot within the lifeless tissues as he probed them, that was good. A desiccated or decomposed corpse could be repaired during reanimation, but doing so was difficult, time consuming, and would have added further points of failure to what would already be a taxing piece of spellwork.


    Silenos felt a snag, and ignored it. Easy to grow paranoid, to procrastinate, when working such a spell. He had to make himself act or else burn up what precious time remained for his distraction. Substituting Fleshcrafting for Necromancy, he flooded the corpse with his magic.


    He should have used his arcane sight to examine the corpse. Silenos realised that the moment he felt his necrotic power touch the core of its target, for there was already magic within it, waiting, coiled up and doing its reanimative work in subtle silence. Walriq twitched, shifted, then sat bolt upright with a blast of overpressure that left Silenos¡¯ teeth rattling. He hurtled backwards, shoulders crashing hard into the stone wall behind him, vision blurring as he stared at the magus now standing up just ten metres beyond.


    Wind coiled around Walriq, hurricane in its intensity, surgical in its precision. Great scything blades of pressurised air that scraped gouges into the stone floor like the clawing limbs of a great beast. The magus¡¯ eyes were empty, vacant, mindless, but the power within him was organic and without diminishment. Silenos recognised in an instant that he was staring down every ounce of magic the caster had managed to gather across his own life.


    And he hadn¡¯t taken the opportunity to prepare his combat form.


    The wind came for Silenos as a concentrated jet, powerful enough that he saw the air ripple with its intensity. His magic was immediate in answering, spasming muscles into throwing him aside far faster than mundane nerves could have managed, just barely letting him roll from the path of destruction. Where he¡¯d been an instant prior, the stone wall surrendered into a foot-deep hole just as jagged and total as if artillery had impacted it. He was on his feet in an instant, and running the next.


    Silenos had been in this new world for weeks, and his transit to it had broken every one of the protective precautions that might stave off death were his physical body destroyed. Such things were complex magics, demanding months or longer to replace, and that time would not be available to him for a while. All that kept him from death, now, was the preservation of his physical flesh.


    Soft tissues strong enough to halt a bayonet, bones of natural carbon fibres that might withstand a thousand times his weight, superconductive neurons and magical stimulation of muscular tissue to allow for reaction time beyond the limits of simple meat. It was all dust compared to his full might.


    He was not a direct combatant, not without the precious minute needed to transform himself, and he¡¯d let his battle begin without it. It took a very young or very stupid caster to die, perhaps today would be the day Silenos proved himself the latter.


    A pressure differential at his back warned Silenos of the wind current arcing for him, and he spun, transfiguring the oils and sweat of his body, the subcutaneous water within his arm, into a protean shield just in time to feel the current strike it. Energy transfer was near-instantaneous, and Silenos flipped almost upside-down before stopping against the far wall of his corridor, dozens of metres ahead of where he¡¯d been.


    Something sprained on impact, one of the vertebrae in his lower back cracked dangerously close to paralysis, but he was moving without even paying heed to the injury, taking advantage of his being launched to dive through the door.


    Silenos knew he had seconds before the magus was back in pursuit, and still far from the building¡¯s exit, so he worked quickly. He could not create matter from nowhere, but he had sufficient waste material to be used for¡­Something. Undigested food in his gut, flaking skin from his epidermis, plant matter growing beneath the stone underfoot. He took it all in, then reshaped it to a limb of elastic cartilage, affixing a block of iron-dense bone to a place at its top and binding the entire thing into the ground.


    Walriq turned the corner, and Silenos stepped back to let the great, flat wings protrude from his creation. The wind struck it, catching the broad planes of flesh as they billowed out like parachutes, concentrating all of the attack into dragging the entire limb back against its own near-insurmountable tension. Force exhausted itself in the construct, kilonewtons transferred by the score until it was finally bent almost all the way back, wind nearly completely subsided. That was when Silenos sent forth another wave of power, letting the construct loose.


    It snapped back so quickly and violently that he heard the audible crack of supersonic velocity as its osseous fixture released it right at the peak of their motion.


    The magus was quick, for an outsider to House Shaiagrazni. His magic already moved to produce, then reinforce a barricade long before Silenos¡¯ creation could turn his own strength back at him, but there was nothing he could do.


    A bow¡¯s power was greater than the arms needed to draw it, and so was this bullet of bone. Simple physics sent the projectile clean through Walriq¡¯s shield, hardened composition letting it survive the penetration intact to clip the man¡¯s side. Ribs shattered, jutting visibly out from his body as death moved past to obliterate a wall behind him. Silenos¡¯ follow up was already prepared, a writhing jet of shadestuff.


    But shadestuff was a physical material, once conjured, just barely less dense than water and fluid in its composition. Walriq caught it with a jet of air that halted, then reversed its momentum, sending the deadly material right back at Silenos just as he had his enemy¡¯s wind. He dove aside, hearing the stone sizzle and scream where it was eaten by the magic, then rolled to his feet just in time to be blasted off of them again.

 Chapter 10

    Somehow, in the midst of the chaos, Ensharia had found her back pressed against Fall¡¯s. The two of them stood together and faced the rest of the room, one clutching her fist tight about a warmace, the other clutching it tight just for the sake of clutching it. Around them the magi had galvanised, and their power was thick enough that she could taste it.


    They were like wolves circling a bear, able to guarantee victory with sheer numbers alone, but rightly cautious about the attempt. There was a power advantage not to their favour, and Fall had made it clear that those first few to attack would be risking their lives with his retaliation.


    Even so, there was murder on the air, and men did not remain terrified forever. Ensharia¡¯s Paladin training was enough for her to recognise the currents of magic shifting as their enemies readied an attack.


    Then the window high above them exploded inwards, and whatever assault had been coming was interrupted as Silenos¡¯ body dropped fifty feet down to land hard between her and the enemy.


    Instantly, the entire room fell silent. A hundred stunned eyes gaped wide at the fallen caster, as he grunted and pushed himself to his feet. Silenos Shaiagrazni did not appear terribly injured, however he was clearly pained by one wound or another. Clothing ragged, body littered with minor cuts and bruises already etched across his bronze flesh.


    A great pressure emanated from him that Ensharia recognised well, the pneumatic waste of his magic building to volcanic intensities and displacing the air around him. By the way they backed up and licked nervous lips, even as their elders got to their feet, the magi could sense it even more keenly. Here was a man who carried with him the killing might of an army, and Silenos looked in the mood to use it.


    It was a testament to the pure terror at play that the newcomer managed to draw all eyes away from even that.


    One far wall, just above the window Silenos had been thrown through, came apart into flying, arrow-fast debris, chunks of mortar and stone hitting the far wall hard enough that they might have killed any men caught between. Before the dust had even cleared, a new figure emerged at its midst.


    A tall man, the magus Walriq was not. Ensharia recognised him nonetheless by the sheer force of magic surrounding him, wind currents whipping about so violently that the dust was dispelled from everywhere within a dozen feet of his body as if it were scared to go near him. The wind didn¡¯t remain by his side for long, however, lunging down for Silenos in a funnel of power so sudden and jarring that it didn¡¯t even give her chance to wonder how her Saviour was being attacked by a dead man.


    Silenos met the blast with a wall, some strange construct that looked like yellow-tinted bone and flexed upon impact. The wind broke against it, deflecting in all directions and sending magi to crash against walls. The rest of them panicked instantly, and began fleeing from the hall.


    Her own body was no heavier than theirs, but the magical vigour that allowed Ensharia to move with the strength of a creature many times her weight also left her anchored to any less force than would be needed to move such a beast. She felt herself driven back a few inches by the deflected fraction of magus Walriq¡¯s attack that struck her, but a simple pressure at her heels let her hold herself still. The wind soon faded, and just as it did she saw the Saviour¡¯s arms raise.


    Fluid gathered before him, the inky substance that had melted through siege towers in one hand, a more translucent liquid in the other. Then the explosion rang out.


    <hr>


    Bombardier beetles had long since been an interest of Silenos, and he¡¯d taken the time to study their curious biochemistry, discovered the particular chemical formula of the deadly compounds their bodies produced and mixed to bring the power of incineration and detonation into biological matter. Then improved it. His own blend was just a hair weaker than nitroglycerin in mass-specific explosive power, and notably denser. The armoured plate he built into the palm of his hand was strained in absorbing the concussion of its ignition, and the shockwave forced his arm back.


    It forced the shadestuff back, too. And, having been placed between Silenos¡¯ own body and the necromantic material, it forced it back into a spray of high-velocity death arcing right for the magus.


    Walriq had come to, if not impress, then at the very least enforce a healthy degree of caution into Silenos, and so it was no surprise that he shielded himself. The shadestuff would have eaten through any physical barrier a creature of his strength might have conjured, but it was unable to fully permeate the wall of wind that halted it. Force was not a thing, it was a stimulus that acted on things, and in taking on mass and substance, shadestuff made itself vulnerable to such misdirections. Silenos was finding this opponent particularly suited to troubling him, and quickly dove from the path of his own redirected attack.


    The Paladin, Ensharia, surprised Silenos by charging for the magus while he focused on defence. Her speed was considerable, determination moreso, and yet the woman¡¯s strength had long since been evaluated, and he knew it fell far short of the sums needed to bring any measure of threat against something of their opponent¡¯s calibre.


    At best she would be a mere inconvenience, at worst she would die, and he had far too much use for her to allow that.


    Rather than attempt to stop the blows that soon aimed themselves for Ensharia, Silenos simply turned his focus onto capitalising on whatever momentary distraction she caused. He shaped his arm, letting a long cavity form inside of it, then lining its interior with dense bodily minerals, prioritising mass and hardness over all other things. At last he formed complex glands at the back, primed and ready to excrete another round of his blasting chemicals, before forming a projectile of yet more ossiferous tissue. Finally, he released the explosives.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Ensharia had already been forced to dodge twice, then finally swept from her feet and high into the air by the time enough moments had passed for Silenos¡¯ weapon to be fired. He saw, then, however, that he had chosen right.


    There hadn¡¯t been the time or available matter for a full-body combat form transformation, his makeshift cannon proved deadly enough regardless. The blasting chemicals reacted with sufficient force that, even surrounded by the most unyielding and durable tissue he knew of, Silenos felt lances of pain run out from the point of their detonation. The released energy was strangled and intensified by confinement in his tight barrel, forcing the generated overpressure into extremes only measurable in Gigapascals. Every ounce of this pressure found release only behind the bullet of bone placed between it and the exit far ahead, accelerating the projectile so rapidly that a sting soon alerted Silenos to his cannon being heated dangerously fast.


    It all held, though. Despite his decades without combat, despite it being a design Silenos had coined mere moments before, despite the dozen ways he¡¯d already identified it falling short of idealisation in, the makeshift, prototypic weapon held, and it spat death from its mouth with such intensity that the air flashed visibly bright and hot for a moment.


    Silenos¡¯ eyes and occipital neurons had been enhanced to the point of clearly perceiving the momentary spread of flame across black powder, and seeing even the blinking of an unenhanced eye as if it were a sluggish, lengthy thing. Even he barely caught the flight of his projectile in its path towards the enemy, however. Such was its speed. By the time he registered that it had left the barrel, it was almost upon the magus.


    Air parted, then flesh and bone followed suit. The projectile punched clean through its target as if his body had been constructed of wet mud rather than solid matter. Blood fell in darkened, de-oxygenated hues to spatter the ground beneath Walriq, and the reanimate was sent spinning backwards. Silenos took the opportunity to alter his creation.


    Fractionally thicker plating within the barrel, a membrane of frictionless lubricative mucus to avoid wear and tear, a tighter fit with the projectile so that he might make a more efficient gas seal. Despite it all, he was forced nonetheless to reduce the yield of his blasting fluids, but the next projectile was still supersonic. A fist-sized block of bone heavier than any equivalent volume of lead, smashing hard against the enemy shield once, twice.


    By the third time, Walriq had moved to keep himself from being further assailed. Silenos was forced into another dodge, which only served to send him into the path of a second blast of wind, this one snatching his legs out from under him. He spun, hit the ground hard enough to shatter any bone not made with Shaiagrazni genius, and bounced a full metre back into the air before another jet came for him. He braced himself to be dashed against the far wall, then blinked as the air distorted in front of him, and the attack broke apart with nothing more than a few scrapes of pressure on his skin.


    Silenos only needed to tighten his eyes for an instant to recognise that half the power before him was not the undead¡¯s. Arion Fall¡¯s magic was younger, less refined. All youth and passion and uncertain vigour, like a wildfire burning itself out. The innate power was something to be admired, however, and Silenos realised the boy wasn¡¯t entirely far from being a match for his own talent.


    But he hadn¡¯t nearly his master¡¯s experience, and it was clear how a contest between the two of them would end. Silenos was quick in interrupting it.


    Silenos took his time producing a secondary cannon, letting this one emerge from his other shoulder, and while he did, Silenos grew further plating around his sides and torso, serving as vents for yet more blasting fluid. He was done within ten seconds, firing within one, and this time his aim was truer by far thanks to the new stabilising jets of pressure he could release from all directions to keep the momentum of his weaponry from spinning him like a leaf in the wind.


    Walriq¡¯s magic quickly turned onto primarily defence once the volley began, buckling and shivering as the impacts racked it, while Arion Fall¡¯s own magic safeguarded Silenos from being attacked whilst he focused on breaking through. Finally Walriq¡¯s defence failed, but it was not Silenos¡¯ own attacks that struck at the weak point.


    It was Ensharia.


    Ancestors only knew when the Paladin had gotten it into her head that this was a fight she had any business partaking in, but her presence was actually of no small convenience. She struck, by instinct, fortune or cognition, at the precisely perfect moment to slip past the gap in their enemy¡¯s defences, latching onto the magus was a grip strong enough to crush most men to death.


    Silenos saw the energies of wind magic wrapping about him, resisting her compressive hold, and realised that Ensharia¡¯s mace had been lost somewhere. Before he could even begin to doubt her odds however, a glow began to build around the woman.


    What the girl did next was something Silenos recognised only from stories and legends.


    Holy magic, miracles, True Faith, there were a thousand words for the curious phenomena of otherwise mundane individuals gaining the ability to enfeeble and destroy undead. Naturally, such magics had long since been removed from his own world, House Shaiagrazni had utilised ten generations of careful eugenics to ensure it ceased emerging among the general human populace, but he was not entirely surprised to find it here. Witnessing its effects first-hand was an indescribably fascinating experience.


    As a rule magic was the act of changing the physical world through will, and rarely anything more. Hers could not have been more different.


    Silenos, with his Entity-granted perception, was able to see clearly how it functioned. The way the arcane powers conjured at Ensharia¡¯s will targeted not the physical world, but the undead¡¯s own magic, eating swirling colours of magical light and rapidly deteriorating their effect. He watched as Walriq grew sluggish, his wind less potent, Ensharia¡¯s iron grip closer to fully closing upon the reanimated corpse and crushing it to paste. Even still, it was a struggle for her to keep hold.


    Walriq¡¯s magic was weakened, which in turn weakened the potency of his winds, but they were still a cut above anything the Paladin was likely to muster in her lifetime. She had moments, at best, before being dislodged, and Silenos had seen enough to know all too well that she would not be allowed to even hit the ground before scything winds tore her apart.

 Chapter 11

    It was clever of Ensharia, then, to let go first, and take the moment to strengthen a new hold elsewhere on the magus. One hand entangled his beard, another closed around a spindly arm, both were vices. The two of them spun, Walriq desperate to shake his enemy off, his enemy more desperate still to deny him. Every moment saw them moved another dozen metres one way or the other, velocity such that a normal man might have died to the acceleration alone.


    Ensharia simply withstood the strain, but Walriq¡¯s undead flesh was no harder than it had been in life, and Silenos was beginning to think his magic did not allow for protection of his innards the way others might. He saw blood begin to leak from the magus¡¯ orifices, veins popping in his eyes, heard the strain of bodily tissues against their own multiplied weight. Bit by bit, he was coming apart.


    Finally, Ensharia¡¯s grip surrendered, but by then her enemy looked like a straw doll thrashed by the hands of a clumsy child. She had not cleared the man¡¯s path by so much as a metre before Silenos fired, loosing both cannons at once, and deliberately overcharging them past even their newly reinforced capacity for pressure.


    Paladin magic had weakened Walriq¡¯s magic, Paladin power had split his focus, and the wind magics of Fall raced ahead just before impact to further dash the magus¡¯ shield. When the projectiles hit, his body simply came apart. Like watching the straw doll struck by gunfire.


    Giblets of pulverised flesh rained down while Silenos healed himself, restoring his body to its standard template, undoing the burned and ruptured flesh resulting from his excessive attack. By the time his ears had stopped ringing, the room¡¯s air still danced with the residual displacement of an impact akin to artillery this world would surely not know for another five centuries.


    He looked around, seeing Ensharia slowly climbing to her feet amid crumbling mortar and dancing dust, then Fall standing and trembling as his eyes held themselves wide with disbelief. Aside from them, the chamber was empty. Silenos might have known, casters were known for courage in much the same way that barbarians were known for their skilled rhetoric and complex philosophy.


    ¡°Walriq.¡±


    Silenos glanced back at Fall, who seemed to have substituted his trembling for a sort of dazed incomprehension.


    ¡°Walriq¡­¡± He echoed. ¡°I¡­He¡­Fuck¡­¡±


    The number of better things Silenos had to do than watch an idiot develop post traumatic stress disorder numbered in the literal millions, and actually compiling and ordering such a list was among them, so he moved past the drooling primitive and headed for Ensharia.


    She was handling the conflict better than the magus, which shouldn¡¯t have been entirely surprising. Most casters, Silenos had heard, tended towards less stressful training methods than House Shaiagrazni. Indeed, from the stories he¡¯d been told, some didn¡¯t even threaten their apprentices with vivisection at all. Such a coddling, patronising environment could hardly have been expected to encourage the growth of strong spines as were needed to truly pursue magic, and so it was no surprise that the windmage was a trembling wreck behind him.


    Combat, evidently, had left the Paladin¡¯s composition more hardened than that as well.


    ¡°We won.¡± She breathed, as he came to stand before her. The woman sounded actually questioning, so Silenos answered her.


    ¡°We won.¡± He confirmed. ¡°Mostly me, however. I would likely have won without help, but you accelerated the process of my victory, which was admirable in and of itself. Your courage in charging a superior foe is worthy of praise.¡±


    Surprisingly, her eyes seemed to glow with joy at that.


    ¡°I¡­Really?


    Silenos decided to forgive the abject tedium of asking for confirmation, and instead nodded.


    ¡°Yes, usually it takes hours of effort to carefully lobotomise a flesh construct into such an extreme of suicidal fearlessness, finding a creature who possesses it simply innately is rare and extremely convenient. You will make a very helpful diversion in future conflict.¡±


    Oddly, the woman¡¯s face fell at that, but a new voice rang out across the room before she could say anything.


    ¡°Necromancer!¡±


    Silenos turned again, growing rather exhausted with how often he¡¯d been doing it recently. His eyes fell onto the first of many magi now piling into the room, eyes bloodshot with rage, face twisted with resignation.


    ¡°That was magus Walriq, resurrected, you did this didn¡¯t you, you foul creature?¡± Another one snarled. Silenos recognised the faces of them both, council members, and he recognised their flowing power even more vividly.


    It was a taller magus who stepped forwards, and Silenos needed only a glance to know he was stronger than any other present. His power fell short of Fall, nonetheless, but backed by so many allies he would prove a threat, and his eyes were dangerously alert as he spoke.


    ¡°We¡¯ve heard stories about you and your dark magics.¡± He spat. ¡°From Elkatin. Looks like they¡¯re all true, eh?¡±


    As it happened, they were, and Silenos didn¡¯t see convincing them that it actually had been another necromancer to resurrect Walriq as a winning proposition. Particularly when his presence had already been sighted by the magus¡¯ corpse.


    Slowly, subtly, he shaped what little remained of his body¡¯s redundant cells into a probing strip of nervous tissue barbed in nacre and wrapped in muscle, letting it burrow through the heel of his foot and deep into the ground. He spoke while it happened.


    ¡°Hold on!¡± Ensharia¡¯s voice rang out, interrupting Silenos¡¯ own and projecting a characteristic confidence and steel across the room. ¡°The Saviour is no dark mage, and this reanimation was not his doing.¡±


    ¡°I would never be stupid enough to lose control of something I reanimated.¡± Silenos added, helpfully.


    ¡°So you admit to being a Necromancer!¡± One of the magi near the back called out. He tried to see which one, making a mental note to destroy them for their stupidity if the opportunity ever arose.


    ¡°Of course not.¡± Silenos snapped. ¡°I am simply saying that if I had then, in that hypothetical scenario, my glorious intellect would leave no chance of such a reanimate attacking me.¡±


    ¡°-Surely you can all recognise his magical power and learning.¡± Ensharia tried, nervous now. ¡°You must realise that what he says is the truth.¡±


    ¡°If he¡¯s so powerful, why is a whore speaking for him?¡± One magus called out.


    ¡°I heard he assaulted a guard.¡± Another added.


    Silenos felt what was left of his emotional centres spasm in rage at that.


    ¡°If you wish for your subordinates to be free from assault, you should cultivate the power to protect them instead of whining to an actually competent caster for being your superior.¡±


    Their fury was quick, and volcanic.


    ¡°Enough of this!¡± The strongest of them roared. ¡°Seize them, and we¡¯ll-¡±


    Silenos finished his fleshcrafting just as the man spoke.


    The situation had been spiralling farther and farther from Ensharia¡¯s control, but it wasn¡¯t until the ground erupted into giant, fleshy tendrils that she realised it was finally beyond salvaging. The Saviour moved before anyone else, of course. Even aside from his impossible reactions and quick-thinking, he was obviously the one engineering the eruption of meat, and he turned with a confidence that showed he knew exactly where and how they¡¯d act without the need for anything so trivial as a glance over his shoulder.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    She was not as knowledgeable, comprehending or instantaneous as him, and required a few moments to observe the situation.


    Ensharia watched as the limbs thrashed around, each one easily twenty feet long and thick as tree trunks, making the entire floor shiver and sending jagged cracks along its stony face with every impact. None had yet killed a magus, and the entire crowd seemed instantly shocked and driven back by their gesticulations. It seemed obvious to her what was happening.


    Behind her lay a diversion, hastily made and aimlessly cast. It was not made to kill or even wound, for Ensharia was sure it would already have done both had the Saviour wished, only misdirect. She leapt on the chance quickly.


    Ahead her Saviour was already nearly to the wall, his arms loosing more of those faster-than-sight projectiles that had torn the magus Walriq to such efficiently separated particulates. They were no less effective against stone than flesh, smashing a man-sized hole in quick order, and she reached Falls just as Silenos exited through the opening.


    The man was still staring, still stunned. It seemed that finding his master dead a second time had left him insensible, and Ensharia was just about to haul him out over her shoulder when he finally turned, sweeping his arms up in one gesture to conjure a mighty wind that cast both of them out of the building.


    In only a few short weeks Ensharia had found herself saved by a Necromancer, told to cook steak by the most gifted magi alive, watched men harassed by some tentacle monster and beheld an undead strong enough to kill five of her have its head bitten off by a scaled monster the size of a smaller war-elephant. She had, naively, come to think that nothing more existed with the capacity to surprise her.


    That assumption did not survive the sight of her Saviour hovering, with both of his legs neatly gone, from the bottom of a great, slowly rising sphere of leathery meat.


    He did not express anything at all upon seeing her and Falls come to drop down onto the stone, only called out with the same voice he always used, calm and mechanical.


    ¡°There are two more holds for the both of you, grab on before the vessel rises beyond reach. Falls, you propel it away.¡±


    Neither of them hesitated in obeying. Ensharia supposed it was just that sort of day.


    To her amazement, despite the Saviour¡¯s warnings, the construct did rise. Slowly at first, then faster, until it soon drifted upwards fifty feet or more with every passing moment. Falls was swift in providing their horizontal velocity, sending them shooting along faster even than his master had managed. Ensharia stared at him, awed.


    Apparently understanding her confusion, he volunteered an answer.


    ¡°Don¡¯t need to lift us.¡± The man grunted, clearly straining to sustain his hold while guiding the currents. ¡°This machine is doing that, all that¡¯s required of me is pushing us sideways, not upwards. And even that¡¯s easier with the winds already being so strong¡­ Did you predict that?¡±


    The last sentence was a question for the Saviour, who nodded.


    ¡°Wind speeds increase with altitude.¡± He replied. ¡°Tubes will descend in front of your mouths, inhale through them or you will lose consciousness and die.¡±


    As he said it, Ensharia found a cylinder of¡­Meat, lowering right before her lips. Burying her disgust, she did as instructed, finding a breathable, if musky, air held within.


    Perhaps predicting her questions, the Saviour spoke more.


    ¡°The device around us utilises complex biochemistry to synthesise hydrogen, a gas far lighter than air. This causes it to rise as it slowly fills the sphere above, which I imagine is nearing full capacity. We will stop our ascent only when the surrounding atmosphere is thin enough for our weight to equalise with the displaced mass. Another section is collecting air from around us and compressing it with muscular contractions to prevent it from being too thin to support your breathing. Any further questions, or can we move onto the more important issues?¡±


    There were no further questions.


    ¡°Elkatin had spies within its council, with access to the list of Heroes.¡± The Saviour stated. ¡°Otherwise the timing of Walriq¡¯s death and our arrival here is too coincidental. I should have considered it myself, already, it was¡­An error.¡±


    She heard some actual emotion in his voice, at that. A curious mutation of frustration that terrified her more than any previous lack of feeling had.


    ¡°We must hurry to the second Hero then.¡± Ensharia replied, mainly to give herself some distraction in the speech.


    Silenos was about to reply when Falls cut in.


    ¡°So my master was murdered?¡± He asked, voice coated in some tone she couldn¡¯t quite identify.


    ¡°Yes, yes.¡± The Saviour replied, impatiently. ¡°It happens more regularly than you might think, even more so than sexual mishaps in fact. Moving on, we will actually be heading for the third Hero. Assuming this list was devised with some basic concept of travel efficiency in mind?¡±


    Ensharia bristled at the implication of her people¡¯s incompetence.


    ¡°Of course.¡± She snapped.


    ¡°Good.¡± The Saviour continued, apparently not caring about her tone. ¡°Then we will head for the Third, whoever is moving ahead of us to kill them, they like came from close by to Elkatin. That is where the spies were, and with the speed they have shown the agents must have been extremely nearby. Perhaps in the armies we destroyed, perhaps not. I did not detect any individuals of great power among them, but I may have missed one or two among such multitudes of scum, or our assassins may be substituting cleverness for power.¡±


    An air current ran over the vessel, sending cool needles to run along Ensharia. She heard Falls¡¯ teeth chattering suddenly, and the Saviour sighed.


    ¡°I¡¯ll lower us.¡± He said. ¡°Magus, your heart rate is dropping alarmingly fast, tell me if this happens again in the future. I do not want to be forced into the habit of scanning your biology to keep you from dying all the time.¡±


    Falls only nodded, apparently chilled past the point of retort. She couldn¡¯t blame him, any temperature that could make Ensharia so much as shiver would be fatal for a normal body, sooner or later.


    When, at last, they touched the ground again, Falls had warmed a shade. Only a shade though. He managed to inform the group, through his chattering teeth, that they were five miles from Magira. Silenos seemed only mildly pleased.


    ¡°We shall have to cover more ground tomorrow.¡± He sighed, speaking even as the vessel melted and flowed down around his body, congealing at the stumps of his legs to reform the limbs within moments. Ensharia almost vomited at the sight.


    ¡°For now we will make camp.¡± The Saviour continued.


    ¡°We need fuel for a fire.¡± Ensharia noted. ¡°I can look for some, it¡¯s dark but-¡±


    So close, she could just see the Saviour as he knelt down and touched the grass, and watched with horror as the blades around them all disappeared into the ground. His arm rippled, as if it were liquefied and flowing just as the previous construct had, then she saw matter drop out of it. One, two, ten, a hundred. Cuboids of wood all neatly stacked and perfectly formed.


    It was the sort of firewood pile a person might make only after hours of perfectionism and an ample supply of unhewn branches, produced within seconds. The Saviour straightened up.


    ¡°I am not familiar with survivalist skills.¡± He announced, as if it were as idle an observation as the weather.


    Ensharia snapped from her stupor.


    ¡°I am.¡± She hastily noted, kneeling down and withdrawing her dagger. She had a few wood shavings ready, soon, and some searching from the apparently night-visioned Saviour yielded a piece of flint. In only a few minutes they were all basked in the warmth of a fire, seated around it and sighing with relief.


    Falls did not speak much before rolling over for sleep, apparently having come to terms with his new, non-optional place in their group. Ensharia decided to let him drift off, doubtless he could use the time to process all that had changed. Doubtless, too, he deserved that small kindness. She hadn¡¯t forgotten the way he lunged forth to protect her so quickly after being freed.


    ¡°You did not kill him.¡± Silenos noted, once Falls¡¯ breathing had grown heavy enough to betray unconsciousness.


    There was no accusation in the words, no anger or judgement, but Ensharia felt pricked by all three at once.


    ¡°And?¡± She snapped.


    He eyed her, coolly. Not for the first time she wondered what thoughts were flitting behind this creature¡¯s gaze. She was left to wonder, for he betrayed none of them by speaking.


    ¡°I had not expected that.¡± The Saviour said at last.


    Ensharia looked at her feet.


    ¡°There didn¡¯t seem any reason he needed to die, we¡¯d not have bought more time in killing him, and if the plan had gone well we could have just fled anyway with Walriq. In fact, we¡¯d probably have had him then, too, out of gratitude.¡±


    The caster didn¡¯t nod, shake his head or react to her words at all. Only looked into the fire, still thinking in thoughts too big for her. Everything was too big for her, these days.


    ¡°He¡¯s so powerful.¡± Ensharia breathed, not sure even herself why she was sharing such troubles with the Saviour. ¡°So, so powerful, and so young. I¡¯ve trained longer than he has, I¡¯d wager, but¡­I don¡¯t think three of me could beat one of him.¡±


    ¡°You dislike your weakness.¡±


    She was so shocked to hear the Saviour speak that Ensharia actually jumped, then nodded with a face flushing crimson.


    ¡°I hate it.¡±


    He paused a moment.


    ¡°What if I could help you alleviate it?¡±


    Ensharia eyed him.


    ¡°You¡­Know means of training?¡±


    ¡°I know means of strengthening a body, and you fight with a body-¡±


    ¡°-No.¡± Ensharia snapped, finding her temper hot again. ¡°No, not that, never that. I will not be Fleshcrafted.¡±


    The Saviour studied her, still silent, still thinking. Then nodded.


    ¡°It is your choice.¡± He said, in that way he had of saying everything that made her feel as if he were observing the world from a magnifying glass held far above it.


    ¡°Can you take the first watch?¡± She asked suddenly. ¡°I¡¯d like to sleep.¡±


    ¡°I will watch all night.¡± The caster said. ¡°I do not require sleep.¡±


    She was too tired to do anything but lie down and enjoy the benefits of that.

 Chapter 12

    Silenos had been left with much to do whilst his new companions slumbered, all of it pressing. He decided, first, upon lobotomising himself. Only a little bit though, he didn¡¯t want to become normal, Ancestors forbid, simply redistribute the raw processing power of his mind somewhat.


    Long ago, he had scraped his brain for the emotional and empathic centres, forcibly reconverting their neurons and synapses into yet more spatial reasoning, mathematical power, working memory. All the mental characteristics helpful for solving the abstract logic problems that assailed a skilled caster so frequently. This change had sat perfectly well for him, for the last half-century, but his situation had changed. He¡¯d walked into an ambush for overlooking what his enemy¡¯s moves might be and how a magi of Walriq¡¯s strength might have been killed. That couldn¡¯t happen again.


    Humans, people, socialisation, were no small blindspot to have. If he could not mirror the emotions and experiences of others, then he was denying himself the most important data stream with which to predict them. As much as it stung, Silenos got to work on optimising his intellect.


    It was difficult to alter a brain, and limited. Silenos could not increase the number of cells and synapses available to it- magic simply didn¡¯t allow such things. If it did, there would be no non-Fleshcrafting Shaiagrazni, and the entire House would have long since stolen the magic of Gods in their preternatural genius. A greater mind would find out how to make a still greater one, and the process would continue exponentially. The intellectual singularity. An interesting hypothetical, but not yet relevant to a caster of his people¡¯s limitations.


    Hours passed before Silenos had finally done enough work on himself to be certain of neither dying, nor violently convulsing the moment he withdrew his hand. Once that inconvenient grunt work was finished, however, he moved onto more intellectual problems.


    Of course he¡¯d have preferred to reason through such things with a complete mind, but they would doubtless take days, even weeks. Better to equip himself for survival as early as possible, even when the immediate task was weaponcrafting.


    Several issues had made themselves known during the recent altercation, all stemming from the same root cause. Silenos was not a warrior.


    He could make war, conduct it, he could command and plan and strategize, even design the instruments of death with which conflict was carried out, but he was not a fighter. No more suited to brawling in the mud than any other General. That had to change, through simple necessity. General or not, men caught in a mud brawl through circumstance would either learn to win, or die. He was far too clever to die.


    The cannon had been promising, so Silenos started tweaking it. Reshaping his arm into the closest imitation of its previous shape he was able to manage, then working on his improvements.


    Fleshcrafting was a powerful magic, but, like all, it had its limits. Most of which were practical. The most fundamental was that it by nature involved the manipulation of structures too fiendishly complex for even an augmented human mind to fully visualise. Layers of misdirection and approximation were needed to manage it, because there were quite simply too many cells in any sizable body part to be directly altered within a tenable timeframe.


    Even by keeping one¡¯s focus onto the scale of organoids, however, sufficiently complex constructs took some time. Silenos had estimated around ten seconds passing before he¡¯d finished his weaponry during his fight with Walriq, such time could be fatal in single combat. The counter to this, of course, was through Templates. Shapes that his magic had taken and retaken so often that they came with but a thought, reflexes filling in for focus.


    But he had not produced more than two, had never found the need. A Template was weeks of work, and Silenos always had more research to do, rituals to complete, summonings to manage. For the first time, he found himself forced into a more practical magic.


    The newly reconstructed emotional centres of his brain quivered at that, oddly enough. Was it relish? Yes. He relished the challenge. Interesting.


    Silenos altered and rearranged the weapon, adding a compressive gas drive to let him reduce the required amount of propellant- and thus allow for more shots. Finding a way to shape the projectiles more aerodynamically and mitigate their required size, further improving ammunition capacity. Ultimately, however, he found himself running into the same issue. A weapon that created and consumed materials would serve to reduce the amounts available in his body. Fleshcrafting did tacitly obey the laws of physics, and he could not create mass out of nowhere. Further, firing that mass away at supersonic speeds made it rather unfeasible to re-absorb afterwards.


    His solution seemed obvious. Silenos, for the first time in decades, began to alter the Template of his natural, neutral body. Enlarging it, adding twenty centimetres more to the height and hundreds of kilos to its weight. He enlarged the bundled musculature, layered centimetres of keratin combat-plate over his epidermis, thickened vascular walls. The process did not require much creativity, he¡¯d already made himself a workable inspiration through his combat form. The only deviations from that came as necessary sacrifices for the boon of convenience.


    Capillaries laced the lowest layers of his armour plating, supplying them with blood at the cost of room which might¡¯ve been otherwise used for yet more armour. Enzymes and bioreactants ebbed through his circulation, replacing additional oxygen in his veins to allow for maintenance that would sustain the body past its first hours of function. Its muscle fibres were adjusted to allow for more dexterity at the cost of brute strength, vision sharpened for contexts outside of combat, visage kept carefully human to keep from drawing unwanted attention rather than distorted into a thing of natural weapons and killing potential.


    Silenos took several minutes to complete the changes in all, and once they were done he took some seconds more moving, testing to ensure his newly altered body was functional. Then he reverted them, slipping back into his original form before restarting the process all over again.


    That was the method of creating a Template, be it Fleshcrafting or any other magic. Repetition, reflexive memory. One had to make the acts so constant and familiar that they were like breathing. He kept at it for over an hour more before finding himself interrupted.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    Silenos turned. It was the magus who¡¯d spoken, Arion Falls. The man was clearly recently awakened and still groggy from the fatigue of recent events.


    ¡°I am improving my transformations for battle.¡± He replied, turning his focus back to the deed. ¡°You are familiar, at least, with the necessity of practice in magic.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± The magus replied, testily. ¡°I¡¯ve gathered that your people, wherever you¡¯re from, are a bit beyond mine in knowledge, but Magira is one of the continent¡¯s magic capitals, we¡¯re not cavemen.¡±


    Practically, they were, but Silenos saw no point in insisting on the fact.


    ¡°That weapon of yours, it¡¯s like a trebuchet or ballista, yes? How does it propel things? Some¡­Spring mechanism, made from grown muscle, stored at the back?¡±


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Silenos glanced at him.


    ¡°A good guess.¡± He conceded. ¡°But no. My people have knowledge of incendiary substances which burn far hotter and more rapidly than charcoal or oil, it functions off of those.¡± Hiding his smile, he waited for the boy to ask for further elaboration.


    But he didn¡¯t, only stared, eyes widening in realisation.


    ¡°...And releasing heat that quickly causes the gases to lower in density, which exerts pressure if you give them too little room to do so. Oh! That¡¯s how you made breathable air on your flying machine, too, you compressed the atmosphere until it was thick enough to inhale, right?¡±


    ¡°Arion Falls.¡± Silenos said, outloud, committing the boy¡¯s name to memory and ensuring he never forgot it. ¡°Yes, that is all correct. Wisely noted.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a windmage.¡± The magus grinned, taking a seat closer to Silenos. ¡°I already knew about the principles of compressing air, truth be told, that¡¯s how we make our shields, but it hadn¡¯t occurred to me that there¡¯d be ways of using the process in reverse with just simple heat. Still, a very rapid burn, yes?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Silenos said nothing more, focusing instead on his work. Falls, however, appeared more interested in conversation than him.


    ¡°How long have you been doing that?¡±


    He took a moment to recall.


    ¡°Seventy three minutes.¡± Silenos replied.


    The boy hummed, appreciatively.


    ¡°So your transformations are an innate ability, they don¡¯t require mana?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they do.¡± Silenos corrected. ¡°But this level of change is manageable.¡±


    ¡°Manageable.¡± The boy echoed. ¡°...How much mana do you have?¡±


    Silenos took a moment to study him with his arcane vision.


    ¡°Just under ten times the amount you do.¡±


    ¡°Impossible.¡± The boy replied, instantly. ¡°Nobody has that much, there hasn¡¯t been a magus in five hundred years who even equaled my reserves before the age of fifty.¡±


    ¡°I estimate I had equaled them at fourteen, or so.¡± Silenos shrugged. A pause followed, and he turned to see a mix of scepticism and irritation on the boy¡¯s face. He decided to give further weight to his claim.


    ¡°You saw me summon half a dozen limbs of flesh, each weighing as much as ten of you, and two of the form I¡¯ve been experimenting with now even at its heaviest.¡±


    Falls swallowed.


    ¡°So why don¡¯t you do that all the time?¡± He challenged. ¡°If it¡¯s nothing to you, as it would be with those reserves.¡±


    ¡°Because there isn¡¯t always the necessary matter. Animal matter is typically made of several elements, the most common of which, mass-specifically, is oxygen, the rest of which are not often readily available. Usually, if I cannot absorb the biomass of other life through touch or near-proximity, I am limited to whatever mass my body can supply, perhaps with a few dozen extra kilograms depending on local air composition.¡±


    The magus¡¯ face fell at that, eyes dropping to his feet.


    ¡°And here I was looking forward to surpassing Walriq.¡± He breathed, then a tremble took him. Racking his body like a blizzard-born shiver. ¡°Do you have a master?¡± He asked. ¡°You can¡¯t be much older than me, or¡­¡± He frowned. ¡°No, wait, you said you were as strong as me at fourteen, so¡­You¡¯re older than you look, or you have a way of increasing your mana?¡±


    As it happened, both guesses were true.


    ¡°The former.¡± Silenos said, deciding to hide his plans of gaining magic centuries in advance of his age. ¡°I am one hundred and fifty years old, and, to answer your first question, I do not have a master anymore. I ended my apprenticeship in House Shaiagrazni many decades ago.¡±


    ¡°Are you the strongest of them?¡±


    ¡°I am not, though my abilities are not the norm either. I would estimate your master would have been at least roughly close to the average Named of my Household.¡±


    Falls was silent for a while, contemplative.


    ¡°Have you ever taken on an apprentice?¡±


    Silenos felt a stab of irritation at the question.


    ¡°I have.¡± He replied, coolly. ¡°And you are asking if I would instruct you?¡±


    Falls narrowed his eyes, and Silenos turned back to his work.


    ¡°No.¡± The young magus replied. ¡°I¡¯ve done all my learning already.¡±


    Silenos and his newly-growing party came to the nation of Arbite merely two weeks after their forced departure from Magira. Their travel was uneventful, and hastened by the use of magic to aid in transportation. The long hours gave ample opportunity for much progress to be made in personal projects, and allowed Falls to properly integrate himself into the group.


    Which was not to say there was any lack of tension between the magus and Paladin. Silenos had been watching the two, careful to keep the friction already between them from growing. If nothing else it had proven manageable thus far.


    ¡°Arbite is an ally of Elkatin.¡± Ensharia declared, as they approached the city. ¡°With luck that will mean we can expect a warmer welcome.¡±


    He examined the supposed ally and found himself tasked with not curling a lip at the sight.


    The capital city of Arbite, Abaritan, was unlike Magira, and not quite akin to Elkatin either. Far broader and more expansive than the former, far more jagged and angular than either. Its perimeter was lined by a towering wall of stone, curiously edged and cornered in such a way as to far more closely resemble the modern star-fortresses of Silenos¡¯ own world than the circular structures more common to people of this one¡¯s technology.


    Diabase was nowhere to be seen in the construction, and as they drew closer he made out the tell-tale sight of mortar binding rock together in numerous, irregular sizes and shapes. Clearly it had not been fashioned with magic, or else the stone would have been fused into its structure with far more homogeny and precision.


    A gate sat midway into it, covered by a portcullis that had been raised out of its sockets. The thing was mangled, iron twisted and warped by some great force in its past, fixtures broken apart. There was an abundance of guards around the exposed opening left while a new one was lowered into place, and their suspicion was scarcely thinned even after Ensharia revealed their letter of introduction and secured passage into the city.


    Past the wall, things were hardly better. Silenos saw cobbled streets pockmarked with cracks and craters, small buildings nursing collapsed walls or fragmented roofs. Scared, dirty people scurried around, some carrying water or food, others blankets. Some carrying nothing but fear. All seemed far from pleased by the sight of his group, and him especially.


    Subtlety had been one of the priorities of his new body, and so it wasn¡¯t nearly as intimidating as his towering combat form, but Silenos had raised his height to almost exactly two metres. Even if much of the keratin armour plating was hidden by clothing, and the rest difficult to make out as anything much more than a disfigurement, the lean musculature he¡¯d built to support his heightened mass would have been a sight.


    ¡°It¡¯s a shithole.¡± Falls frowned, lip curling with disgust much like Silenos¡¯. ¡°How do you even fuck a city up this much?¡±


    Of course Silenos had yet to find a new world city that was half the equal of House Shaiagrazni¡¯s, but there was a clear downgrade from Magira to Abaritan even if one disregarded the clear battle damage. Magic, it seemed, was as useful a construction tool in any world. Those few buildings that had more than one story in this city almost invariably remained limited to two, and the rare exceptions were far less proud and unweathered as would have been normal in the magus capital.


    But it was the wounded and sick that truly caught his attention. Grimy, desiccated faces set with shrivelled, hopeless eyes. They seemed of every age, though few were elderly, and all cowered in the streets.


    ¡°There are no healing magics in this world?¡±


    Ensharia¡¯s face darkened at Silenos¡¯ question.


    ¡°There are.¡± She growled. ¡°And enough for all of these people, I¡¯d guess, but healers charge money. I¡¯ll need to come back here later and see if I can help.¡±


    ¡°A foolish system.¡± He noted. ¡°When one allows a random child to perish or go without education, there is the risk of denying the full potential of a truly great individual.¡±


    The Paladin¡¯s agreement was not as fierce as he might have thought, no doubt she found it blunted by Silenos¡¯ motive in his suggestion of healthcare, but she nodded all the same.


    ¡°And it would be all the easier if those magi in Magira would offer their aid, with less injured to begin with if they¡¯d helped the world¡¯s cities defend themselves.¡±


    ¡°Well, we have more important things to do.¡± Falls cut in, clearly needled by the target their criticism had found. ¡°The studies of a magus are manly things, you see, and require a degree of stoicism. Spine, even. We can¡¯t lose focus in progressing the sciences just because we hear a crying baby, that¡¯s what women are for.¡±


    ¡°And why is it that House Shaiagrazni are so much more advanced when they allow women into their ranks with no conditions, then?¡± Ensharia shot back. ¡°Are the women of Silenos¡¯ land just different than ours?¡±


    Falls smirked.


    ¡°Perhaps they¡¯d have progressed even more if they put their cock-sucking machines to more efficient use and gave their proper researchers some incentive.¡±


    The two began their bickering quickly and continued it intensely, rather reminding Silenos of the exothermic propulsion of his new cannon as they went back and forth. For the first minute he idly listened, finding his newly reconfigured mind oddly susceptible to the previously alien sensation of boredom, and eagerly seeking the break to his journey¡¯s monotony. Then he realised how much less interesting the arguments were to the many sights around him, such as dirt, cobbled roads, a cloudless sky or the empty space of air.

 Chapter 13

    Fortunately, despite the size of Abaritan, there was only so much distance that needed traversing. Silenos found no more than a half hour gone by before they finally reached their destination, the castle- or fortress- that made itself the city¡¯s crux and towered above every other structure, save the outer walls themselves.


    There must, Silenos thought, have been some reason for the city to be guarded by such high stretches of stone. Perhaps to impede enemies of such a size as to otherwise scale more conventionally sized ones.


    Anything else would simply make it infeasible, he didn¡¯t believe that even savages of this world¡¯s stupidity would waste resources on vanity alone, and the relative scale of their castle confirmed to him that such scale was far from a casual investment.


    It was efficiently shaped to turn away impacts greater than the mundane technologies of its world could muster, and as Silenos was escorted past the gates he found the walls so thick that it almost felt like moving through a tunnel. Within the place was cold, frigid even, its exterior enforcing an unbroken stagnancy on the air inside that left his skin chilled enough that it might have shivered were any hand but his own responsible for crafting it.


    Guards moved around the inside like ants inside a hill, chainmail clinking with every motion, spears held tight in strong grips. Silenos recognised more than a few magicians among them, casters of mixed, generally inferior power, all of which could have attacked him at once without causing an inconvenience. The real display came when they were taken to the office.


    Behind a large, ebonwood desk there was a man. Seated, scratching away with quill and parchment, hooked nose housing a pair of delicate spectacles, dark hair neatly combed and maintained as it receded trigonometrically from his brow. His skin was darker than the people of Ensharia¡¯s lands, perhaps closer in tone to Silenos¡¯ own, and his eyes a beady green. He looked up at them with neither friendliness, nor hostility. A simple, weighing gaze that might be found upon an appraiser handed unspecified volumes of gold. Silenos could appreciate it, having donned it himself more than once.


    ¡°Greetings.¡± He said, impassively. ¡°I am Eloran Khazh, the King¡¯s Hand. I am aware that your letter of introduction specified a meeting with King Galukar in its request for an audience, however I am afraid that I will have to satisfy it in his place. My King, you see, is rather indisposed at the moment.¡±


    Silenos glanced at Ensharia, who in turn seemed entirely lost. Evidently it was not a mere lapse on his part, as outsider to the world, that the King¡¯s absence would be found surprising.


    ¡°May I ask why?¡± She asked, letting her confusion show without guarding it. The Hand studied her.


    ¡°I had assumed you were aware already.¡± He replied. ¡°King Galukar is too busy to be meeting with even ambassadors of your calibre, and has been for some weeks now.¡±


    ¡°Busy how?¡± She demanded, and he shook his head.


    ¡°I am not at liberty to say.¡±


    ¡°Not for a woman sent on behalf of Elkatin?¡± She pressed, and again he shook his head.


    ¡°Not even, you must forgive me, but-¡±


    Silenos felt the precise instant his patience ran out, speaking over the man, letting it show.


    ¡°I have just spent weeks travelling across a thousand miles of countryside with the most irritating creature currently walking this world and the very type of human which most consistently activates him, I will not be denied my reason for doing so without cause.¡±


    The Hand¡¯s eyes were like daggers.


    ¡°You are the Saviour, then.¡± He noted. ¡°I had expected one of a more heroic disposition.¡±


    ¡°And if you continue to defy me you will find you expected a hero of a less homicidal disposition, too.¡± Silenos answered. ¡°What is your King busy with?¡±


    The Hand¡¯s fingers drummed upon his desk; once, twice, three times. Just before Silenos was considering castration as a means of encouragement, he spoke.


    ¡°Very well.¡± The Hand growled. ¡°You, and only you three, may see King Galukar. But your meeting with him is to be held as the tightest of secrets, understand?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Silenos snapped.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Ensharia hastily added, nerves frayed almost past their limits. ¡°Please, lead the way.¡±


    It was a longer walk to the King than Silenos might have expected, and that was, perhaps, a mark in the favour of his nation. House Shaiagrazni, and any league of casters, could appreciate the inherent dangers of ambush and assassination, and so the twists and turns totalling almost a quarter-mile did not strike Silenos as particularly inappropriate.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    They followed the Hand further into the fortress, along corridors that angled deeper gradually enough to almost escape notice. Silenos estimated that, by the time they came to the final door, they were already underground.


    During their long walk, he had time to press his companions for information.


    ¡°You seemed shocked at the prospect of Galukar being unavailable.¡± He noted, to Ensharia, ¡°Why is that?¡±


    She kept her eyes ahead as she answered, but her worry was palpable.


    ¡°Galukar is said to be one of the finest warriors who ever lived.¡± She said after a moment. ¡°And the source of his strength is¡­His sword. It¡¯s a thing of¡­Not magic, of miracle. A holy relic forged from a sliver of God¡¯s bone, harder than any steel- magic or otherwise- and able to imbue its wielder with a body mighty enough for most weapons to break upon him.


    Each of the precious few wielders have carved their names into history using its power, and Galukar is greater even than most of them. As I¡¯ve heard, he¡¯s killed more of the Dark Lord¡¯s minions than anyone else.¡±


    It was an impressive summation, but did not answer his question.


    ¡°So why were you worried?¡± Silenos pressed. She swallowed before continuing.


    ¡°A month ago, more or less, I heard that the King met the Dark Lord himself in the field of battle. The result of the actual conflict was that Abaritan¡¯s army won, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But you feared, upon hearing Garukar was not available to meet, that he had been killed, and his death merely covered up for morale purposes.¡±


    She nodded, face tight.


    ¡°There hasn¡¯t been a wielder of the Godblade in a century.¡± Ensharia whispered. ¡°And it¡¯s known that all of the King¡¯s sons were killed in that same battle, his sons who fought alongside him as personal guards and a retinue of elites, the only ones who could do so without slowing him down. With them gone, if Galukar really is dead, then¡­There is likely nobody alive able to wield the Godblade.¡± Her voice was a thing of serrated despair. Falls chose that moment to cut in.


    ¡°And there will never be one again. Magic is advancing by the generation, any day now we¡¯ll unwrap the secret to your stupid mysticism, and from then on the weapon will be nothing more than the relic of a bygone age. Your God can follow soon after.¡±


    Ensharia said nothing at first, only kept her eyes on her feet.


    ¡°I do so hope you¡¯re right.¡± She whispered at last.


    Finally they reached a stop, standing and waiting before the most hilarious door Silenos had ever seen. It was not composed of iron, nor even mundane steel, but a curious metal he could not quite place the substance of. Its volume glowed with magic strong enough to leave little doubt of it weathering more than one shot of Silenos¡¯ new cannon, and perhaps an assault from his combat form. Covered with locks and glowing runes, it hummed in response to the Hand¡¯s touch, then trembled for a few moments before finally sliding open.


    ¡°The King lies beyond.¡± He said, redundantly, ¡°You will treat him with the respect and reverence that is due to one of his station. Call him His Majesty, Sire or Liege, make no sudden or threatening movements and thank him for his time.¡± The man hesitated then, before continuing. ¡°...He will not be as you expect, no doubt. You will have heard tales of the towering warrior-king able to spark flints against his musculature and toss twenty times his weight around like straw dolls. I am warning you now¡­Temper your expectations.¡±


    A solemn, considering pause followed. Then Silenos was moving in to find the man without pause.


    Past the door laid a chamber of unexpected comfort. A thick, warm carpet, a crackling fireplace, padded chairs and a crystalline decanter lying beside a ludicrously large bed. Atop that bed, there sat a man. Or what was left of him.


    His face was lined, sagging and hollow. Eyes sunken, bones showing beneath loose skin. His limbs were so spindly that Silenos believed he had actually reanimated year-old corpses with more muscle, and the hair atop his trembling scalp fell down in scraggly strips.


    Above it all, his newly opened senses found a bottomless sorrow in the man¡¯s eyes. Inky black as shadestuff and infinitely dense. Silenos did not meet his gaze, finding himself suddenly disquieted to do so.


    ¡°The King has been like this ever since he met the Dark Lord in battle.¡± The Hand said, from behind them, closing the door as he did. ¡°The rumours, I imagine you have gathered, are true. They truly did engage in single combat, and the day was, in the end, the Nation of Arbite¡¯s. But there was a cost. My liege, would you¡­Please explain?¡±


    For a few moments, Silenos thought the monarch might well be too far gone to do even that much. He only jerked his head around, eyes flitting about in panic and paranoid delusion, face twitching as if he were on the brink of tears. Then he spoke in a voice that sounded somehow infant-young and ancient at once.


    ¡°He¡­Came down upon wings of nighttime, and a dozen liches writhed at his feet. We clashed with them, my sons and I, and blood fell in sheets. Every one of us was a blade master, you understand, quicker, stronger, tougher than other men. My sons had each been trained by my personal hand, and though none had the necessary gift to wield the Godblade, any of them could have been a lesser King¡¯s champion. We hacked the liches apart, then moved onto the Dark Lord himself. One by one, my boys were killed. Bodies broken like dolls before his mace, until only I and he remained. I fought him like I¡¯ve fought nothing else, but in the end even I was too weak to leave more than a single crack upon his breastplate. I lost consciousness before he left, but when I awoke I¡­¡± The man¡¯s face split apart into a sob, then, and a cry of utter agony escaped him. ¡°My sword! He took my sword! He had no reason to, it is useless in any hands but mine, and yet he took it just to shame me!¡±


    Silenos looked about the room, finding Ensharia¡¯s face first. Her eyes were oceans of sympathy and warmth, beside them the Hand¡¯s were cool with resignation. Only Falls demonstrated a contemptuous apathy.


    Only Falls, including even himself. Silenos felt the nascent circuitry of his brain¡¯s emotional centres spark at the story, flooding him with intuition, insight and¡­Yes. And pity.


    ¡°Thank you for sharing that, your Majesty.¡± Ensharia blurted out. Her eyes remained low for a moment, then rose. Silenos could see the difficulty she felt in lifting them to meet the King¡¯s. ¡°I understand it must have been difficult for you to revisit that, the loss of your swords, your sons, everything. You did an amazing thing by fighting against the Dark Lord, nobody else can ask anything more of you, nor could they have even asked what you¡¯ve given already. Thank you.¡±


    Silenos was surprised to see the King¡¯s eyes grow wet with tears, his lips tremble as emotion took him. He didn¡¯t say anything, just nodded tightly as the Hand stepped forwards.


    ¡°I think you had all better leave.¡± The man advised. None argued with him.

 Chapter 14

    There were advantages to having left all of his treasures back in his own world, and Silenos found that ease of departure was among them. He had virtually nothing worth packing, and thus virtually no delay between himself and his moving on from the city of Abaritan. Nothing, save for Ensharia¡¯s whining.


    ¡°You¡¯re leaving?¡± She pressed, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief, betrayal and fury. Silenos only nodded.


    ¡°Our work here is meaningless, if the King has lost his combat power then he is of no use to anyone, and we would be better suited in hurrying towards the next Hero on our list.¡±


    While Ensharia¡¯s face tightened and throat warped in preparation for an argument, Falls cut in. He leaned against a door, grinning that smug grin that seemed perpetually upon him since they left Abaritan.


    ¡°I agree with the caster.¡± He declared. ¡°Anyone spineless enough to collapse after one battle was never going to be worth anything to begin with.¡±


    Silenos felt a stab of irritation. It was of no particularly empathetic nature, mere offence taken at the brazen incorrectness of what Falls had said.


    ¡°The effects of trauma upon a human brain are complex, unpredictable and varied.¡± He replied, letting his displeasure show. ¡°A lack of comprehension regarding this fact, an insistence that they are evidence of mere weakness, is one of the most common markers for a primitive society.¡±


    Falls¡¯ face fell. Clearly, he had expected Silenos to indulge his stupidity, whilst Ensharia looked utterly thrilled to see him contradict it. She didn¡¯t let the relief keep her from speaking more, however.


    ¡°What I don¡¯t understand is why the Dark Lord has kept quiet about taking the sword.¡±


    Silenos paused, considering the words himself.


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t.¡± He said at last, thinking the matter through even as he did. ¡°This would be an immeasurably large morale victory, a humiliation and neutralisation of a deadly enemy, any skilled General would have it demonstrated for all the world. And yet no stories have come of the Godblade being paraded across the world?¡±


    ¡°None.¡± She nodded, seeing, clearly, that Silenos was back to considering the matter. No doubt she considered that her chance to rope him into staying, and now that she¡¯d broached the mystery, he couldn¡¯t say she was entirely wrong.


    ¡°We¡¯re staying.¡± He announced, earning a grin from Ensharia and a groan from Falls. The look upon the magus¡¯ face needled Silenos a shade, so he continued speaking to rectify it.


    ¡°And the two of you will be searching the city for the Godblade, I believe it is still somewhere in Abaritan.¡±


    There, much better. The look of utter dread replacing Falls¡¯ annoyance was vastly more amusing.


    ¡°Why?!¡± Ensharia frowned, clearly not an enthusiast of the idea.


    ¡°Fuck you!¡± Falls snapped, clearly even less so.


    ¡°Because I have more important things to do.¡± Silenos replied. ¡°And attempting to use my glorious mind with the two of you following me would be like- do your people have an understanding of brain tumours?¡±


    They paused, and Ensharia slowly shook her head. Silenos sighed.


    ¡°It would be like attempting to think with a large, deadly growth slowly spreading through the meat of my brain.¡± He made a note to educate the two on more advanced sciences so that they might better gasp his rapier wit, then began for the door. ¡°Now get to work, we haven¡¯t long.¡±


    <hr>


    Arion watched the caster stride out of the room as if he owned the place, and felt his blood boiling again.


    There hadn¡¯t been many positives to his master¡¯s murder, but the largest by far was that, finally, he¡¯d been able to claim his birthright as the greatest caster alive. No decades of waiting to surpass his power, or years of waiting for his aged heart to give out, he¡¯d finally reached the front of the line and sat down in his vacant seat. Then the Shaiagrazni had arrived to ruin everything.


    ¡°Unbelievable.¡± The bitch grumbled, interrupting Arion¡¯s thoughts as she glared at him. ¡°Leaving me with you.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, am I distracting?¡± He asked, flashing her his second most charming smile. She was a good actor, he had to say, her look of feigned repulsion and loathing almost convinced even him, and betrayed not even a trace of the lust he must surely have inspired.


    ¡°He must have a good reason.¡± She pressed, turning away from him, face curling in that adorable way Arion had learned it did whenever she thought particularly hard about something. ¡°He can be eccentric, is selfish, but he doesn¡¯t waste time without cause. He¡¯ll be doing something important.¡±


    Arion had rather thought that past the requirement of pointing out, but decided to let the bitch have her petty victory


    ¡°So you¡¯re going to do as he says.¡± He guessed. She rounded on him at that, glaring.


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    ¡°We are, unless you want to take longer leaving this city than is necessary.¡±


    Arion, at that, found himself caught between the twin evils of agreeing with a woman and leaving himself trapped in the shit-smelling warrior¡¯s city. He took his time in thinking the problem over.


    ¡°Fine.¡± He conceded at last. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    It was irritating to admit, but Arion found the female far more useful than himself in navigating their search. He supposed that was one of the major advantages to being a Paladin, getting used to finding one¡¯s way around foreign cities. That, and her womanly instincts were probably helping to home in on the sword. They were rather good at finding things, he¡¯d heard.


    First the two of them directed their efforts towards just asking random soldiers if they knew anyone who¡¯d been present during the battle, which turned over a few names, but not any that were within reach. Their next plan was to try following the actual Godblade itself, moving off to find the city¡¯s underworld.


    ¡°When something valuable goes missing, you can think of a city¡¯s gangs as one big safety net to catch it, should it slip out of everyone else¡¯s hands.¡± The bitch had explained.


    ¡°And you know all this how, exactly?¡± Arion noted. ¡°You don¡¯t strike me as master of the criminal mind.¡±


    She didn¡¯t strike him as much more than a giant ball of sugar and honey, actually, but that was neither here nor there. However bitchy she¡¯d become since, Arion still remembered her kindness when he¡¯d been faced with execution, even if it had probably been motivated by her being the one scheduled to behead him.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t always a Paladin.¡± Was all the bitch said.


    Arion noticed the obvious there, she was leaving something unsaid. He considered whether to press for more information or not, but decided there were better things to do. He could always needle it out of her later, or just fuck her until she let it slip in pillow talk whenever she finally caved.


    ¡°You¡¯re leering at me.¡± The Paladin growled, trying, and failing, to look intimidating rather than cute. Arion smiled.


    ¡°I prefer to call it appraising.¡±


    ¡°Everyone else calls it leering, stop.¡±


    She turned away, pointedly, and he actually felt his smile waver. Arion had known women who enjoyed playing hard to get, but this one was taking it to a ridiculous extreme. She almost didn¡¯t seem interested.


    Arion had never actually interacted with gangs before, his knowledge of them being entirely theoretical and gleaned from books or stories. They were quite disappointing. They didn¡¯t sing and dance, for one thing, and they demonstrated no plans to erode aristocratic society and destroy the world. He failed to spot even a single baby being eaten, and not even one of them was being puppeteered by a Demon. Nonetheless, they proved the most useful source of information so far, particularly with the bitch¡¯s rather well-aimed questioning.


    One group led them to another, who directed them to a smuggler, who volunteered his contacts, one of which was a man famous for collecting weapons of a magical inclination. They headed straight for him, finding themselves at a large, if unassuming, building. It was made of solid stone and mortar, a rare feature in cities as primitive and un-magical as Abaritan, and Arion took a moment to let a strong breeze sweep over the surrounding vicinity for a few moments, coiling through alleys and under crevices.


    ¡°A dozen men hiding nearby,¡± He noted, feeling the shapes and movements of their shivering bodies as light resistance against his magic, ¡°Not sure how armed they are, but¡­¡± He focused on dimensions, shape, size, ¡°They¡¯re probably commoners, by their shortness.¡±


    It was more than a little satisfying to see the bitch staring at him with the mix of awe and considering wariness she usually reserved for Shaiagrazni. Arion was careful to hide his tiredness as he soaked it in.


    Small breezes were one thing, but he¡¯d spread that one over everything within a hundred feet horizontally and fifty vertical. He¡¯d probably shifted close to ten thousand stone of air as fast as a jogging man, and even he¡¯d been pushed close to his limits in doing so.


    But surprise attacks were the bane of any caster. Arion put his worry aside and stepped into the building alongside the Paladin.


    The first thing he noticed inside the place was that it was tight and cramped. Not good, if a fight broke out any caster would be disadvantaged in such circumstances, and a windmage more than even most others. The second thing that hit Arion was the smell on the air, an odd, clean scent of careful cleaning and perfumed surfaces that felt entirely at odds with its function.


    It seemed not to deter the bitch, because she just hurried on into the place without a moment¡¯s hesitation, forcing Arion to increase his own pace so as to not be left following a woman. The interior was no more spacious once they headed deeper into its bowels, walls of wood and brick closing in like strangling fingers around him. The thought of a fight became more concerning to Arion with every new step. His worry only grew as they came to a central room in the place.


    Half-office and half-bunker, it was another structure of stone rather than wood, and seemed made to withstand a trebuchet. Arion had seen far more robustly built places, the University of Magira had held chambers which would¡¯ve weathered weapons capable of skewering five of such rooms in a row, but he had to concede it was impressive enough for the work of duns. Those without magic were not entirely helpless, he supposed. Particularly when they could hire others who didn¡¯t share their disabilities.


    Seeing those duns in person, though, had Arion feeling a shade less sympathetic of their limitations. The ones around him now were all broad, hard and mean-looking, bodies encased in armour varying from simple chainmail hauberks to full steel plate with articulated mobility about the joints. The sole exception was a man lounging on a sofa at the back of the room, whose gaunt face framed a pair of eerily clever eyes.


    ¡°Please, let yourselves right in.¡± He said, sounding more amused than affronted at their unannounced entry. ¡°Random strangers are always welcome in my home.¡±


    ¡°Your shop.¡± The bitch countered. ¡°Or do you not do business in subtly acquired goods anymore?¡±


    He grinned.


    ¡°Subtly acquired, ha, I like that. Who the fuck are you?¡± The shift in tone was so sudden that it sent Arion back a step, and had his fingers twitching with fraying nerves. His magic was just a hair beyond reach, and he had to fight not to call on it. It wouldn¡¯t help their cause if he tore their leads apart before extracting any answers.


    ¡°We¡¯re the people who are going to turn you over to the Hand if you don¡¯t hand over the Godblade.¡± The bitch retorted, seemingly oblivious to the men stiffening and half-drawing blades as she said it. Arion found himself suddenly less confident as he eyed the size of them, but she remained unfazed.


    ¡°Funny.¡± The beady-eyed man sneered. ¡°Kill the-¡±


    Arion had always been quick, and so his winds were already squeezing down the nearest man¡¯s throat before the order to fight even came. He¡¯d compressed with close to the full capacity of his magic¡¯s power, having prepared the move well ahead of time, and yet this opponent was one gifted with a rare physical power.


    He received nothing more than a shattered neck, bits of jagged bone erupting out from torn skin where the air pressed. Arion had meant to behead him completely, not a bad bodyguard.

 Chapter 15

    One of the other men, faster than the first, was coming for Arion before he could ready another attack- the distance between them, paired with his preternatural speed, almost too much to contend with. Almost. Arion¡¯s magic had hardened air into another barrier just before his cudgel reached him. A big, heavy thing made of ugly, tortured iron that visibly cracked as it bounced off the barricade, then fell from its wielder¡¯s fingers as the wall shifted and crushed the attacker against a far wall. Two more came, both dropping to the floor in multiple sections as Arion reworked his barrier into a number of scything winds that cut through chainmail and meat about as easily as each other.


    When he looked back, the bitch had already laid another man out with that mace of hers- though failed to kill him- and was lifting the couch-dweller high in a single-handed grip. It was an impressive sight, for sure. Arion had seen men three times her mass without the strength to do as much as that, even when not weighed down by Paladin plate armour.


    The man she held now was not three times her mass. Nor, indeed, was he even equal to it. He writhed around like a strangled rat, legs kicking beneath him, fingers desperately clawing at her wrist, though managing only to rip their own nails bloodily out of place. The bitch¡¯s face was a mask of cold iron as she glared up at him.


    ¡°Do you have any idea how easily I could snap your neck?¡± She asked, voice low, quiet and dangerous in a way that certainly shouldn¡¯t have been arousing, but rather was. ¡°One squeeze, that¡¯s all I¡¯d need. One squeeze, a quick crack, then you¡¯re dead. Only movement in you would be your legs kicking a few more times, and maybe some waste running down your leg as you soiled yourself.¡±


    He was still, now, the sofa man. Still in that way only true terror could ever make a person. Arion recalled freezing like that, himself. The day he¡¯d been scheduled to die.


    ¡°I won¡¯t kill you if you tell me where the Godblade is.¡± The bitch spat, and Arion knew, then, in that moment, that two simple facts were immutably true. The first was that she genuinely, sincerely hated this man. And the second was that, despite that, she was telling the truth.


    Perhaps drawing the same conclusion, the slab of human scum in her grip desperately nodded towards a wall at one far section of the room. Arion¡¯s fingers twitched, sending a jet of air towards it.


    It wasn¡¯t diabase, that much was obvious. He smashed through the inch or so of stone with the magical equivalent of a flexed bicep, then banished the resulting dust cloud with another twitch of his fingers. Light spilled into a hollow space within the wall that revealed their prize, and the bitch dropped sofa-man to take it out.


    ¡°You can go.¡± She said, distractedly, taking the sword in her hands and eying it thoughtfully. The man went.


    Even Arion hardly noticed him leave, however, finding his focus drawn to the sword. If the men watching outside were equal to the ones waiting indoors - and that was unlikely already- then they¡¯d be of no real threat to him. The sword, though, was interesting.


    ¡°It¡¯s heavy.¡± The bitch noted, though seemed to move it around without issue. It was, indeed, bloody heavy. Arion could tell that much just from a glance. The thing was ugly, its blade about two inches at the widest and stretching out easily five feet from the guard, with an oddly dull colouration and a jagged, irregular rhythm to its shape. As the bitch turned it in her hands, he got a glimpse of it from sidelong. Arion was shocked by the depth.


    ¡°Must be a good inch of iron at the thickest point.¡± He observed, noting the bitch frowning as she nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯d expected more¡­Sophistication.¡± She replied, sounding almost disappointed. He let a smile grow.


    ¡°From a two thousand year-old sword.¡±


    She glared at him. ¡°It¡¯s a miracle.¡±


    ¡°A miracle that this slab of pig-iron hasn¡¯t snapped in half yet, yes.¡± Arion snorted. ¡°Come on, whatever unknown magic-¡±


    ¡°-Divine power.¡± She interrupted. ¡°Granted by God to arm his chosen warriors.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes.¡± Arion sighed. ¡°Whatever imaginary power is responsible for making it so effective in battle, the physical sword was still made by human hands and human minds. And the humans of two thousand years ago were still carving runes on their casters¡¯ faces to let baby-eating Gods recognise them in the afterlife. Your miracle sword was not made by smart or knowledgeable people, I¡¯m sorry to say.¡±


    ¡°Well we have it now.¡± The bitch snapped, and Arion enjoyed seeing a point so clearly scored. ¡°Let¡¯s just take it back to Silenos, before word gets out that we have it.¡±


    Sobering, he nodded.


    ¡°Good idea.¡± Arion conceded, heading for the door. He hesitated before stepping through, then sent the wind churning outside once again.


    Always irksome to do that, but rarely smart not to. Arion took a good few moments examining the sensation of resistance against his magic, using it to feel out the area around them. Sure enough, the number of men awaiting them had changed.


    It had, of course, dropped down to zero. There wasn¡¯t a single humanoid within a hundred feet. He allowed himself a smile at that.


    ¡°Clear.¡± He noted, striding out of the room. Sometimes it was awfully convenient to be the most ingenious caster in all of human history.


    The bitch did not seem to share his enthusiasm.


    Silenos had found more than one source leading him to several of the surviving warriors present upon the battlefield, the day the Godblade was taken. Fortunately all were within reach, once he took a few moments to fashion himself a means of flight. Such an approach would have been impossible to enter a Shaiagrazni arcology, which were sealed on all sides by thick sheets of metal, but the primitives of this new world seemed content to leave themselves open to any wise and powerful enough to claim the skies.


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    Easier to travel a hundred miles by air than three by land, he¡¯d always found, and that remained true as he swooped down into the city¡¯s noble district, over hostile walling and alert guards. Those few who spotted him were easily neutralised.


    He had learned from his fiasco at Magira, and since devised a means of producing potent intoxicants able to render a normal man unconscious within moments.


    Silenos extended a spinal tail from himself, barbed with a sharp injection mechanism at its tip, and dosed men and women wherever they laid eyes upon him. Some had been remarkably strong, bodies magically strengthened in what seemed to be the way of this world¡¯s residents.


    He¡¯d even needed to squeeze noticeably hard when emptying his toxin glands into one.


    The first name on Silenos¡¯ mental list was one Lord Valdaryre, a noble of some prominence who lived in a building that had clearly been fortified with magic, but sadly not nearly enough. Silenos, being in the hurry he was, decided to save time by merely smashing one wall down with a jet of blasting oil, then striding inside. Guards swarmed him, and achieved as much as any could hope against a being of his majesty, and soon enough Silenos had the noble before him,


    Valdaryre was half-dressed in plate armour, having equipped a breastplate and greaves. The metal hummed with no small measure of magic, and the man¡¯s musculature was clearly imbibed with power, too. The most impressive thing, however, was his instantaneous surrender. Recognising Silenos¡¯ overwhelming superiority was a rare quality in this world.


    ¡°You want money?¡± He asked, desperately. ¡°I can-¡±


    ¡°I do not want your pitiable currency.¡± Silenos interrupted. ¡°Doubtless I will still be alive long after it has been replaced by whichever set of barbarians conquers your people. I am here for answers, you were present when Galukar lost the Godblade, explain everything you saw. Lie and I will know.¡±


    That, itself, had been a lie. House Shaiagrazni had yet to discern a reliable way of telling truth from deception, nor forcing a person to veer from one in favour of the other. Being thought to possess such a skill, however, was often almost as valuable as the ever-sought-after ability itself would have been.


    ¡°I¡­I saw the Dark Lord take the Godblade, after defeating Galukar. He hurled the King¡¯s body to the edge of the battlefield and flew off upon wings of night, weaved between ballista bolts and spells, rallied his forces for a fighting retreat and disappeared over the horizon within a minute, that¡¯s it.¡±


    The man had grown more fearful, then paused, before answering. Silenos placed a hand upon his head, with no particular measure of force.


    ¡°The Dark Lord flew back over the horizon, what happened before that? Answer quickly.¡±


    The man frowned, blinking, sluggish.


    ¡°He¡­Rallied his forces-¡±


    ¡°And immediately before that, what happened.¡±


    Another hesitation. People struggled, Silenos had found, to recite a false story backwards. When rehearsing them, they invariably did so in chronological order. Those recalling real memories found it much easier to swap the sequence of events than those reciting a manufactured account.


    He let his magic seep into the man¡¯s spine, fraying the nervous fibres that connected it to his legs. He dropped into a heap instantly, the panic on him barely a moment later.


    ¡°What have you done?!¡± He demanded. Silenos ignored the question. There had been a strange amount of resistance in changing this one¡¯s body, he supposed that was a feature of the natural magics imbuing it. Better to find that out now, rather than in the attempt to weaponize his Fleshcrafting against an enemy of sufficient power to threaten him.


    ¡°Tell the truth of what happened or I shall remove the use of your arms, then ask again. If you fail to do as told the third time I shall leave. Without killing you, without restoring the use of your body. I will warn you, however, that my skills are rather more precise than any healer you can likely reach, and irreversible to casters of their power.¡±


    By the horror in Valdaryre¡¯s eyes, Silenos knew he¡¯d been believed. And he found what the man said next to be truthful, too.


    As he had implied he would, Silenos took a single instant to restore the man¡¯s legs. It would be dangerous to gain a reputation as one who could not be relied upon to uphold his word.


    Then he flew from the building as fast as his wings could manage, hurrying for the King¡¯s fortress. Hurrying to outpace the disaster.


    <hr>


    It was almost surprising how quickly The Hand reacted to Arion and the bitch¡¯s call for his attention, but then, sending word that one had obtained one of the most powerful and valuable things in the world tended to hurry people up. Arion barely had the chance to sit down before he was whisked away through the fortress, deep, deep, deeper still, until he and the bitch were ushered into a large, expansive chamber with walls of¡­


    Yes, steel. Even he was surprised at the sight. Steel wasn¡¯t really hard to make, of course, but the process of properly doing so was lengthy and resource-consuming, even with magic. To line an entire room with it, let alone one as big as the fifty-foot hemisphere he now waited in, must have cost a fortune. Or several. If the walls measured even half an inch thick they¡¯d have held sufficient metal to equip a thousand men with plate armour, chainmail and polearms. Perhaps with some horse barding throne in for good measure. Even the door had been made of the stuff, and, by its sheer thickness, the hinges upon which it hung would have held against a troll being lynched from them.


    ¡°Impressive, isn¡¯t it?¡± Came a voice from one end. Arion turned quickly to see the Hand making his way in through the entrance behind them, smiling thinly. ¡°Galukar¡¯s eldest son had it made, back when the Dark Lord was only just starting to really threaten things. A last defensible position, was the idea, a funnel of steel able to force enemies to attack slowly and in concentrated areas, to be held by the Royals.¡±


    ¡°A chokepoint with no escape.¡± The bitch finished. ¡°To die with as many dead enemies around them as possible.¡±


    The Hand smiled again, sending a chill down Arion¡¯s spine for some reason.


    ¡°Inspired by the old tales from the Eastern hoplites, said to have held a pass against tens of thousands with only three hundred of their own. Such stories are the backbone of Arbite¡¯s culture, I suppose. We have been a warrior¡¯s nation since our founding a century ago.¡± Something flitted across his face for an instant, too fast to examine, and then he continued in a different tone. ¡°Galukar¡¯s family is not a particularly optimistic one, I must say, but¡­Perhaps they ought to be.¡±


    His eyes fell upon the Godblade, and practically glowed as they beheld it.


    ¡°No need to verify.¡± He said. ¡°I know the real article when I see it, hand it over and you¡¯ll get your reward.¡±


    The bitch stepped forwards, doing just that, and Arion found himself frowning. Why meet them in a place like that? He studied the door. It was a wide thing, but not so wide that he couldn¡¯t imagine five or six men holding it without being flanked. Five or six, not two.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t do it for a reward.¡± The Paladin noted, as the Hand grunted. He strained at the sword¡¯s weight, he forced a smile through his exertive grimace.


    ¡°No, of course not, forgive me Dame Paladin.¡± He let the blade¡¯s edge hit the ground, rather than hold it more awkwardly, and turned. Moving to the door now. Arion saw the great slab of steel swing wide as the Hand approached it, and felt his heart sink at what lay beyond.


    Knights. Dozens, all standing tall and armed in glinting armour, all moving as if their sixty pounds of protection weighed as much as a thick shirt. They parted to let the Hand move in between their ranks, eyes all affixed on Arion and the bitch behind visors that betrayed as much emotion as the sockets of a skeleton.


    ¡°And you must forgive me for this, too, Dame Paladin.¡± The Hand called, as he disappeared between his men. ¡°But I cannot cede control of my city to that family of imbeciles again.¡±


    The Knights charged.

 Chapter 16

    Arion should¡¯ve seen the trap coming a mile off, but he realised the cause for his missing it. Out of all the places within Abaritan Castle that he might have found himself ambushed, few were worse than the late Prince¡¯s safety room¡­For the people doing the ambushing.


    Fifty feet was cramped, compared to open air, but it was far more room than he¡¯d had back in the gangster¡¯s shop. Arion didn¡¯t waste a moment in using it, throwing himself back and high up into the air, holding his body just ten feet shy of the ceiling as he gathered more winds farther down below.


    They were Knights, attacking them now. The best of the best. Not one man in fifty had the capacity to become one, even among the better nourished and trained upper classes, and those that did were trained even better than the rest. Arion had heard accounts as verifiable and trustworthy as any records in the world tell of armies numbering in the thousands falling to just a few dozen.


    And there seemed to be about that many attacking him, now. He acted quickly.


    His first wave of air caught four Knights at once, sending them crashing back against the rest of their comrades and giving the crowd pause, for a moment, as its constituents stumbled and fought to right themselves. They weren¡¯t held for long though, and so Arion tried concentrating his next blast onto just one, letting that unlucky individual take as much power as could be focused against his body¡¯s surface area.


    Three hundred pounds of knight and steel were lifted from the ground and dashed against the far wall, rebounding on it and spinning head over heels no less than thrice before finally landing once more in a heap. Arion saw blood oozing out from under the Knight¡¯s helmet and gorget, and there was no more movement in his limp form. One down, perhaps twenty or so remaining.


    The bitch was doing her best, bless, but she was only keeping herself from being surrounded by backing off. She was faster than the Knights, certainly stronger, but she¡¯d not had a chance to don her helmet, and she was rapidly running out of space at her back to retreat into. If she was attacked from all sides, she¡¯d lose fast. Arion moved to take care of that, reaching out with more of his winds, sending an arced blast to sweep along the front row attacking her. They all stumbled at once, and she seized the advantage lightning-fast, bringing her mace down hard on the back of one¡¯s head.


    Better to have an anvil fall on him than that, Arion thought. The Knight dropped like a stone and didn¡¯t move again, but more were soon focusing themselves upon the Paladin, forcing her focus to split itself four ways as they struck from every angle they could. Arion decided to try a different approach than just scattering them, wrapping currents of air around both the fallen Knights¡¯ weapons, then hurling them into their allies. They struck like arrows, and with their mass such an impact was far from trivial. Metal ruptured, blood flew, and in an instant the Paladin had just a bit more breathing room.


    Most might¡¯ve used that to try and remove themselves from the fight, but she turned it to more practical means. Taking the chance to down another Knight with her weapon and lunging into the space he¡¯d been occupying, furthering her space.


    Arion typically preferred to be front and centre in a fight, that was where all the opportunities for showing off his impressive magic lay, but the Knights were stronger an enemy than he could afford to be so dismissive of. He hung back, letting the bitch take most of their aggression, focusing his powers on shielding her when necessary, and crushing another foe or two when the opportunity presented itself. Between the two of them, it didn¡¯t take long for things to end.


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    Standing and panting at the centre of strewn-about, unconscious Knights, the bitch was clearly worn out. Even Arion himself felt a shade drained from the combat, having exerted himself more than would likely have been needed, had he been in an area with heavier projectiles to leverage his magic with.


    The room was silent, save for her panting, and that silence let Arion recognise their latest problem instantaneously.


    ¡°The Hand.¡± He noted. ¡°Fuck.¡±


    However shortly they¡¯d taken care of the Knights, it had been long enough for a sprinting man to get far. Even carrying twenty pounds of iron.


    <hr>


    Silenos had made the decision to retract his wings and re-absorb the excess matter into his body upon entering the castle. It was no great tedium to do, a caster of his excellence was able to manage it while running with no distraction, and the benefits to removing such inherent a vulnerability as the lightweight and thin structure required of flight-performing limbs was well worth it. He soon found himself regretting the decision, however.


    For three minutes and nineteen seconds he roamed the building, navigating through the perception of his arcane sight. Had he known how incandescently the Goblade registered to such things, he might well have tried searching for it by simply flying over the city, for there was an intense flare of magic he could only deduce was coming from the relic, its source deep in the fortress and moving through it at a more than manageable pace.


    Manageable enough that it did not take Silenos long to find himself face to face with it.


    Of course, it came as no surprise to set eyes upon The Hand. Silenos had hurried back only after learning independently that the man was responsible for the Godblade¡¯s disappearance. What ran through him upon locking eyes with the traitor was a dull concern.


    ¡°Where are my companions?¡± He asked, calmly. Silenos had learned, in his month or so in the new world, that warriors of Ensharia¡¯s calibre required the combination of talent found only in one among every thousand with well over a dozen years¡¯ training. Casters the equal of Arion were, of course, rarer still by a factor of several hundred times. Neither one was an acceptable loss.


    The Hand froze, stiffened, stared at Silenos for a good long moment. He could see the simple thoughts flashing around behind the man¡¯s eyes, primitive machinery of his cognition racing as fast as its shoddy construction would allow. Eventually, inevitably, it led him to perhaps the only conclusion it ever would have.


    He turned and ran. Instantly men were behind him and before Silenos, barring the path between them with their own bodies, raising weapons and narrowing eyes. He walked through them, barely even noticing what he did to the fools as he bypassed their defences; liquefying flesh, crumbling bone, fusing limbs into unnatural fixtures and boiling the fragile meat of their brains. The Hand had barely gotten a further five metres by the time Silenos was done, leaving less than twenty separating them. And it was then that he tested his new body¡¯s capacity for sprinting.


    Silenos closed in on the Hand, surprising even himself with the sound of wind howling past his ears. He reached the man within a half dozen strides, seizing him hard by the back of the neck and snatching his body up off of the ground. Unsurprisingly, the man tried to swing his stolen Godblade around at Silenos¡¯ head. The weapon didn¡¯t even make it halfway, simply falling from his grip as fatigue and poor leverage dragged its weight down more fiercely than he could compensate for.


    ¡°You need to let me keep it.¡± The Hand tried, words spilling out of him fast enough that they almost interrupted one another. ¡°I can do great things for this city, I can make it the world¡¯s crowning jewel, all you need to do is-¡±


    Silenos halted the signals running from the man¡¯s cerebellum to his spine, then deftly lifted the sword up to make his way to Ensharia and Falls, stepping over the convulsive traitor with a curled lip.


    He didn¡¯t take long to decide where his presence was most needed, it was obvious. There had been only one reason for his coming to Arbite in the first place, after all, and now he had the tool needed to make it worth doing. Silenos made his way for King Galukar.

 Chapter 17

    Perhaps predictably, the door to the throne room already had Ensharia and Falls hovering around it, eying the slab of iron as if uncertain how to get past. Their eyes lit up as they turned and recognised the sword in Silenos¡¯ hands.


    ¡°You got him!¡± Falls noted, pointlessly.


    ¡°Step aside, both of you.¡± Silenos instructed. Both hurried to do so.


    Silenos felt a new, alien feeling as he shaped the last few cubic centimetres of material needed to turn the insides of his arm into his newly designed cannon. He realised the anomaly came from within. He¡¯d not experimented with the full destructive power of his weapon, not with his emotions restored to some approximation of human normalcy, and the thought of seeing its limits was a captivating one.


    Steadying his aim and bracing his body, he fired.


    Iron was not such a feeble material, even House Shaiagrazni found use in it to armour their battleships and other such constructions. But it was weaker than steel, and certainly weaker than any material potent enough to be equipped by a real Named entering into battle. The door surrendered quickly.


    Scraps of mangled metal and cracked stone fell from the structure, and Silenos stepped over it all without a word as he headed into the room. He found Galukar trembling, as might have been expected, and staring upon him with wide eyes. Silenos greeted him by dropping the sword down just in front of the man, watching as its great weight deformed the King¡¯s mattress. Recognition sparked in Galukar¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Your sword.¡± Silenos explained, just in case the savage didn¡¯t understand what was happening. ¡°Grab it, reclaim your power, then repay your debt by helping us in our quest.¡±


    The King shook his head, staring at Silenos as if he were some ferocious creature lurking in the shadows.


    ¡°No.¡± He croaked.


    Silenos felt his eye twitch with fury, then seized the sword. It was not so heavy as to make him struggle with it, though its length left it unwieldy. He nonetheless managed to stab it into the stone floor.


    ¡°Take it.¡± He insisted.


    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± Galukar replied, not meeting Silenos¡¯ eye, nor any other¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯ve lost the will.¡±#


    ¡°The will.¡± Silenos echoed, feeling his disgust congeal. ¡°The will!?¡±


    How he wished to kill this man, this pitiable, writhing insect. Ensharia spoke up before he could think of a suitable torment.


    ¡°Why not, my King?¡± She asked.


    Galukar¡¯s eyes remained low.


    ¡°Answer now or I shall activate every pain receptor in your body and remove your ability to adjust.¡± Silenos informed him. The King hardly even seemed moved by his words, taking his time in replying even under threat of eternal torment. He raised his withered hands, staring at splayed fingers as if they were attached to something more foreign than his own body.


    ¡°How could I?¡± Galukar asked, helplessly. ¡°I¡¯ve betrayed everything that sword stood for. Strength, courage, heroism. I¡¯m not a warrior anymore, you¡¯re best finding someone else to try and win it.¡±


    Silenos felt tendrils of icy disgust run through his mind as he gazed upon the pitiable creature before him, then turned for the door and marched out.


    He passed the slain humans on his way out, noting their corpses strewn about the hallway just where he¡¯d left them. Some guards turned to the sight of him, seemingly on the verge of questioning the scene, then simply falling silent and scattering instead. Silenos considered resurrecting the corpses. It would be no great undertaking, doable with a single flick of his mind, but¡­Perhaps inconvenient.


    Rumours of his Necromancy had travelled far enough from Elkatin to Magira, and caused plenty of issues. There was no point in spawning more, not in exchange for a mere dozen undead as weak as what could be made from such bodies. He moved past.


    <hr>


    Silenos was long gone by the time Ensharia had finished trying, and failing, to comfort Galukar. She was almost pleased by the fact. Talking with the Saviour was taxing, particularly when his apathy was spiking. Bad enough she had to follow him around keeping his iciness from starting international incidents, bad enough he¡¯d no doubt realised she would and thus began to let more of his civil veneer fall away, she couldn¡¯t deal with him when her mood was already foul.


    ¡°Well, this has been a nice waste of fucking time.¡± Arion Falls sighed, not even trying to hide his irritation, nor his blaming gaze as it shot for Ensharia. For once, she met it in kind.


    ¡°You do not get to complain about wasted anything.¡± She snapped. ¡°For years you were one of the most influential men in Magira, and you didn¡¯t lift a finger in motivating it to aid nations like Arbite. This is your fault more than it is Galukar¡¯s.¡±


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    He rolled his eyes, and Ensharia shut hers. Taking a moment to pray, letting God¡¯s wisdom fill her as she reminded herself of decade-old teachings and long-finished meditations upon scriptural ethics. Smashing a man¡¯s face in was generally not in line with those ethics, at least not when it wasn¡¯t in the name of self defence.


    ¡°You¡¯re a pig.¡± She told Falls, then started down the hall. Their walk was cold and silent, and that was just fine with her. Ensharia was beginning to fill up on cruelty and coldness, beginning to fill up on this entire endeavour. There were surely Paladins better suited to it than her, perhaps she could find one- or several- to replace her.


    Silenos would have headed straight for a carriage, Ensharia knew, and so she went the same way. Falls trudged along beside her, as disinterested as ever, and her temper slowly unravelled while they moved. Her grim mood and broiling thoughts were interrupted only when a figure caught her eyes moving ahead.


    It was a man, she saw, and a vaguely familiar one. He was tall, wiry, his body clothed in a long coat that seemed almost similar to the robes of a magus, his mouth moustached with needle-thin hairs kept carefully brushed and in place. Sharp eyes peered back at her from his sockets, and the intense focus of them told Ensharia in an instant that the man was here for her. He started forwards.


    ¡°Wait, I know you!¡± Falls gasped, Ensharia glanced over to see him shifting where he stood, body falling into a defensive posture as his hands raised. ¡°Kraika, the Toxicologist.¡±


    Her blood ran cold. That had been the second name on their list, the one they¡¯d skipped over for fear of the Dark Lord¡¯s spies beating them to it just as he had Walriq. And Ensharia could see only one reason its owner might be here in Arbite and heading her way.


    The Toxicologist broke out into a run, hands raising, and Ensharia felt her battered armour creak as she moved with combative speed to respond.


    <hr>


    It was not hard to procure a carriage, though Silenos still found his irritation mounting as he did. In the lands of House Shaiagrazni a Named of his power would simply travel to and from a city as he saw fit, flying under his own power, or Fleshcrafting a mount more enduring and swift than anything evolution could produce. Such things would be reviled as an act of evil, here, and the more he did it the farther rumours of his doing so would follow.


    Like the days before House Shaiagrazni¡¯s founders carved out their territory, he was in a world ruled by ignorance and stupidity. Silenos suddenly felt tired at the fact, his new emotional core registering the fact more deeply than purely cerebral logic ever could.


    Perhaps it was that that dulled his senses, slowed his reactions. Let precious milliseconds slip by before the sudden attack caught his notice.


    Silenos whirled just in time to see the undead descending upon him, catching the scent of its putrefying magic long moments before impact. He lunged to one side and heard the stone crack where he¡¯d been standing, rolling to his feet, then jumping again as another pricked his arcane senses in the attempt to strike him from behind while he focused upon the first.


    He jumped, extending focus to the internal mechanisms of his arms and feeling no slight amount of satisfaction at how quick the process of shaping one into its cannon form was. Silenos had the weapon ready just as he reached the peak of his altitude, and fired it an instant later.


    No projectile came free, rather he allowed the explosive propellant to launch nothing but boiling gases and overpressure through the barrel. Silenos felt the familiar force throw him back, and he fired a dozen more times to propel himself before twisting. His memory had served well, letting his feet come down first as his body reached the nearest building, and he turned again to sight the enemies.


    Obviously he¡¯d surprised them, for they were reorganising, and that alone betrayed something of their construction. These undead were capable of independent thought to some limited degree, else they¡¯d all have been coordinated instantly by whichever singular intellect was controlling them. It was testament to a semi-formidable hand in crafting the things.


    Silenos¡¯ observations were cut short as the enemy finally galvanised, then flooded after him.


    He¡¯d noted the two that attacked him clear enough, recognising the magic and movements of mid-level undead. Around them there now swarmed a horde of lower class creatures, though still ones of considerable craftsmanship.


    The act of reanimating an undead was one of imbuing an object with power, just like any other magic. Most stopped at the first step, blindly flooding an empty vessel with the means to begin moving once more, letting energy and force flow down accustomed channels and mindlessly re-start mechanisms that had once been active. Such methods did not create a servitor worth using, by Shaiagrazni standards.


    Now, though, Silenos recognised the sight of magic flowing in excess. Carefully woven and directed, ensuring that every muscle fibre was reinforced in both contractive power and, perhaps more importantly, physical resistance. The amounts of energy at play were not considerable, but the fact that they deviated from the norm meant a lot for his approach.


    Ordinary undead would break themselves upon him, these ones, at the very least, surpassed the basic threshold required to wound him.


    The mid-level undead were upon him first, of course, reaching the base of the building and scaling it instantly. Behind them others drew out crossbows, clearly drawn with a force not possible to ordinary humans. Made in preparation of their wielders¡¯ advanced strength, then. Well prepared. The volley of bolts was no great concern, Silenos simply covered the gaps in his armour and allowed them to harmlessly bounce from the keratin-geothyte plates. Below, the greater enemies were approaching the halfway point of their five-metre climb, which gave him just a moment to attack.


    He used it well, aiming his cannon, conjuring the dense mass of its projectile, readying it. Then gasping as something struck him from behind.


    Of course, he had jumped before, flown even, during the siege of Elkatin. No ambush would be readied for him with careful preparation that did not account for Silenos¡¯ battlefield mobility. He turned and caught a glimpse of his attacker, even as the agony at his back intensified. It was a torture he knew well, remembered, even from half a century in the past, like the clawing nails of a nemesis.


    Shadestuff, he had been struck with shadestuff. It was not so potent as his own, but easily enough to tax the density and tensile resilience of his armour. Silenos landed hard, body bouncing, rolling, barely rising to its feet before the enemy were converging from all sides.


    Atop the roof, he caught a glimpse of the one who had cast him down. She grinned, black skin catching the light, eyes glowing with the unquestioning egotism of one who had no shortage of power.


    For the first time since gaining his Name, Silenos Shaiagrazni felt the numbing, animal touch of fear

 Chapter 18 - [Bonus Chapter]

    Alchemists were not warriors, nor casters. But they were not to be trifled with. Ensharia had read up on them well, during her training as a Paladin, for they were second only to rogue casters and conjurers as a source of Necromantic research or experimentation into the dark sorceries of Fleshcrafting. And they were dangerous, whatever others thought.


    Things could be done with alchemy that even the magic of magi could not achieve, and never any more easily than on the alchemist themselves. Invariably, the best of them learned their own body on the most intimate level possible, studying every fibre of its substance and quantifying every facet of its existence. From there, it was all too easy to improve it. Drugs and concoctions, mutagens drip-dosed over the course of years, tweaks and improvements made by the inch all eventually creating an immune system and physiology able to withstand combinations of imbibement that would kill a warrior dozens of times their strength.


    She¡¯d heard the stories, and now she saw the truth of them. Kraika the Toxicologist was faster than any man of his frame and clear inexperience ought to have been.


    He came at her like a fired arrow, almost, sidestepping one swing of her mace, then replying by emptying some vial at her face with the flick of a wrist.


    Ensharia just barely turned away in time to feel the pungent liquid splash against the side of her helmet, rather than the front, and the sizzling of digesting steel reached her ears instantly. There came a great shiver in the air as winds buffeted the Toxicologist backward, then yet more hit the side of her helmt and halted the sizzling. She saw droplets of lilac fluid spatter the ground around them, eating it with frightening speed.


    ¡°We can take him.¡± The magus grinned, stepping in eagerly, fingers flexing. The corridor was long, and wide, a far more advantageous stage for him to unleash his powers than their ambush site. Ensharia found herself almost tempted to go along with the idea.


    But she resisted it.


    ¡°We need to retreat.¡± She insisted. ¡°He¡¯s as powerful as your master, or close.¡±


    For one, terrifying second Ensharia thought the magus might refuse. Then she saw a trickle of fear and caution colour his eyes. He nodded, seeming reluctant, but decided.


    An instant later, the Toxicologist was on them again. This time he prioritised Falls as his target, clawing for him with fingers suddenly boasting curled talons like the limbs of a falcon. Ensharia saw the air ripple, then give as they bit through her ally¡¯s shields, but the thickened atmosphere slowed them enough for her mace to come in for Kraika¡¯s temple. The alchemist ducked, backing away, then leaping as another jet of wind shot for his belly.


    Ensharia was ready for him when he came down, swinging just right to ensure that the mace was centred on his body from every direction. He moved left, lurching aside just the instant before impact, and moving too little to fully escape its path. His heels left the ground, then the wall became his ground as he struck it sidelong and devastatingly.


    It had been Falls, of course. Ensharia¡¯s arms lacked the strength to hurl a man so hard, and the magus demonstrated his own capacity a second time as he sent the alchemist sprawling far along the floor dozens of feet from them both. Turning back to her, his eyes were wide as he spoke with a growl.


    ¡°Run, now.¡±


    She didn¡¯t need telling even that once, Ensharia and Falls backed away together, making a hasty path for the nearest exit. In their case, a window. As she recalled it was a steep fall to the ground outside, a hundred feet perhaps. She¡¯d hit the ground hard from a height like that, but not hard enough to be injured unless she was unlucky, and with Falls following suit the odds of harm would be slim indeed.


    Footsteps shook the world behind them, and Ensharia risked a glance. The alchemist was in hot pursuit, body now coated with thick scales, legs now bulging with unnatural vascularity. It didn¡¯t take more than a glance to know he was faster than either of them, and would be on them soon. She conveyed as much to Falls.


    ¡°Take a pause, we need to ready ourselves to fight him off again.¡± She advised. ¡°He¡¯ll be fighting quickly, his body can¡¯t take his drugs forever, so if we buy time we win.¡±


    Falls glared at her, face twisting, but nodded. They both stopped, turned, and readied themselves to fight the man back.


    Four times they succeeded in turning him back. Falls kept Ensharia warded with thick walls of air, while she focused on attacking and taking the brunt of their enemy¡¯s attacks. An alchemist could not match the physical potence of a true warrior, not on average, and so despite the exceptional difference in experience and power between them, her physicality was not so far inferior to his. With magic and might combined, they had a chance. Of escaping if nothing else.


    But it was Falls again who ruined their rhythm and broke their cycle. On the fifth attack, Ensharia ordered him to ward her whilst she went straight for a swing. The magus refused with a snarl.


    ¡°Enough of this, I¡¯m not following some fucking woman¡¯s orders, sit back and let me take care of it.¡± Her ears popped from the atmospheric distortion as Falls called on every scrap of his magic, the kind of power she¡¯d been trained not to fight against with anything less than a dozen other Paladins helping. It might have been comforting, but Ensharia had seen too much of Kraika the Toxicologist to feel anything but dread as Falls reared his magic up to meet the man ahead of her.


    Wind came down like a guillotine, and Kraika dodged. It shifted to a horizontal attack, which he leapt over, then continued into a roll as rubble that had been broken from the walls during the previous misses was accelerated at his back. Obviously there had been some sensory enhancement to the man, for he seemed impossible to surprise.


    Falls backed off, and Ensharia closed to support him, but there was no stopping what came next. The magus¡¯ barriers were smashed apart, his body caught almost directly by a vicious punch, and even from feet back Ensharia could hear the sound of his ribs breaking clear as day.


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    <hr>


    Silenos¡¯ cannon blew a visceral hole in the swarm of enemies closing in, and allowed him to lunge through it to escape their ranks. By the clear lack of anticipation, they¡¯d not heard about his weapon. That told him that they hadn¡¯t had any further surveillance in Magira to gather word of his battle with Walriq, and that they¡¯d not been informed by either of his companions. It was not, however, particularly useful in the moment.


    He resisted the urge to scan the surrounding area for the Necromancer, knowing he¡¯d not catch sight of her until he was near to death. Wielders of death magic were less suited for direct combat than even Fleshcrafters, it was always better for them to construct others for their fighting.


    This one had done a good job of that, for still fifty undead pursued Silenos too quickly to be avoided for long. He managed a single more shot, aimed at one of the stronger but missing and splitting a lesser foe in half, before they closed.


    Axes, polearms, clubs. Dozens of crude weapons came down on him from dozens of shifting directions. Silenos did his best to cover himself, letting his composited plate weather the impacts, while he sent a tendril of nervous tissue shooting out, probing around until it found what was left of the mangled corpse he¡¯d made moments earlier. Then he extended his magic to it.


    Despite their superhuman strength and heavy weaponry, these enemies were not so deadly as to quickly hurt him. Only the mightiest of them could even scratch his newly armoured body, which meant Silenos could afford to work slowly and carefully.


    Within reason. The Necromancer herself could use shadestuff, no doubt she¡¯d do so if he remained unalert and stationary. Even in an amateur¡¯s hands, nothing but his warform could withstand such destructive magic for long.


    He drew the mass in, converted it to his nitrous blend quickly. Undead were animated by magic, but that magic required certain anchors, most typically internal organs. Silenos had heard of a people to the north-east of House Shaiagrazni¡¯s land who removed the organs before reanimation, storing them in enchanted pots and thus creating a servitor which could not be killed with mere injury. These enemies were not made with such measures.


    Sixty kilograms of biological matter was more than enough for him to produce an explosion of his requirements, and Silenos used the excess to form a shield around himself. The blast went off like the largest of any he¡¯d ever seen before, and as he let his keratinous cocoon fall away, Silenos looked around at the results.


    Everything within ten metres had been, more or less, completely destroyed. The strongest of the undead might have withstood the blast near the edge of that perimeter, which had barely been sufficient to break stone, but both of them had been stood directly beside Silenos when it occurred. In all likelihood, considering the inverse-square law, each had been subjected to overpressure in the range of megapascals or more. He saw traces of them scattered about; an arm here, a scrap of armour there, all ruined beyond repair. There was no sight of the weaker ones, but he would have wagered that they were constituents of the reddish-grey mist swirling around the area on rapid currents of disturbed wind.


    Silenos took a step, finding himself weary. He was in the centre of a crater, easily four or five metres at its deepest, his cocoon clearly having been driven directly downwards. The incline was not easy to traverse with his sudden fatigue.


    Forty kilograms of nitrous explosives were, apparently, approaching his limit. The chemical formula was complex, and Silenos had been rushed in assembling it. He wasn¡¯t at the end of his mana, not even close, but if forced to do that more than once it would be a risk he¡¯d have to consider. Reaching the crater¡¯s edge, he glanced around again to find that every building within dozens of metres was no more, primitive mud and wooden construction surrendering easily to his glorious power.


    It was this fact that made it so easy for Silenos to sight the Necromancer.


    ¡°How old are you?¡± He called out, not truly expecting an answer, but receiving one.


    ¡°Twenty.¡± The woman replied. He examined her. She certainly looked that old, but that hardly proved much. It was uncommon for those of House Shaiagrazni not to perpetuate their own youth well into their centuries. Her black skin made it difficult to make out the slight gradations that might come from natural ageing, but her green eyes and sharp features were aligned into the sort of conceited grin that was rather rare among those accustomed with adulthood.


    Twenty, fascinating.


    ¡°Your talent is impressive.¡± Silenos told her. ¡°I¡¯ve only encountered ten, perhaps a dozen, who are its equal. One of which is myself. How would you care to be taken on as my apprentice?¡±


    A stab caught his guts, and he buried it. Apparently the memories of Adonis still stung, whatever had happened since.


    What stung more, somehow, was the look of derision plastering itself across the Necromancer¡¯s face.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need the tutorship of a petty conjurer.¡± She snorted. ¡°I was trained by the Dark Lord himself, your powers are nothing to his.¡±


    His eye twitched, something Silenos was beginning to learn tended to happen when his regrown emotions were pricked.


    ¡°And what basis do you have for that? If you¡¯d prefer a demonstration, I can give you one with just a few moments and a corpse.¡±


    The woman smiled, more smug than amused.


    ¡°I think not, you¡¯ve already fallen right where I wanted you.¡±


    Silenos heard the scraping of metal against stone, and risked a glance to one side. He saw more undead, of course. Larger, better armoured, shambling towards him with a near-human dexterity and glowing with more magic than any of the ones he¡¯d just bested.


    ¡°Knights.¡± He noted, recalling what he¡¯d read of the new world¡¯s martial elite. And the great battle just one month in the past.


    ¡°Quick, aren¡¯t you.¡± The Necromancer noted. ¡°Yes, Knights. No battle of that scale can have all its corpses found and cremated, when you¡¯re dealing with armies in the hundreds of thousands¡­Some will slip through the cracks. Double when both sides were eviscerated so completely.¡±


    It would not have been hard to find corpses littered about too far and inconveniently for retrieval, and simply on a statistical level, with tens of thousands dead, no small number would have been elites.


    Silenos counted ten Knights, no, eleven. Each one humming with more power even than their living counterparts bore. Their armour was crusted with dirt and buckled, looking very much as if it had been pushed through a vicious fight already, and the wearers moved around as if its weight was nothing at all. He had no doubt they would have an easier time harming him.


    His options were few. Standing and fighting once more was a losing proposition, no doubt the initial assault had simply been a means of finding out what powers he possessed. Trying to flee entirely was better, but Silenos wasn¡¯t certain of his ability to outrun creatures as powerful as these unless he took the time to Fleshcraft himself a body better suited for escape.


    He could buy time by running, however. And time was a commodity he had precious little of. Silenos turned and broke out into a sprint while the enemy were still some ten metres away.


    It was not so far to the castle, a kilometre or slightly less. Silenos was quite confident his new body could cover such distances in under a minute. He was also confident that the enemy would match or exceed that pace, and they seemed unwilling to simply wait their own catching him up. Projectiles began to whip by him quickly and jaggedly, taking chunks out of walls and trees where they missed him.


    Arrows, made of solid metal. Silenos wasn¡¯t certain what propelled them, and was not left to ponder it long before one caught his shoulder. It bounced harmlessly from the composited plates, but left him stumbling nonetheless, allowed the gap to shorten between him and the enemy. Made their next shots easier to land.

 Chapter 19

    Withstanding such impacts forever was a losing proposition, and being downed entirely was death. Silenos did not intend to permit either. He Fleshcrafted as he ran, producing venting ports on the sides and back of his body similar to the ones he¡¯d used to stabilise himself during his early cannon experiments. The process took only a few moments, and once finished he put them to use instantly.


    His first detonation of blasting oil sent him fully two metres ahead, the second sent him sidelong, with a third maintaining his momentum. A volley of projectiles missed him entirely, and Silenos made further use of his new trick.


    Stride by stride, explosive leap by explosive leap, the castle drew nearer. Silenos was soon hurling himself inside and hurrying through the halls.


    Evidently, the place¡¯s defences had been largely expended on trying to kill his companions earlier, because there was little resistance, attempted or otherwise, as the undead pursued him through its halls. He followed the path indicated by memory, drawing himself at last to the hall in which he had first encountered The Hand and the Godblade. Luck was on his side, because the mangled corpses of the guards who¡¯d tried to halt his pursuit remained.


    Silenos put them to good use.


    Reanimation could be done in many ways, but a caster of his calibre needed only touch and focus. At least for bodies as weak as these. Silenos estimated he had perhaps twenty metres separating him and his enemies still, which did not leave time for dallying. He extended chords of nerve tissue from his hands, impaling each of the scattered corpses as he did, Fleshcrafting their bodies back into functionality even as the necromantic energies flooded into them.


    Likewise, he split his focus. Searching the Abyss for suitable forces with which to imbue them.


    It was very, very rare for an undead to be inhabited by their own previous soul, and House Shaiagrazni had learned that some souls were stronger than others. Silenos searched now for those of killers, of saviours, of heroes and pit-fighters. He scraped the Abyss for congealed warfare, and emptied it out into the empty vessels of the dozen or so carcasses lying at his feet.


    By the time Silenos¡¯ undead were rising, twitchy and spasmodic, to a stand, the enemy was already upon him. His cannon screamed, blasting a hole the size of a fist through one of the undead and leaving perforated entrails to spill out over its legs. It kept coming however, and Silenos recognised more would be upon him before he could ready another shot. He fired the blasting oil from his backports, surprising the enemy with a tackle that left bones breaking against the keratin of his shoulder-plates, then aimed again and decapitated the foe before it could recover.


    One dead enemy was a start, but he saw his battle was going poorly even with that advantage.


    An undead knight was sent stumbling as a fist caught its head, impacting with such force that the knuckles broke and the steel buckled. It replied by cramming its polearm through the enemy¡¯s chest, then twisted it free. Another one was being wrestled by two of Silenos¡¯ undead at once, skull slowly popped from the socket of its spine by brute strength while it failed to free itself, elsewhere he saw one of his reanimates deprived of a head in one hammer swing.


    Equipment and armour made the difference here. Silenos¡¯ side had the numbers, and they certainly had more raw physical prowess, but such things were easily overcome by their being either unarmed or wielding weapons too fragile and shoddy to withstand their users¡¯ power.


    Silenos was quick to turn his own power into helping. He fired his cannon again, this time aiming for legs and heads, closing in to shoot from the shortest distance possible and maximise his odds of a hit. Where the projectiles found undead flesh, they ruined it. One, two, three enemies disabled in twice as many shots. Even still, the flow of the battle moved against him.


    The rotating skull finished its movement with a sharp crack, another enemy Knight was paralyzed by a stolen polearm crunching down into the back of its head. Meanwhile, Silenos¡¯ dozen servitors were hacked apart. By the end of it all he stood alone once more, surrounded by five reanimates and a smirking Necromancer.


    ¡°I over-prepared.¡± The woman grinned. ¡°I came here expecting you¡¯d unleash that form you used in the siege, the one that could bite off a Beladonnan Puppeteer¡¯s head and weather the strikes of Dullahan. I planned to delay you, at best, and here you are at my mercy.¡± As she spoke, more undead funnelled in from behind her, a third trap that would never be sprung simply because Silenos had been too weak to make it necessary. He saw the magic in these ones, recognising them instantly. Two liches and three Necrotic Gladiators, any one of which might have been a test for his dozen reanimates alone. It almost distracted him from following the implication of her words.


    So she had been at the siege, and Silenos had doubtless destroyed the undead she¡¯d spent more time on during it. That explained why she¡¯d come to fight him with only the ones crafted from local corpses, caution about losing the remainder of her prepared forces.


    ¡°It seems a Necromancer is still a Necromancer, you should have taken more measures to protect yourself.¡± Her hands raised, shadestuff coiling around them. Silenos felt himself taken by a new emotion.


    Impotent, bitter fury.


    <hr>


    Ensharia had come to find that the Heroes were not as unstoppable as she¡¯d once believed, and that discovery was, perhaps, responsible for the shock that took her at how easily Kraika the Toxicologist overpowered her.


    He was toying with her, she saw. And that alone already conveyed much. Cats did not play with food larger than mice, humans did not amuse themselves in a battle with their life on the line. That her enemy could afford to take her so lightly, despite his clear experience, demonstrated an insurmountable separation of power between them.


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    But she was a Paladin, fighting against such gaps was what her people did.


    Ensharia¡¯s mace flew like a falcon, and missed like a blind man¡¯s swing. Kraika was under it, then he was beside her as she tried to reposition, lashing out with some curiously shaped dagger with an oddly thick blade and a hollow tip to its edge. The blade missed her, and she saw liquid flick out of it, realised in an instant that the weapon was a delivery system for some poison or drug, then felt the air leave her as a heel crunched into her broken breastplate.


    Her back hit the wall, she dove aside as Kraika jabbed at her again, then rolled to her feet. Ensharia was swinging, dodging, even screaming after a moment, limbs animated by something bestial and terrified.


    Then he clipped her wrist. It wasn¡¯t a deep gash, barely a cut, but she felt the toxic fluids enter her in an instant, then her fingers were seizing up. The mace fell from Ensharia¡¯s hand, her arm dropped to her side, her knees began to tremble and drool started leaking from her half-open mouth. She tried to retreat, couldn¡¯t. Tried to hit the Toxicologist, and failed to even lift an arm. She tried to remain standing but found herself drawn inexorably closer to the ground underfoot, body surrendering in spite of the silent protests of will and intellect.


    Kraika¡¯s brown eyes were like empty pits as they met hers, his face a needle-sharp mask of bemused cruelty and malice. Ensharia could barely even breath, so deeply was the poison seeping.


    ¡°I should¡¯ve used a weaker blend.¡± The man sighed. ¡°I¡¯d expected to fight two people on Falls¡¯ level, a Paladin that strong would still be moving.¡±


    His words were a sharper and deeper wound than any Ensharia had yet felt today, and they brought tears of frustration to her eyes. She couldn¡¯t even lower her gaze, paralyzed as she was. Only watch as the knife slowly moved for her throat.


    ¡°Might as well finish things now then and link back up with my Master.¡± The man- the undead- breathed, then pressed the knife¡¯s edge against her neck.


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    The voice came out without any strain of a shout to it, but the sheer volume was enough to instantly snap both Ensharia and Kraika¡¯s focus to the source. And it was certainly a source to behold.


    At first, she did not recognise King Galukar. He had grown to be an inch or two taller than even Silenos¡¯ newly increased height, standing bare-chested and clad below the waist only in sleeping wear. His exposed skin was not wrinkled and withered, however, but rather smooth and glinting, pulled taut by the subdermal press of muscles that now bulged quite unlike any she¡¯d ever seen. His hair spilled down to his shoulders like a black mane, his eyes were narrowed for battle, and his face was every bit as strong and handsome as the noble Knights from a story she might have heard in her childhood.


    In the King¡¯s right hand, he held the Godblade. Ensharia took a moment to recognise it, for the weapon almost looked normal-sized. Galukar¡¯s fist was the size of a boulder, closed tight about his sword¡¯s handle, and the four-foot length of iron erupting from its guard was hardly unusual compared to the proportions of his form. He moved forwards, twisting his wrist, bringing the weapon around as if it weighed nothing at all. Ensharia had an instant to marvel at the strength involved before his first swing came.


    Easier to see a crossbow bolt in flight than to catch the movement of his weapon in the air, and easier to halt the crumbling of a cliff face than withstand it. Kraika did the only thing he could have, leaping back from the swing.


    It was a near-miss, even still, and Ensharia saw the Toxicologist desperately drawing a new vial to toss at his enemy. Galukar sidestepped it, bringing the Godblade around in an arc so wide it threatened to intersect with the ceiling. Ensharia almost warned him of it, certain she was about to see the man¡¯s blow interrupted and body caught in the resultant opening. Instead, the cold iron clove right through the stone above it like a normal blade carving through thickets. It was barely even slowed as it came down on Kraika, this time catching the man¡¯s outer calf as he threw himself from it.


    Ensharia had seen glancing blows from sword swings before, but the Godblade was no normal sword. Through sheer weight and breadth it tore a jagged gash down Kraika¡¯s leg and left the ugly wound weeping a putrid reddish black blood in a long trail as he scrambled farther back.The display seemed only to draw Galukar in faster.


    Acids spilled out of some strange ventilator on Kraika¡¯s person, forming a deadly mist that the Godblade dispersed with a single wind-shearing weep, then Galukar was marching back after him. This, Ensharia realised, was the battle of a warrior and an alchemist in close quarters. No sort of true battle at all.


    Obviously Kraika realised it too, because his scrambles for escape only grew more frantic. He seemed to hurl every little thing on his person as he backed away, until the hallway was alight with chemical reaction and his feet were fast and blurry under him.


    Galukar pursued, like a hunting hound after a rabbit. His musculature moved in great rippling waves with every step, hair whipping behind him as his pace accelerated, and the two had disappeared around a corner almost before she knew what was happening.


    <hr>


    Silenos readied himself for the finishing blow, a mass of shadestuff that, imperfectly conjured though it was, would likely have eaten through an iron door. He was tense, coiled, ready to leap aside even while knowing that he¡¯d be bowled over and held by the woman¡¯s servitors to ensure her attacks hit. Curious. Would he have given up, had his emotions still been absent? He couldn¡¯t know.


    And he didn¡¯t find out what his last moments with them would be like, either, because before the attack could come he heard the sound of thunderous footsteps on the stone behind him. The genuine surprise upon the Necromancer¡¯s face was near-impossible to fake, and so he turned to follow her gaze at the risk of an attack from behind.


    An undead was sprinting towards them, though new. By the flawlessness of its body and the ease of its movements, Silenos could tell it had been reanimated almost at the exact moment of its death. The thing chasing it, however, was closing in nonetheless.


    Galukar was recognizable only by the Godblade clutched in one ludicrously sized hand, and Silenos¡¯ own preternatural reactions scarcely gave him a moment¡¯s warning before the chase was upon him.


    Everything happened with remarkable speed after that. The newly arrived undead rushed past him, while the Necromancer abandoned her attack on him and chose instead to tear her way through a wall before slipping through it. Her servitors followed suit as one, but despite the exit being barely large enough for a normal man, Galukar wasn¡¯t impeded by it at all.


    ¡°Wait.¡± Silenos called out, jaggedly. The giant paused for only an instant. ¡°I¡¯ll accompany you.¡±


    Before Galukar could reply, footsteps rang out along the hall for a second time. Silenos looked over to see Ensharia hurrying over.


    ¡°Falls.¡± She gasped, seeming to wrestle herself for every word. ¡°He¡¯s¡­Injured, Silenos, you need to help him.¡±


    They needed to take care of this enemy now, before she could beat them to the fourth Hero. Each one she found first would be another powerful enemy alongside her, and one less ally on their own side. Silenos found his decision quickly.


    ¡°Lead me to him.¡± He ordered, and the Paladin sprinted off to do just that.

 Chapter 20

    She had understated things, Silenos found. Falls was dying, and yet the particulars of his demise were grizzly even measured against the deaths Silenos himself had seen over the years.


    He was no stranger to the breaking down of human tissues, most of his knowledge had, after all, come from human experimentation. It was uncommon for a Shaiagrazni Fleshcrafter not to hone their skills by testing enhancements or toxins upon the bodies of prisoners before risking their own wellbeing. Still, the fate befalling his companion now was transcendentally gruesome.


    Ribs were broken all down the left of his side, fractures severe enough that shards of bone made themselves visible where they protruded through the meat. There was little bleeding visible on the outside, but Silenos had long since mastered enough of human anatomy to know that the man¡¯s ichor would be spilling and clogging tissues beneath his skin. And that was the least of his concerns.


    The boy¡¯s veins were turning black as whatever esoteric toxins he¡¯d been stupid enough to let inside him did their work, already emulsified throughout his blood and acting quickly to assassinate cells wherever it was carried. There was no time to stop the spread, blood could circulate a human body in only one minute and had doubtless carried the venom to every inch of Falls¡¯ already. Silenos had to counteract the substance itself, or his companion would die.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Silenos glanced up, surprised to see Falls¡¯ lips moving slightly, his eyes staring unfocused out into nothing, his throat convulsing with the effort of turning breath into words. ¡°I¡­Don¡¯t¡­Want to die¡­¡±


    A tear rolled down the boy¡¯s cheek, fearful, disbelieving. Silenos was reminded by that single milli-scale volume of bodily fluid how young the magus was, how raw the world must have felt to him. Had he ever been inexperienced enough for fear of death to hit him as such a primal force? Silenos could hardly remember.


    ¡°You won¡¯t.¡± Ensharia whispered, reaching out to take the magus¡¯ hand without a moment¡¯s hesitation. Silenos appreciated that, it distracted the writhing slab of meat attached to it from moving around in response to his ministrations, and made what would come next easier.


    The first thing Silenos did was fray the delicate nerves responsible for carrying sensations of pain through Falls¡¯ body. Those would be his biggest obstacle, and he¡¯d not get another chance to remove them than the momentary distraction Ensharia was providing. His subject spasmed in responsive agony to the pain of having so much destroyed so quickly, but that pain was the last he would feel.


    Instantly Silenos felt an unexpected resistance, and it took his arcane sight to realise why. The toxins in Falls¡¯ body defied identification, but more than that they defied even the blind, organic deconstruction that all Fleshcrafters could apply to living tissue even ignorant of its nature.


    There was a potent magic interwoven within it, intensifying its effects and keeping them from being opposed by external powers. Silenos had seen such things before, usually by Necromancers, sometimes by other Fleshcrafters. He¡¯d yet to encounter it in the new world.


    A smile threatened to form across his face. He did so like a challenge, on occasion.


    Silenos¡¯ mind came for the toxins as a horde of locusts, eager and hungry for the crops growing from Falls¡¯ lifeforce. They transfigured before he could devour them, shifting to camouflaged lizards awaiting his probing power to draw it in. He became a bird, razored eyesight picking the enemy out and talons skewering them like kebabs, and then his prey became a den of gargantuan arachnids, snatching his diving hunters in thumb-thick limbs and digesting them to death amid a hail of squawking and disconnected feathers.


    Magic was not a thing of pure rationality, however much knowledge could help its application in the real world. Silenos had not practised the art of such wholly arcane wrestling in an age, and he felt rusty synapses fire off with a new vigour as he sharpened himself even while doing so.


    The birds became snakes, crushing the arachnids, which turned likewise into mammals of skin so loose and constitution so hardy that venomous fangs yielded no threat at all. His snakes were felines, then, gnashing apart throats, and then they were met by still greater ones. Tigers, muscled and terrible, then, as if to anticipate him, captive-bred ligers of hybrid strength and gigantism.


    But Silenos¡¯ enemy had betrayed himself in such an escalation, for though this toxin of his was clever, it was as ignorant as all other savages of the new world. There were deadlier things than any beast.


    Silenos¡¯ will became a virus, sub-microbial and voracious as it infested the toxin¡¯s metaphysical blood and consumed cells from within. He detected a pause as the foreign magic attempted to adjust, too simple to realise that it simply lacked the will and cognition to comprehend a war on such scales as was being conceptualised. Silenos took the chance to bypass it whilst it still wrestled with his knowledge, splitting his focus to extend their war onto a physical, purely biological front.


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    In that regard, it was still remarkable. The venom was not a killing thing, not wholly, which was doubtless the only reason Falls¡¯ merely human immune system had withstood it for so long. As far as Silenos could tell it was a neurally-targeted construction made to maximise pain and suffering, stepping past mere physical agony, though there was no small portion of that involved, to induce a sort of delusional depression in whoever it affected. He actually took notes as he worked to denature the crudely-worked proteins making up its structure, finding himself rather admiring the cruelty involved in its manufacture.


    Cruelty was not a substitute for skill, but there was plenty of that too. Just not enough to stave off the intellect of a man trained by House Shaiagrazni.


    Once Silenos was certain he¡¯d extricated every scrap of the toxin from Falls, he turned his focus to the damage left in its wake. There had been surprisingly little, another testament to the intent of its creator that he be left to suffer an extended death rather than perish quickly, but Silenos still hastened to fix what little remained. He didn¡¯t leave it at that, however. There was an opportunity there.


    Humans, as a general rule, disliked having their bodies changed against their will, and Falls had seemed similarly reluctant as most of the new world¡¯s residents to have his form be made more efficient by Silenos¡¯ hand. Which meant that anything done would have to be subtle.


    He focused on genetic alterations rather than physical ones, changing the fundamental blueprints of Falls¡¯ body to ensure that it would simply recreate itself over time. Organically-woven ceramics to replace bone minerals with substances an order of magnitude stronger, lengthened myelin sheaths along nervous tissues, muscular fibres altered into twisted, compressive shapes with a far greater contractile distance. None of it would be immediately apparent, but over time Falls¡¯ cells would be replaced and his body reworked by all the processes that allowed for exercise or excess to produce changes of their own. Silenos added a finishing touch of select proteins added into the fibres of skin and soft tissue.


    Given time, his companion would be more durable than any normal human. He could only hope that made him last a shade longer the next time he was stupid enough to fight something in such excess of his own power.


    ¡°It¡¯s done.¡± Silenos sighed, leaning back and finding himself overcome by a sudden¡­Weariness? No, he¡¯d not been focusing for so long, and hardly bored in doing so. Perhaps it was simple irritation. Whatever the emotion, it left him strangely hollowed.


    The sensation was curiously mitigated by Ensharia¡¯s eyes, practically inflating as she stared at him.


    ¡°He¡¯ll live?¡± She asked, hope brimming from her as might sulphurous fumes from the pit of a volcano.


    ¡°He¡¯ll live.¡± He confirmed. ¡°And won¡¯t be so long in recovering, either, though there may be some long-term effects. I had to take certain measures to heighten his resistance against the toxin, or else risk him succumbing to it.¡±


    A blatant lie, but not one Silenos imagined Ensharia would ever possess the arcane or biological knowledge to recognise.


    She nodded, seeming to swallow it easily enough, then gently scooped Falls into her arms.


    ¡°I should take him to¡­Rest, he needs rest, yes?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Silenos confirmed. ¡°Go and find one of the guestrooms, I suppose, if someone challenges you on placing him there, direct them to me.¡±


    He¡¯d expended a bit of biomass in the fighting, and already made use of forbidden magics obviously enough. Silenos might as well take the opportunity to replenish himself before leaving the castle if it was there.


    Once Ensharia was gone, however, he found himself called on. The sheer novelty of such things had worn off rather quickly after his entrance into the new world, monarchs were prone to the habit after all, but Silenos found himself no less curious at the latest instance. It was, after all, a summons from the famous King Galukar.


    The man received him in his throne room, and Silenos had to admit he cut an impressive figure. Great statues adorned the far walls of the rooms, though did not succeed in fully dwarfing their owner as he seated himself upon a great chair of hewn stone. Beside him was the Godblade, which Silenos now took the chance to properly study with his arcane sight.


    As expected, its magic was a force. Not beyond his, not quite, but considerable nonetheless. He knew of perhaps three Shaiagrazni casters with the skill and power required to make such an artefact, and possibly only one whose work would have retained that much potency for millennia. The King seemed a match for it, and upon closer inspection Silenos saw that, despite his not touching the weapon, no small fraction of its magic was flowing through him, hardening and strengthening his body like piezoelectrics stiffening in answer to a current.


    ¡°Caster.¡± The King¡¯s booming voice rang out, bouncing from the far walls like cannon fire. Silenos nodded, but did not bow. He held his silence, waiting to hear what the King had to say.


    Galukar stood up before speaking, and began to talk only as he started down the steps leading up to his throne, closing in on Silenos one loping stride after another. Just as he came to within arms¡¯ reach, he struck.


    Silenos had done fine work on repairing his body after the battle ended, restoring the integrity of its composite exoskeleton. It was for this reason that he felt an indescribable shock run through him at the feeling of those same, thick plates cracking apart beneath the King¡¯s knuckles. His feet were snatched from the ground, and the wind ran in his ears faster than if he¡¯d rode a steam locomotive downhill at full throttle.


    His body found a stone pillar to impede its flight, and for one moment he actually thought the bone-chilling crack that ran out came from him rather than the inferior architecture he¡¯d impacted.


    The floor caught him, and Silenos groaned while his head spun and chunks of rock rained down upon him from the torso-sized dent left in the surface above. The King was standing over him before he could rise.


    ¡°You resurrected my men.¡± He spat. ¡°Using your foul magics. Your Necromancy. The Paladin has spoken well of you, and you continue to draw breath on her good word alone, but let me be clear right now when I say that if I ever catch you doing such a thing to my subjects again, I will tear the head from that scrawny neck and crush it like an egg between my hands.¡±


    The head in question was alight with thought, conclusions being drawn before King Galukar had even finished speaking, and Silenos considered each one as carefully as he¡¯d spent his decades learning to.

 Chapter 21

    He was being threatened, which itself told Silenos that the King was preparing to cooperate. One did not give such ultimatums to a man one had no intention of further interacting with. That he¡¯d had a hand raised to him, however, could not be forgiven. Any man fool enough to strike a Shaiagrazni would find the limits of human cruelty extended before him, that had been the case for millennia before Silenos had even been born.


    But he did not now live in the lands of House Shaiagrazni, and it was not a normal man who had struck him.


    If Silenos fought King Galukar, he would find himself disadvantaged. In close quarters, without his war form, there would be a scarce chance of victory. He could certainly buy time enough to flee and absorb the necessary external biomass to meet his enemy with all of his power, and yet even that would cause issues.


    Galukar was a proud king, a warrior king, and such kings would only be further enraged if retaliated against. He was considering Silenos a potential ally, and that might be changed if he had his pride crushed before him.


    Threats were another option, a simple demonstration of power, and yet that too ran the risk of causing a prick of the ego and an escalation of the conflict. Silenos ran through one option after another, trying to find some way of asserting himself without compromising the alliance he¡¯d come to Abaritan in search of.


    He found none.


    Silenos swallowed, both the salty blood in his mouth and the bitter fury mounting in his throat. It was an irksome compromise that he had to accept the emotional stabs in order to enjoy the intuitive empathy that had served him so well in his assessment.


    ¡°Understood.¡± He replied, after a moment, but did not look away from the King. ¡°You will be accompanying us as Ensharia asked, then?¡±


    Irritation sparked upon Galukar¡¯s face. Silenos let himself enjoy it, however disadvantaged he¡¯d found himself by circumstance, he could at least remain certain he¡¯d find little intellectual rivalry in this world.


    ¡°I will be accompanying you.¡± Galukar spat, literally spat, though not at Silenos. ¡°My Hand was left alive, I noticed. Did you do that on purpose?¡±


    Silenos said nothing, and the King¡¯s lip curled.


    ¡°Casters, you¡¯re all snakes.¡± He sneered. ¡°In any case he¡¯ll be remaining in control of Abaritan in my absence. He¡¯s a traitor, and I¡¯m having him whipped as a traitor, but¡­He¡¯s the only one beside myself and my sons who¡¯s established enough in our city to take command without disrupting things. And my people have suffered enough already.¡±


    Silenos saw a flicker of half-buried emotion at mention of the King¡¯s sons, but there was otherwise no chink in his armour of idiocy besides that. He tucked all of the information briskly away into his memory, nodded to show he¡¯d comprehended, then stood.


    ¡°Will that be all?¡± Silenos asked, enjoying the seemingly perpetual fury upon Galukar¡¯s face.


    ¡°Yes, damn it.¡± The man growled. ¡°It will be all.¡±


    Silenos took his leave without another word, finding himself rather eager to be out of the giant, fist-throwing barbarian¡¯s presence. He was beginning to grow tired of being ambushed, beginning, almost, to regret his pursuits of magic. Beginning to look forward to the day when he¡¯d have the luxury of preparing his forces the way he had for House Shaiagrazni.


    But his pondering was interrupted as he stepped out through the doors and found Ensharia awaiting him beyond them, her eyes on the floor, her arms folded with hidden nerves. Her armour as ruined as it had been when she first brought news to him of Falls.


    Any other time Silenos might have expected another lecture from the Paladin, but she seemed somehow past such things now. He weighed her in silence, deciding to simply wait for her to speak and see where it took them both.


    ¡°I would like you to¡­Improve my power.¡± Ensharia said at last, mumbling the words so quietly that even Silenos¡¯ augmented ears strained to pick them out. He didn¡¯t let his gaze waver.


    ¡°And this will not be something you change your mind on later?¡± He asked, rather eager to avoid the inconvenience of having her commit suicide in a dysphoric frenzy. She nodded, then raised her eyes to his.


    Silenos could see a certainty burning behind them, the one that seemed to imbue all other things Ensharia did. He knew there would be no second thoughts on this one¡¯s behalf.


    ¡°Very well then, but I must attend to something first. Meet me beside Falls¡¯ resting chambers.¡±


    The matter demanding Silenos¡¯ focus was securing a rider, and he was careful to threaten the Hand into getting him the fastest one possible. It did not take too long, Necromancers had a way of intimidating the new world¡¯s denizens that went beyond any tangible power.


    With that seen to, he met Ensharia in their agreed upon place, and found the woman in the room beside Falls¡¯. Her armour had been removed, and much of the clothing beneath that, revealing a body of hardly cloven musculature covered only by her undergarments. He could tell she was embarrassed at the exposure, which begged a rather important question.


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    ¡°Why did you remove your apparel?¡±


    She blinked, stared at him, then stared at the wall as her face slowly began to turn red with pooling blood.


    ¡°You need to¡­It¡¯s like a medical procedure, right, like a chirurgeon¡¯s treatment?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Silenos told her. ¡°I just need physical contact and I can observe every facet of your body at once, would you like to-¡±


    ¡°-Turn around.¡± She demanded, standing and reaching for her discarded clothes where they were neatly piled beside her. Silenos did so, waiting patiently for her to finish clothing, then turned back around.


    Ensharia looked rather like she¡¯d just found out what sexual intercourse was from her parents, whilst watching a demonstration. Silenos wished he had less pressing issues and less grim moods concerning him, any other time he might have enjoyed the emotional distress Instead he just started forwards.


    ¡°Sit.¡± He advised. ¡°This will take some time.¡±


    She did not flinch as Silenos¡¯ hands came down upon her shoulders, nor as his presence probed the insides of her body for points of improvement. That made things easier. The process of a large-scale, permanent Fleshcrafting always started with a proper survey of the body in its original state, for good reason. The human form was a fiendishly complex machine, however inefficient it was, and there were thousands of potential points of failure that an ignorant, hasty or stupid Fleshcrafter might trip upon to ruin their work.


    He mapped each one out, making notes of the places in which Ensharia¡¯s proportions differed from a conventional human form, then got to work. His first focus was the muscle fibres, and it was here that Silenos found one of his hypotheses confirmed. Though he extended more than enough power to improve Ensharia¡¯s body, reshaping the tissue just as he had Falls¡¯, he found the changes coming slowly, awkwardly and tediously.


    The magic that made her stronger, faster and more durable than would otherwise have been possible, clearly, had the secondary effect of interfering with efforts to Fleshcraft her. Silenos took a moment to acknowledge the issue, then compensated for the resistance by simply flooding Ensharia with mana.


    She gasped, quivered in shock, and he felt a stab of annoyance.


    ¡°Hold still.¡± Silenos instructed her. He sensed embarrassment in the woman¡¯s voice as she replied.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry but¡­It stings. Like sitting next to a bonfire.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s your own fault for having a body that interferes with the application of my genius.¡± Silenos replied, calmly, ¡°Now hold still and stop interfering more.¡±


    He could sense her annoyance, but it did not go so far as to manifest as further inconvenience. Ensharia slowly stilled as he continued his work.


    ¡°The next Hero, tell me about them.¡± Silenos instructed, just as he moved his work onto the woman¡¯s nerves. ¡°It seems there is a considerable chance we will be meeting them in combat, and I would like to ensure we do so with prior knowledge of their capabilities.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Ensharia answered, seeming to have calmed somewhat as the procedure continued. ¡°His name is Swick the Swift. Or rather, that¡¯s the name he¡¯s most commonly known by at least.¡±


    ¡°His powers, capabilities, resources?¡± Silenos prodded.


    ¡°A translocator.¡± Ensharia replied. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you know-¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± Silenos noted, finding himself suddenly less confident in their mission. Translocation magic was more than just known to him, it was one of the most infamous and challenging kinds that had ever existed. The power to disappear and reappear elsewhere within an instant had been known to only a handful of House Shaiagrazni over the course of their history.


    Ensharia sounded hesitant as she spoke next.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± The Paladin asked, and Silenos found himself redoubling his efforts, irritated. He¡¯d been concerned, thinking back to his last encounter with a translocator, and it irked him to have her notice something was off so quickly.


    ¡°It¡¯s a difficult magic to contend with.¡± Was all he said.


    ¡°But a useful one to get on our side.¡± Ensharia noted. Silenos paused, then hummed, acknowledging the point. It concerned him slightly how his emotions were affecting him, these days. It was quite unlike him, and very unbecoming of a Shaiagrazni, to spend so long concerned over a potential enemy, rather than plotting to seize the potential asset.


    That it was worth considering the advantages of Swick¡¯s aid did not mean it was worth jeapordizing their mission to obtain it, however. In all likelihood the Necromancer would reach him before they did, given her seemingly superior travel speed.


    Silenos moved onto Ensharia¡¯s bones, replacing them with the same organic carbides he¡¯d sustained Falls with, reworking the marrow to produce antitoxins, then adding a dozen other small advantages that might make the difference between life and death.


    ¡°What does he do, then. You have told me of this Swick¡¯s magic and abilities, but not of his profession, allies, skills or anything else.¡±


    She told him shortly. A sky pirate, furthering the recurring trend of new world names being loathsomely uncreative, and one of some renown. Swick was famously fast, famously cunning, and infamously crooked. Along with his crew. He had all the markings of one who would be more than a little tedious to track down.


    Yes, better to pursue the fifth on their list rather than him.


    ¡°I am finished.¡± He finally said, once he¡¯d completed the delicate process of encasing her brainstem and spinal cord in a somewhat thicker protective bone.


    Ensharia pulled away, standing with a thoughtful look as she flexed her fingers and tested her weight.


    ¡°I don¡¯t feel much different.¡± She noted.


    ¡°That is by design.¡± Silenos told her. ¡°I altered your nervous system and motor cortices, essentially adding muscle memory designed for this level of physical potence. Your body has changed in many ways, most slight, some large. It will take time to relearn, but I have given you a head start.¡±


    Only a head start. The human brain was too complex for any precise manipulation of motor neurons to be applied. For now. Ensharia still had many hours of practice and adjustment awaiting her.


    ¡°I would advise you to find someone substantially more powerful than you used to be if you wish for a sparring partner.¡± Silenos advised. ¡°And, on top of that, make sure you hold back. You are several times your previous strength.¡±


    The Paladin looked caught between displeasure and excitement, settling for a dutiful, severe nod. If nothing else, she had a healthy respect for power.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± She replied, and Silenos dismissed her with a gesture.


    ¡°Begone, I have my own work to do.¡±


    She took her leave quickly, and left Silenos with nothing but his own company. Perfect.


    His second direct confrontation had exposed yet more weaknesses, and this time Silenos¡¯ enemy had escaped being killed. They would almost doubtlessly fight again, and he began preparing his countermeasures with outright relish.

 Chapter 22

    The first and most apparent of Silenos¡¯ shortcomings during the ambush by the Necromancer had been a lack of massed killing power. His cannon was a devastating weapon, against singular targets, but its rate of fire was too limited to be functional against larger crowds. Even five or ten enemies at a time were beyond its efficiency. He experimented with several hypothesised fixes.


    Creating an automatic firing mechanism was beyond him. Silenos could, after some time, intuit the ways in which his own world¡¯s gatling guns functioned of course, but those held particular issues for use with Fleshcrafting.


    To chamber several rounds at a time, each one propelled by its own portion of blasting oil, Silenos would need to synthesise chemicals and substances with a combination of sub-second speed and millimetre-scale precision. On top of that, he would have to exactly position each newly crafted bullet within a scaled-down gatling mechanism that had been made small, and thus space-sensitive, enough to fit within the meat of his arm. On top of everything else, he would be doing so while accounting for the fact that the barrels and chambers in which he was carefully placing his projectiles and propellants would all be rotating at high speed, which itself would almost certainly be made variable based on the amount of pressure attached to the walls of the rotating mechanism by surrounding muscle.


    Other options presented themselves, and most were flawed in different ways. A multi-barreled mechanism eventually proved an inferior prospect entirely, as Silenos realised shaping one would force him to spend precious seconds de and reforming his arm if the need arose for him to switch to larger, anti-individual shots. What he needed was a weapon that could fire both powerful armour-piercing projectiles as well as smaller, more numerous ones for crowd control, with no long delay between them.


    It was an archaic idea that finally struck him, but that did not make it a bad one. Silenos shaped the end of his cannon to give it a protruding bell-shape, then made minor tweaks to the rest of its structure. The keratinous material he¡¯d made it from yielded better than steel, and so having it spread outwards by a few degrees was no great exertion. Silenos was ready to test his new design in under a second.


    Sure enough, it worked well. Silenos fired off one shot after another, experimenting with area coverage, velocity, and projectile mass. Soon enough he settled on bullets of a spherical shape, as the barrel¡¯s width and dimensions removed the acceleration advantages typically gained from a longer configuration.


    Around Silenos, the room was made of steel. It had been Ensharia who had told him of the place, and he¡¯d quickly headed down to find that she¡¯d spoken true when describing a chamber fit to test all but his most destructive magics in.


    Dents appeared where organic matter met steel, the metal proving its inferior construction by surrendering easily to Silenos¡¯ work. Fissures centimetres long and deep appeared where the finger-wide projectiles struck, sparks flying as kinetic energy bled into the thermal range.


    The blunderbuss had been invented for a reason, he supposed. Silenos felt a stab of appreciation for the genius of his ancestors. He had always climbed upon their shoulders to pursue his research, wielding the knowledge of Shaiagrazni ancients both living and dead, and now he¡¯d explored yet another facet of his great inheritance.


    All the doubt, the fear, slowly oozed out of him. He¡¯d scarcely even noticed it, but now it was shrinking even from that insubstantial quantity. Silenos had nothing to fear from this world of fools and animals, not when he wielded the knowledge of minds greater than their entire race had yet yielded.


    His next challenge was mobility, and that was an issue half-solved already. Silenos had proven to himself the benefits of propulsion- proven them enough that he almost regretted not further lightening his new body to make it more effective, in spite of the increased effect his cannon¡¯s recoil would thus have- but what he needed was a means of guiding himself. Yet more velocity in his directional launches would hardly hurt.


    Blasting oil was an excellent means of eviscerating otherwise sturdy targets, but it was hardly the only explosive he knew, nor the easiest to use for simple locomotion. Silenos experimented with various other formulas tucked away in his memory, dredging up recipes he¡¯d learned so long ago that he cringed at the inferior mnemonic methods utilised in storing them. The one he landed on was another hydrogen compound.


    It had a low detonation velocity, which suited him perfectly fine, and was near-effortless to produce. A simple blend of hydrogen and oxygen, substances readily supplied by water, let alone the spectrum of atmospheric elements made available to him with every inhalation. More promisingly, he realised its total energy yield was remarkably high.


    By compressing the chemicals prior to detonation, Silenos could ensure that as much of their chemical energy was turned to kinetic discharge as possible. The speed at which this energy would be released removed any threat to his body¡¯s integrity, and the volatility made even the effort of igniting it a point of cost-reduction.


    Soon enough, he was lurching from one end of the hall to the other without even straining his magic, conjuring kilograms of the explosive at once and feeling the wind hit him like a wall as it tossed him around. Silenos made a note to properly test his limits of distance in a more open area, and focused on guidance.


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    That much was easy, nature had long since coined means of gliding once velocity had been obtained. Silenos added crevices to his armoured plates from which sheets of protein-woven tissue could protrude, bound to ceramic frames and maximising both area and lightness to catch the winds. It was far from perfect, but with but a half-metre of protrusion and a few dozen potential points for his guiding fins to emerge, he was confident he had rendered himself capable of almost swimming through the air. With practice, of course.


    His mind and magic being capable of engineering such a thing did not give his body any inherent mastery over its use, stronger casters than he had learned that lesson at the cost of broken bones and leaking veins.


    Indeed, he had learned such lessons too. Twice he¡¯d contested an enemy he was ill-suited to beat, and on the second occasion he¡¯d already had one chance to know better. Named of House Shaiagrazni did not make mistakes often, and should he make one he¡¯d already suffered from before, there would be many of his peers calling for his immediate suicide. They would be right to do so.


    The hydrogen compound¡¯s energy was released largely as heat, which was why it yielded so little kinetic energy outside of gaseous compression which allowed its thermal discharge to be converted into atmospheric motion. That had other uses. Silenos took a while longer experimenting with combinations of carbons and silicons before eventually finding a suitable mix.


    Of course there was an issue, carbon was not nearly so abundant in the air as the elements he¡¯d been previously using in his explosives. Silenos took a while to consider searching for some substitute, however unlikely he found the prospect of stumbling upon one. Then paused.


    Sometimes, even after fifteen decades of life, he could be an idiot beyond description. Virtually all soils had some measure of carbon within them, even those too infertile and barren for life to possibly blossom. Silenos stepped out of his steel chamber and extended a nervous tendril down through the stone of the floor, stopping only as it embedded itself in the dirt beneath the castle. Within moments he found himself able to extract more carbon from it than he could possibly need, and quickly shaped it into the blend he needed.


    After a second of thought, he assembled a target for himself, too. A block of solid keratinous armour just as tall as a human body and twice as thick. Experimentally he fired his cannon into it, finding the smaller, crowd-controlling projectiles bouncing harmlessly from the material, then watching as the larger shot ricocheted violently across the room. By the time its kinetic energy was exhausted, the target had been forced back against the far wall and left with a good handful of cracks. Save for a centimetres-deep crater, however, it remained undamaged.


    That was when he unleashed his newest weapon.


    It was not so hard to adjust his cannon¡¯s internals from its blunderbuss configuration, which already resembled a nozzle more than enough. The hydrogenated propulsion served Silenos¡¯ new purposes perfectly, for a supersonic muzzle velocity would only diffuse his new attack more than was effective, and the additional heat served to ignite his carbon blend as it was fired at just the right velocity to both remove itself from his person before releasing the full extent of its deadly flames, and travel several dozen metres before gravity and air resistance forced it to a stop.


    He watched as his newly-made flamethrower engulfed the statue with thick, viscous fuel. The substance clung to it like tar might, and burned so brightly he knew his eyes would sting to behold the flames, were they not long since polarised against such photonic excess. In mere moments the target started to crack as it absorbed


    Sometimes Silenos pondered the idea of life, where it began, at what place the line in the sand was drawn for his magic to determine something as being either within or beyond the confines of its powers. The incendiary devastation he now bore witness to was not one to beg that question. Its construction was purely inorganic, and thus not something his powers could simply devise directly. Fortunately, indirection was something any good caster became well acquainted with.


    He had worked various bodily cavities within him into glands and organoids capable of forcing the kinds of conditions needed to synthesise his new compound naturally, and the raw materials they required, largely glucose, were things his Fleshcrafting was more than able to provide. It was not as fast as if he made it directly, and thus his new weapon was far from as functionally limitless in ammunition capacity as his cannon, but it was at the very least a new kind of attack. Such things were worth developing, one never knew when an enemy might be unexpectedly resistant to any single one.


    Before him, the keratin statue cracked further, quivered, then collapsed. Bathed in flames just shy of melting iron, the material could hardly have been expected to last much longer. Silenos was almost tempted to take the time to conjure some of the kinds he used in his personal armour, but decided against it. Blends as perfect as that took time and energy to make, and he¡¯d long since verified his own defences would stave off iron-melting heat without failure.


    It was good enough, for now, to know that he could reduce men in plate to mere puddles. That its cohesive properties would let it cling to anything it struck, and that even water would be unable to extinguish it short of completely submerging the stuff and denying it breath. With luck, he¡¯d soon find something deadly enough to expose further shortcomings in the weapon.


    House Shaiagrazni valued innovation and progress above all other things after all.


    Silenos was interrupted as he left the hall by a face which he likely should have expected. Arion Falls, looking much like a man who¡¯d recently spent several hours in a coma.


    ¡°May I speak with you?¡± The boy asked. Silenos considered it well, weighing the infuriating experience of speaking with the primitive against the miniscule chance of missing something worthwhile by not doing so.


    ¡°You may.¡± He nodded.


    Falls was not slow in speaking, thankfully.


    ¡°I heard you healed me.¡± He volunteered.


    ¡°I did, you are valuable to our mission.¡±


    Falls nodded, weighed his answer, looked for a moment like he¡¯d say more, then just nodded again and turned. Silenos did not call him back as he left.

 Chapter 23

    It was a cool morning when they set off, rather than a cold night. The delay came from the newly acquired King Galukar and his tedious aversion to all things Fleshcrafting.


    Silenos had spent the night resting in his room, as had they all. Given, however, that he had long since transcended the mortal requirement of actually sleeping, his own methods of rest were rather more productive.


    His flying machine was a primitive thing, and not truly his own design, but there were already several areas in which it could be improved without its complexity becoming impractical. Silenos saw to these quickly. More secure harnesses to hold its riders, a propeller powered by a ring of coordinated muscular convulsions built at its back, wide wings to stabilise it for slightly sharper turns. By the time he was finished, Silenos was not entirely convinced the vehicle would not be outrunning any living land creature.


    That it was the fastest transportation that existed in Abaritan was no reason for Galukar to accept it readily, however, and it was only after over an hour of cajoling that the King agreed to travel by the ¡°filthy¡± magic. Which more or less sealed their choice on bypassing the fourth hero entirely. Silenos wasn¡¯t certain how the Necromancer was travelling, but he could think of a hundred ways someone of her abilities could cross the continent with otherwise impossible speed. Which meant she could probably think of at least three.


    ¡°If we¡¯re skipping the thief, then Oltick will be our next goal.¡± Galukar noted, confidently. ¡°A real warrior, him, probably better to prioritise his help over some damned sky raider anyway.¡±


    Silenos was not entirely certain the man had buried whatever trauma kept him from wielding his sword at first, and it was replies like that that kept him guessing. They seemed, to him, an unnatural answer born from the desire for a veneer of strength rather than its true presence. He resigned to watch the warlord carefully as they travelled.


    Wind currents posed an interesting factor in their journey, and Silenos found himself modifying the vehicle as they flew to avoid being thrown off-course. Falls, now risen and recovered from his injuries, once again provided the magical propulsion to their journey, yielding a far greater speed now that the vehicle had been constructed to more efficiently catch his conjured winds. They made great progress in crossing the landscape, coming to descend upon their new destination within only a few days.


    They came down together a good horizon away from their destination, all aware that riding in on a Fleshcrafted construct was a poor way to start negotiations with a man known for chivalrous piety.


    Around them the land was rather more rocky than when they¡¯d set off, full of boulders, cliff faces, sheets of gravel or slate. It seemed one could not walk a dozen metres without coming onto another stone protrusion, none of which seemed entirely natural.


    ¡°Never seen Helgra¡¯s grasp?¡± Galukar asked, apparently taking note of Silenos¡¯ interest.


    ¡°I am a magic caster from another world, dragged between the fabric separating dimensions through the use of magic so mighty and potent that men with twice your intelligence and ten times your mental sturdiness have gone mad attempting to comprehend but a single fraction of it.¡± Silenos replied. ¡°No, I have not seen the part of your countryside with slightly interesting rock formations.¡±


    The King looked somewhat put out, at that, eyes narrowing a shade.


    ¡°Well forgive me for assuming the great and mighty magus had some passing knowledge of the place he got himself stuck in.¡± He started walking without another word, leaving Silenos to eye the back of his head and ponder how difficult it would truly be to kill the giant brute when his usefulness finally expired.


    Not as easy as might have been hoped. Silenos resolved to have at least a few grotesqueries with him to be completely sure of an effortless victory.


    They made good time on their walk, three of them with the superhuman speed made possible by innate magic and Fleshcrafted anatomy, Falls by simply assisting himself in the journey with levitating winds. By the time the castle came to within sight, conversation had already moved onto its owner.


    Neither Silenos nor Galukar were expecting much to come from the meeting with him.


    ¡°Sir Oltick was given his position guarding Castle Edmari years ago, and he¡¯s kept to it without failure.¡± The King noted, with a touch of pride to him. ¡°He¡¯s a man of steel and duty, not one to turn away from a task. Not even for a quest as important as ours. Arbite born, you know. As anyone could tell by his valour and chivalry.¡±


    Silenos had gathered that it was surprisingly common for those of magic to be exchanged between nations of the new world, even outside of the magi who so often served kings as scholars and creators. Arbite in particular was famous for its exports of trained, magically-gifted Knights, gaining wealth and prestige by having them claim patches of land in neighbouring kingdoms to defend them on behalf of the nation with which they were transacting.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of Oltick.¡± Ensharia added. ¡°Is it true he bested five hundred orc berserkers single-handedly?¡±


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    ¡°It is.¡± Galukar grinned, proudly. ¡°I dispatched him to do so myself actually, it was a few years ago, now, maybe¡­God, ten in fact. He¡¯d still been Arbitan at the time and it was at the Battle of Grimskull Cove.¡±


    Silenos had read something of that occasion. It had been an attempted invasion from the orcs spurred on by a perceived weakness in nearby human military presence, inspired, of course, by the Dark Lord¡¯s warpath elsewhere.


    Five hundred men being killed by one was not unheard of in this land, the magic that infused muscle and bone made that much easy to see. It was, however, impressive. Orcs were a great deal larger and stronger than most humans, and mildly magical themselves.


    ¡°And you say this man is unflinching in his duty?¡±


    Galukar eyed Silenos as if the very question were somehow an affront to Oltick.


    ¡°More so than any I¡¯ve met before.¡±


    More so than the Hand, then, at least. Silenos did not say it outloud. Nor did he voice the rest of his rapidly congealing thoughts.


    It was not noble to stick so unerringly to an order, regardless of circumstance. If a Shaiagrazni retainer behaved in such ways Silenos would have Fleshcrafted them into a sentient piece of furniture.


    The place called Helgra¡¯s grasp seemed to be grasped ever more as they continued, stony protrusions growing more common with every step closer they drew. Their destination was in sight soon, but viewed only through the gaps between natural monoliths and rocky spears.


    Ensharia gasped, Falls frowned, Galukar gawped and Silenos hummed as recognition ran through him. Castle Edmari was not a match for the architecture he¡¯d seen elsewhere in the new world, and he¡¯d have recognised its millennia-spanning age at a glance even without being told of it beforehand.


    ¡°This area.¡± He began. ¡°It used to be hotter, drier, yes?¡±


    All eyes turned to him, some confused, others impressed.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Falls frowned. ¡°How did you¡­Know?¡±


    Silenos studied the castle. It was an angular thing of boxed proportions, several cuboidal structures linked together by walls, all built both into and around a large outcropping of stone. The structure was a bunker as much as it was a construction, the sure sign of a people whose masonry and architecture had not yet advanced enough to transcend the whims of terrain. Those parts of it that were erected entirely of stone built around the hill, he could see, were considerably younger than the rest.


    ¡°Because this architecture is very similar to a kind once used by my own people.¡± He explained. ¡°I am not a historian, but all of House Shaiagrazni received some knowledge of the finer points regarding dating and historical engineering. It is not hard to extrapolate a climate from the techniques and priorities apparent in this structure.¡±


    Oddly, none of Silenos¡¯ company looked any less impressed. Which was entirely appropriate. He¡¯d have expected savages such as them to have less appreciation for inductive reasoning that they did impossible prescience, but a pleasant surprise was no less enjoyable than a pleasant prediction.


    ¡°Did your people use similar magic?¡± Falls asked, instantaneously. ¡°Edmari Castle can fly, but no-one knows how it does or how to replicate it in other buildings.¡±


    Silenos had heard as much. It was, apparently, part of some international agreement that only one man may guard the castle at any given time, for fear of its secrets being studied, unlocked and replicated enough to forever enhance the art of war. He examined the structure again, this time looking at the arcane rather than the physical.


    He was not beyond surprise, not even Shaiagrazni centuries past his age could claim that much, but after a hundred and fifty years he had found true, soul-shaking shock to be a rarity. The moment Silenos took in the magic of Castle Edmari, he found himself treated to the scarce delicacy it had become.


    Whatever people had crafted the magic of the place, they¡¯d done so with a knowledge of supernaturalism that far exceeded their mastery over the mundane stone and rocks of their world. Silenos found a bonfire of power billowing skyward before him, great enough that its volume far exceeded that of the castle itself, dense enough that even in spite of the sheer scale he found it clearly visible in his sight.


    Silenos made a note to study the place more later on, as every new moment of examination yielded yet another fascination.


    ¡°We did not.¡± He said, not even bothering to hide his excitement. This was new, foreign, novel. Yet there was a logic to it. He could clearly see the workings of genius in how magic was inlaid and ordered about the place, and knew that it would have been explicable to a mind only half his equal. It was power shaped by science, not instinct. And science was the domain of House Shaiagrazni.


    Despite the joy of his new discovery, Silenos soon found himself forced back into the focus of an imminent mission. They reached the gates, allowing themselves inside as Galukar singularly forced the great doors apart, and entered to find an interior kept lit by well-maintained torches, but eerily absent of human habitation.


    ¡°Oltick was always stationed alone.¡± Galukar observed. ¡°Looks like that hasn¡¯t changed. Looks like¡­Like nobody else has been here, that¡¯s promising.¡±


    ¡°Promising appearances are a crucial component to any good trap.¡± Silenos observed, noting that Ensharia was nodding along with him.


    ¡°We¡¯re dealing with a Necromancer.¡± She breathed. ¡°Directly, now. And one who overcame-¡± her eyes flickered to Silenos, but she found no irritation or pricked ego in him. ¡°-Who overcame the Saviour.¡±


    It was a fair thing to bring up, true and accurate. An enemy who could defeat him through ambush, and almost do so again on another occasion, was not to be taken lightly.


    ¡°We¡¯re dealing with a Necromancer who¡¯ll be heading here quickly if she¡¯s not arrived already.¡± Falls noted, his recently off-kilter tone returned to some semblance of normalcy as he applied his mind to the purely logical problem it now faced. ¡°We need to split up.¡±


    ¡°Into pairs.¡± Ensharia suggested. ¡°That way we won¡¯t be entirely vulnerable if this actually is a trap, and, if anything, one group can help free the other should they trip it.¡±


    ¡°That is logical.¡± Silenos noted, before the apeman Galukar could add his own input and poison the conversation. ¡°Time is of the essence, as Falls said, let us move.¡± He started walking as he spoke, and had already cleared five paces before the conversation¡¯s end had fully settled into those taking part. As he¡¯d hoped, the speed with which he¡¯d moved put a premature end to any continuation.


    He resisted the urge to turn even when he heard the footsteps of someone joining him, keeping his eyes forward and holding his silence until he¡¯d turned a corner and was certain that the suggestions had been properly accepted. Then, at last, glanced around to find the face of Arion Falls peering back.


    ¡°Something told me you¡¯d be better than Galukar, even in tight conditions like this.¡± The magus shrugged. Silenos turned back away from him.


    He was not exactly wrong.

 Chapter 24

    The lights did not continue past the first few corridors immediately adjacent to their entrance hall. Silenos considered that an unpromising sign, but not a necessarily damning one. He could envision a man that might leave his entrance illuminated but neglect less-used walkways elsewhere in the place, though such a man would by necessity be unlikely to dwell within the dark areas.


    ¡°Think the lights are gone because the Necromancer beat us here?¡± Falls asked, proving his wits once again by considering the possibility barely seconds after Silenos.


    ¡°It¡¯s likely enough to be wary of.¡± He told him. ¡°Keep your magic ready and stick close to me, my body is sturdier than yours by no small degree.¡±


    Falls swallowed audibly, but seemed to remain calm enough. They took only a few more steps before he spoke again.


    ¡°Silenos-¡±


    ¡°-Call me Master Silenos, esteemed Fleshcrafter of House Shaiagrazni, keeper of the Auburn Flame, Conductor of Arts most Ancient and Lord of Hara¡¯lguanta.¡±


    Falls swallowed irritably, then nodded.


    ¡°Right, apologies. I was asking, though, whether you think you can teach me Necromancy.¡±


    Silenos glanced at him.


    ¡°How do you destroy water?¡± He asked.


    Falls frowned, but was not stupid enough to voice any questions. Obviously Silenos would not ask him something without cause, and Silenos could see the boy struggling to think through why even as he considered an answer to the challenge.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± He said at last.


    Silenos eyed him.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t think to boil it? Freeze it?¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t destroy it.¡± The magus snapped, ¡°Just changes its form.¡±


    ¡°And what of having it absorbed into dirt or sand, creating muddy sludge from it.¡±


    ¡°The water¡¯s still there, just trapped in something else. Is this stupid question supposed to prove something-¡±


    Silenos struck Falls hard, and watched as he took a step back, eyes wide with alarm.


    ¡°Apprentices of House Shaiagrazni do not speak to their masters in such a way.¡± Silenos told him, calmly. ¡°You will have earned that right only on the day where you are a being whose strength makes my taking a hand to you too dangerous to be considered.¡±


    The magus stared, and an entire ecosystem of emotion flitted through his face. Rage, assassinated by calming pragmatism, giving way to spine-rending uncertainty, eaten by a confliction of panic and hope, turning all the way back into rage. But he was a clever man, and so, inevitably, the apex predator proved to be rationality and cognition.


    ¡°...So I¡¯m your apprentice now.¡± He noted, proving his wits and will at once. Thus passing Silenos¡¯ second test.


    ¡°You are.¡± He informed the boy. ¡°Congratulations, and good luck. Only one has ever survived my tutoring for more than a decade before.¡±


    His lip curled. The one in question would spend a thousand years dying for what he¡¯d done after, but not today.


    ¡°So what was the question with the water?¡±


    Silenos blinked, dragged back to the frigid waters of the present by Falls¡¯ demand. He turned to him, considered striking the magus, then decided against it. He couldn¡¯t be bothered.


    ¡°It was to see whether you have the instincts necessary for Necromantic study. An imprecise test, I will admit, but one with a considerable reliability given how quick it is. It has successfully predicted four of every five failures I¡¯ve witnessed.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± Falls frowned.


    ¡°Life, true life, is like water. It cannot be destroyed, only changed from one form to another. Moved, altered, absorbed or boiled. But never destroyed. This is the primal truth that makes Necromancy possible. The vital spark that animates an undead is no different from that which animates a human or animal, it is merely¡­Less precisely placed.¡±


    Falls took a moment to think before replying to that. His answer betrayed everything.


    ¡°Is it possible to keep from dying, forever?¡±


    He¡¯d been shaken, then, by coming so close to the grave. It was a common enough motivator for those seeking to master Necromancy.


    ¡°No.¡± Silenos explained. ¡°But it is possible to come close. I have known Necromancers who lived for millennia, some for so long that their birth predated any coherent records of history existing at all. My own Master was a woman whose mastery began when humanity first learned the smelting of bronze.¡±


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    ¡°And she never died?¡± Falls asked, hopefully. Silenos hesitated.


    ¡°She did.¡± He told the boy. ¡°As I recall, a century prior she choked to death on another woman¡¯s bra after removing it with her teeth, but she had long since installed precautions to keep such ends from being permanent.¡±


    Falls frowned.


    ¡°There¡¯s someone powerful enough to order your master to remove another woman¡¯s bra?¡±


    ¡°She did it voluntarily, for¡­Recreational purposes.¡± Silenos replied, having never quite understood the appeal of sexuality himself. Falls seemed only more confused.


    ¡°Wait, so¡­Two women, with no man? Why would they even bother?¡±


    Silenos decided the conversation had outlived its utility.


    <hr>


    ¡°It¡¯s almost hard to believe.¡± The Paladin girl said, abruptly. ¡°We have you, the Saviour, and now we¡¯re in the castle of Sir Oltick himself. Plus the¡­Other advantages we¡¯ve gotten, I¡­I actually think we might manage to win. To defeat the Dark Lord. We might finally be free of his rule.¡±


    Galukar eyed her as she spoke, her gaze open, her face glistening with youth and innocence. Had he ever been that naive?


    Yes, he must have been. Once. Many years and many sons ago.


    They¡¯d come to a dark section of the castle, which left little to guide their path save intuition and the noise of footsteps reverberating ahead from walls. Galukar felt a chill at his spine that he¡¯d felt a thousand or more times before, the sensation of danger. He drank it in, searched for that familiar excitation that had threaded his arms with steel and filled his gut with fire on so many battlefields before.


    It was nowhere to be found.


    ¡°Your Majesty?¡±


    He snapped his head around at once to meet the Paladin¡¯s gaze, and realised he¡¯d been asked a question while his thoughts were elsewhere.


    ¡°Apologies my dear.¡± He replied, hastily, ¡°I was listening for danger, could you repeat that?¡±


    She smiled, that way women always did when they were trying not to blush, and nodded.


    ¡°Of course your Majesty, I was just noting that you can actually recall a time before the Dark Lord¡¯s rule, can¡¯t you? What¡­Was that like?¡±


    God, had it been so long already? Long enough that grown, fighting women could risk their lives without ever even knowing the sort of world they were bleeding for? Galukar¡¯s heart would have broken had it not been sundered beyond recognition already.


    ¡°It was not as peaceful as you might be hoping.¡± He told her, honestly. ¡°People still raised armies, learned to fight, sent their forces against one another. We still fought over much the same things, for that matter. Our territories were just invaded and stolen by other monarchs rather than some insane Necromancer-King.¡±


    Her face fell a shade, but she pressed on. Paladins were not known for abandoning a cause.


    ¡°My order speaks of how we used to patrol the world. We can¡¯t do that anymore, not without being singled out and assassinated, but¡­We were peacekeepers once. Protectors of the innocent.¡±


    That was a half-truth. Like all good things, the Paladins had mostly been enjoyed by those closest to the world¡¯s capitals, and thus most weighed down by its wealth. But, on occasion, they would gift some off-the-path settlement with the privilege of true justice. Provided one was particularly theological in sentiments.


    ¡°My Kingdom used to be a creator of warriors and a proponent of chivalry.¡± Galukar smiled, knowing full well that his words were empty. ¡°Once this is over, I hope to see it in such a state.¡±


    In heaven, he would. He could only hope to end up there once he¡¯d died putting the Godblade through the Dark Lord¡¯s throat.


    ¡°Wait, what¡¯s that?¡±


    Galukar paused at the sudden edge to the Paladin¡¯s voice, and turned to see her eyes glinting in the dark. Affixed on something ahead.


    ¡°There¡¯s scrapes in the stonework.¡± She breathed. ¡°Looks like¡­A struggle.¡±


    The Godblade was in his hand instantly, grip tightening. The power was always with him so long as the Blade remained close by, but Galukar never felt its sheer intensity quite like when it sat in his palm. Once it had been thrilling, glorious. Now it was just a weight upon his shoulders.


    ¡°Stick close by.¡± He advised the girl. ¡°There¡¯ll be trouble here.¡±


    What kind of fool could lose so much of his family while wielding a power like this?


    ¡°I will take the front.¡± Galukar continued. ¡°Can you use healing miracles?¡±


    What kind of coward could hesitate to wield a weapon like this when his people were at stake?


    ¡°I can.¡± The Paladin replied. ¡°But not strongly, I was always a better warrior than healer.¡±


    What kind of delusion could motivate him to hold sacred a God whose holy relic had failed him once already?


    ¡°That should be enough.¡± Galukar nodded, forcing a grin like the ones he¡¯d used to make. ¡°With you to knit me back together, I¡¯m sure I could defeat the Dark Lord himself.¡±


    Even at just the mention of his name, Galukar felt the strength leave his heart.


    <hr>


    ¡°A struggle?¡± Falls asked. His annoyance betrayed his ignorance, the boy clearly was still not used to being only the second most knowledgeable caster present.


    ¡°I see it in the magic of this place.¡± Silenos replied. ¡°But it is¡­Difficult to make out details. Imagine a drop of red dye upon a shirt coloured like a rainbow already. This castle¡¯s power is interfering with gathering any particulars.¡±


    Falls¡¯ wind magic was felt as a light pressure in the air, currents obeying him as if his nerves ran through them.


    ¡°But you can tell it¡¯s not magic inherent to the castle?¡±


    ¡°It is not.¡± Silenos confirmed, readying his cannon. ¡°And it¡¯s recent, too. A struggle as I said.¡±


    He turned, grabbing Falls and dragging him in his wake, heading sharply down the corridor and moving at a jog rather than a mere walk.


    ¡°We must leave.¡± Silenos declared. ¡°If the Knight was the victor of whatever fight came here, we would have found the place readied in some way for more. Well lit, barricaded, not simply abandoned.¡± They turned a corner, then another, flying down the halls faster than a sprinting man as he talked. ¡°Instead we find nothing but-¡±


    Just as they came for the doors through which they¡¯d entered, Silenos saw a great force run through them, closing them hard and letting them shiver as magic churned and writhed to hold them fast.


    ¡°You were sloppy, Necromancer.¡± Came a voice, sourceless and unseen, echoing through the place like wind in an aged house. ¡°You were hasty. So desperate to snatch another Hero that you didn¡¯t stop to consider I might think of skipping the fourth as well, that I¡¯d beat you to this one and ready a trap.¡±


    Silenos saw Falls stiffen, fractional trembles taking the boy¡¯s body as primitive adrenal glands readied him for battle. He did not seem to be freezing or weakening with his trauma, which was a much needed advantage.


    ¡°I hope you enjoy my preparations.¡± The Necromancer continued. ¡°It took me ever so long to ready them.¡±


    Silenos readied his magic, stiffened his back, and squared his chin. Despite his best efforts, his grin almost escaped.


    He had spent weeks finalising his own preparations too, and he was more than a little eager to finally see them unleashed on the woman they were made for.


    After all, she¡¯d already fallen right into his own trap.

 Chapter 25

    Castle Edmari did, in fact, fly. Silenos felt the inertial shift as it lifted itself from the ground, the sudden horizontal weight against him as it accelerated diagonally skyward. His balance threatened to break for just a moment before he adjusted, whilst Falls just lost his footing entirely and rolled back to hit a wall.


    ¡°Stand, idiot.¡± He demanded, shifting his gaze up and down the hall, anticipating an attack.


    ¡°Where are the others?!¡± Falls asked, scrambling to his feet, currents of wind coiling around him with the same restless energy that now animated their controller. ¡°We need to regroup, splitting up was a mistake.¡±


    ¡°Down that way.¡± Silenos nodded, turning to the doors and unleashing his cannon. The rattle of compressed air shot out across the room just as its projectile hit the surface. There was a flash of magic in Silenos¡¯ arcane sight, suddenly denser by far than anything else the castle had mustered, and he watched as the supersonic block of ceramic tissue simply rebound on impact.


    He watched the magic diffuse itself once more, spreading out across the rest of the structure the moment its attack ended. A remarkable enchantment, concentrating so much power so instantaneously into whichever site happened to be attacked in the moment. Remarkable, and incredibly inconvenient for him. There would be no escaping it.


    Footsteps hit SIlenos¡¯ ear, rapid and closing fast. He looked up just in time to find a man approaching with all the speed and unerring trajectory of an arrow. The Toxicologist, he recognised quickly, closing in just as he had some weeks prior, except now there was no sign of Galukar to help stave him off. Behind the reanimated Hero charged more undead, each one humming with magical presence of the highest order. He responded quickly as they closed.


    Silenos let one blast out from his cannon as single-shot, watching the Toxicologist try to lunge from the path of the projectile, and feeling no small amount of satisfaction as it succeeded in gouging a chunk from his shoulder regardless. As the blast forced him to the ground, he transfigured his weapon again.


    By the time his body had finished changing itself, the row of undead had drawn in and were separated by only a handful of metres. It was as devastatingly close a range as could have been wished for. A dozen balls of mercury-dense death were spat from Silenos¡¯ weapon and bit into the enemy, drilling through armour, rupturing the putrefied meat below. Three fell in the first shot as black blood filled the air in ropes and flecks. He was reloading just as Falls unleashed his own magic.


    Wind blasted out like an avalanche, snagging each of the remaining undead, slowing them, almost forcing them entirely to a stop. They kept advancing, strength enough to overcome the resisting pressure, but it bought Silenos time enough for another shot. This one destroyed two.


    The Toxicologist was up a moment later, flying over the heads of the other undead and tossing something before him. Silenos watched Falls adjust his winds too late, as the glass vial broke itself against the ceiling before it could be thrown back, spilling its contents out and letting the stone above them begin to erode and weaken. He leapt back, Falls a moment after him, just as tonnes of rock dropped down to fill out the space between them and the enemy.


    Even before the dust had cleared, the Toxicologist was scaling the pile of boulders, and more vials were flying. Falls tossed up a wall of air which caught them both, but this time the fluids inside detonated upon their breaking, shockwave throwing the magus off of his feet and leaving Silenos standing alone as the remaining undead charged in. All of them were armed with heavy armour and blades, close quarters fighters without question, and at their proximity there would be little time to force them back.


    So Silenos didn¡¯t, he merely doused the pile of rubble with his flamethrower and made them all scale a mound of white-hot fire to reach him. By the time the first of them had overcome it, their armour was glowing cherry-red with thermal transfer, and came apart in an instant as it caught the blast from his cannon. The second and third attacked as one, before he could reload, but Silenos had already prepared a lance of nacre similar to the one he¡¯d once used in his combat form. His weapon ran fully through the first of them, propelled by his own lunge as he vented detonating air from his back and shoulders. The second of them sidestepped, paused, then turned to flee. Kraika the Toxicologist, he saw, joined it.


    Silenos fired as they moved, but the flames he¡¯d cast before him ruined his aim by exhaling thick smoke out in all directions, and they were gone within a few moments. He turned to Falls, finding the boy trembling, but unhurt.


    ¡°That was incredible.¡± The magus gasped. Silenos felt a smile.


    It was almost disappointing to have won so easily, and denied himself the chance to find and remove further flaws in his weaponry.


    <hr>


    Fighting alongside King Galukar was nothing like Ensharia had expected. In the stories he had been a man without mirror, a peerless warrior. Two Heroes in one, dashing enemies with every swing of his sword, towering over every soldier around him and proving his prodigious strength with each and every stroke he made.


    In reality, it did not feel like fighting alongside a man at all. More like an engine of war.


    They¡¯d been attacked by a horde of undead, each one as fast and strong as a Dullahan, all clearly made by a Necromantic genius. Ensharia would surely have died or lost within moments, had she not been gifted a new body by the Saviour. As things were she fought them with a greater ease than ever before.


    Her mace took heads off with one or two hits, her body twisting aside from bladestrokes. Her armour, destroyed in Abaritan, had long since been replaced by a suit made of the same pseudo-organic plates that Silenos used in his own body¡¯s protection. Lighter and stronger at once, turning aside the impacts of dark weaponry even as Ensharia focused on crushing their wielders.


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    But she was still the weaker, when measured against King Galukar.


    Where he moved, things died. Where he stood, blows rebound from whipping steel. Sparks and viscera trailed after him like an afterimage, and the corridor shook around them each time he broke an enemy down with his strength. Ensharia was so awed by his power that it almost distracted her from her own fight. She¡¯d never seen a man move like him, not as fast, as graceful, and certainly nowhere near as strong. She doubted there was a Paladin in the world who even rivalled him.


    An undead reared up before him, feet taller than even Galukar and almost as wide. The stone floor rattled where its boots came down, and in one arm it wielded a sword even bigger than the Godblade. That sword came for the King¡¯s head like a sling bullet, catching the iron edge of his own weapon and making the air shiver as both blades ground against one another. Ensharia saw strips of steel fall where they met contact, the metal shaved from her enemy¡¯s blade by the divine power of her ally¡¯s, then Galukar¡¯s feet shifted, arms twisted, and in another instant he¡¯d buried the Godblade in the undead¡¯s chest.


    Light exploded from its eyes, obliterating and solar in its intensity. Ensharia had barely a second to appreciate the sight of God¡¯s own wrath channelled through His weapon, then the undead fell as a charred heap, and King Galukar was whirling around to hack the head from another one¡¯s shoulders. She fell in to to guard his back.


    Undead were abominations, less than mere beasts, less than the most vicious of monsters. To see one was to be exposed to an evil so distilled that it left only instantaneous combat to the death as a logical response. And yet, surrounded on all sides by that same taint, Ensharia smiled. She could be of use, like this. With muscles forged by House Shaiagrazni and nerves carrying thoughts faster than any regular matter, she could make a difference.


    The thought lasted Ensharia as long as it took her to swing her mace twice more. Then a new presence washed over her, pricking instincts like the sensation of hot breath against the back of her neck. She looked ahead to see an undead smaller than most of the others, but unmistakable in its danger.


    Sir Oltick was not hard to recognise. He¡¯d been famous for his crystalline plate, which the reanimated monster he¡¯d been reduced to still wore as it stepped forwards.


    One hand was closed around the handle of a flanged mace, the other about a broad tower shield of solid steel. He- it- moved with the unnatural ease common to all creatures whose strength was great enough that their weight no longer even registered.


    He did not say a thing as he approached them- it, damnit, always an it. However many legends and myths were weighing down across the shoulders it had stolen with necromantic evil, that thing was still an it. And it remained silent, but the one responsible for inflicting her magic upon the Hero himself did not.


    ¡°I see recognition in you, Paladin. A study of Oltick¡¯s legends, were you?¡±


    Ensharia did not panic, nor did she let the creeping paranoia reach her. Instead she merely observed the fact that, clearly, this Necromancer was able to observe and speak to her from somewhere else in the sprawling castle, then tucked it away for later use.


    Her focus was well needed, because Oltick came on like a lightning bolt.


    <hr>


    Silenos wasted no time, but Falls did. Or tried to. The moment their enemy was gone, trauma set into the magus, freezing him up into useless spasms and locking his feet where they rested.


    ¡°We need to try and leave again.¡± He croaked. ¡°Did yo-¡±


    Silenos slapped him harder than he had before, and Falls almost fell to the ground before mastering himself and turning to glare daggers at him.


    ¡°Our best chance is regrouping with the others and consolidating our power.¡± He told the boy, already moving in the direction Ensharia and the King would have gone. ¡°Come, unless you¡¯d rather stay by yourself.¡±


    Unsurprisingly, Falls turned out to not prefer staying by himself. The two of them made quick progress down the first corridor, then paused as they came to a fork in the path. Silenos frowned.


    ¡°The floor is scraped.¡± He observed. ¡°And recently, scraped right along¡­¡± Yes, an arc in the ground, the very sort that would have been left by a wall shifting its position. He considered blasting through the offending stone, but decided he hadn¡¯t the time, nor did he intend to let his presence be so easily triangulated. Silenos followed the new path, eyes peeled.


    With luck he¡¯d be moving down the same pathway that Ensharia and the King had, and without it¡­Silenos had consulted Galukar about the floor plans on their journey, he knew there were only so many places a man might be redirected on the lowest levels of the castle. He had nothing to lose but time.


    He could only hope he had enough to spare.


    One turn, another. Sharp corners and short corridors, Silenos powered down the hall for close to half a minute before he heard the scraping of movement running down it. A glance over his shoulder revealed more undead, and behind them was the Toxicologist. He shifted his arm to the scatter-shot, murmuring a warning to Falls, then looking ahead just in time to see yet more undead closing in before them.


    No, not undead. Armour. Suits of steel plate armour, enchanted with durability, locomotion, animation. He¡¯d been told about them, part of Castle Edmari¡¯s defences, a way of circumventing the agreed upon rule that only one man could be custodian at a time. They clanked and clattered as they shot for him, faceless and unhesitating, numbering close to a dozen.


    SIlenos thought quickly, then turned. He blasted himself almost to the ceiling as his cannon shifted form again, took careful aim, and fired. The blast went clean through Kraika the Toxicologist¡¯s chest, erupting out through his back in a spray of hot viscera. Silenos landed just in time to begin the fight.


    As ever more armour closed in, he found himself certain it was a doomed one.


    <hr>


    Oltick¡¯s sword met the Godblade, and the knight was sent stumbling before his former King. Galukar closed to press the advantage, swinging low and just barely missing as the castle¡¯s custodian sidestepped, then retaliated in kind. The two men fought at a speed even Ensharia¡¯s new body couldn¡¯t have managed, one wielding more power than perhaps any other Hero alive, the other having his own already exceptional gifts bolstered by the reanimating powers of a Necromancer.


    Her own fighting was less glorious, and far more supportive than Galukar¡¯s. Ensharia focused on keeping the rest of their enemies from overwhelming the King, fending them off like rats beaten from a grainstore. She struck until her arms grew weary, until her spit tasted of acid, and then she struck some more. Galukar took great chunks out of the Knight¡¯s armour, letting dark blood seep from the wounds he left in steel, but it was Ensharia who let them down. A mace caught her head, and then more swings followed in the moment of her unbalance. She was soon pinned down beneath several undead at once, watching as yet more fell upon Galukar.


    Even his preternatural strength was overwhelmed by such a concentration of power, and the last thing Ensharia had the consciousness to perceive was King Galukar being wrestled to the ground alongside her.

 Chapter 26

    When Silenos awoke, his body was bound in great sheets of steel. Head, neck, shoulders and ribs, all four limbs, as well as every other joint attached to him. It was the sort of restraint that spoke of ridiculous, excessive paranoia. Or a healthy familiarity with the powers of a Shaiagrazni Senior.


    From his position in the bindings, Silenos¡¯ head was just barely angled to let him catch the sight of Falls by straining his eyes to one extreme of their sockets. The magus was pinned against a wall, like him, by bands of metal that did not seem quite so thick, but would nonetheless do well enough in holding him.


    ¡°He¡¯s awake.¡± Came a voice. King Galukar¡¯s. Silenos heard the anger in it just before it continued. ¡°Great idea, magus, having us all split up like that. Really, we ought to put you in charge of this whole expedition.¡±


    ¡°I am in charge of this whole expedition.¡± Silenos informed him, despite still being unable to actually catch sight of the man. He tuned out the King¡¯s petty arguments to the contrary, focusing instead on seeing what he could glean of the room around him.


    It seemed to match the architecture he¡¯d observed in Castle Edmari, save that, unlike the bottom floor, there was a window within his view. Silenos peered through it to find a dark landscape flitting by far below them. The altitude and speed confirmed that he was still in the castle, at least, but the look of the lands below¡­


    ¡°...The Dark Lord¡¯s territory.¡± He guessed, outloud. ¡°We¡¯re there, yes?¡±


    For once, for a single, rare moment, Silenos let a shade of hope build before he was answered. By Ensharia this time.


    ¡°We are.¡± She breathed, sounding as defeated as he¡¯d ever heard any human sound at all.


    ¡°Correct.¡± He heard a new voice ring out, less familiar than Ensharia¡¯s, but not hard to recognise all the same. ¡°All of you are making your way there as we speak, captured and bound, perfectly prepared to be slain and reanimated by the Dark Lord¡¯s glorious power!¡±


    It was the Necromancer, who now strolled into Silenos¡¯ line of sight with¡­Yes, an undead. A Belladonnan Puppeteer, in fact, dancing with it like the two of them were in the middle of some ballroom floor.


    She had changed her apparel since last Silenos saw her in person. No longer did she wear combat-practical attire made to permit swift movement and wide extension, instead her body was covered by some trailing black dress which would not have been out of place on a woman awaiting her wedding. Or Silenos¡¯ own master, for that matter.


    ¡°Admiring my beauty?¡± She asked, surprising Silenos by addressing the question to him. The woman spun in a circle as she spoke, grinning from ear to ear, practically giggling as she gesticulated with more joy than he¡¯d seen in a long time. It was rather revolting to behold.


    ¡°You remind me of someone.¡± Was all he said. ¡°What would it take for you to release us?¡±


    The Necromancer laughed, striding towards him with the gait of a predatory cat that had been struck with the urge for expression through dance while it toyed with its prey.


    ¡°What makes you think you can offer anything that would interest me? I have everything I want already.¡± She grinned.


    Silenos did not find his confidence chipped, that she was answering him at all provided an opening.


    ¡°You¡¯ve fought me twice now, and both times it was with all the preparation and situational advantages on your side. You¡¯ve seen how quickly I¡¯ve improved the shortcomings in my armament and combat-capability.¡±


    That wiped the smile from her face, if only for a moment.


    ¡°I¡¯d expected an easy victory.¡± The woman replied, stiffly. Silenos took no small degree of satisfaction in that. Oh, he¡¯d lost, and lost without question. Even now his body stung with the bruises and broken bones lying beneath the skin- injuries that he was fixing even as he spoke. But he¡¯d obliterated numerous suits of enchanted armour and high-grade undead before being felled. His only regret was that the Necromancer had sent too little of the latter for him to enter his combat form. That would have put an end to the question of his supremacy.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have a harder victory every time you fight me again, even assuming this isn¡¯t your last.¡± Silenos replied. ¡°And I can augment you to make your own enemies have harder ones still. You noticed the power of our Paladin, I assume, compared to last time.¡±


    The Necromancer¡¯s eyes flicked towards Ensharia, just as Galukar¡¯s voice rang out.


    ¡°What did you do to her, you abomination of a caster.¡±


    Silenos did not even dignify such a drooling question with a response, merely kept his eyes on the Necromancer.


    ¡°You¡¯re considering it.¡± He observed. ¡°Thinking about what you could do with a body capable of matching a seasoned Knight, and, I imagine, thinking about whether you might also learn the skills needed to create such things yourself.¡±


    Her eyes hardened with conviction.


    ¡°You overestimate the appeal of your offer, I think.¡± The Necromancer replied. ¡°I already serve the greatest caster to ever live, your petty hedge-magic does not interest me in the slightest.¡± She turned, and Silenos felt a stab of haste touch him.


    An idea struck him, then, and he directed Fleshcrafting energies down into his chest, weaving the tissues there into newer constructs. A springy, coiled mass of muscle to twist and extend like a piston, then yet more around to rotate one way and the other like an oscillating drill bit. At the tip he wove the same nacre-like composite used to create his deadliest weapons, and let the construct get to work.


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    It began eroding the steel bit by bit, limited only by range of motion and the need to go unnoticed. As flecks of the binding around Silenos¡¯ chest began to fall away, he let nervous tissues catch them, assimilating them into his biomass. Iron for geophyte, carbon for keratin.


    Fleshcrafting was an art of destruction as much as creation, and the harder its target material, the more resistant to strain and destruction, the longer it took to break down into its constituent elements and absorb for biomass. Solid steel was not dirt, with its components easily extracted and processed. Silenos would have to hurry in his work, even while buying himself more time.


    ¡°King Galukar.¡± Silenos called out. ¡°Tell me, how powerful was the Dark Lord, as someone who¡¯s fought him in combat directly? A first hand account seems an appropriate contribution to this discussion.¡±


    Silenos felt his confidence grow. A few white lies, the occasional stretched truth or understated fact, and this conversation could be turned a hundred and eighty degrees to his favour.


    ¡°The Dark Lord was the most powerful creature I have ever fought, seen or heard about.¡± Galukar replied, and Silenos barely managed to keep from letting the choking sounds audibly leave his throat as his own tongue threatened to suffocate him. The Necromancer¡¯s smile was smug and incandescent, but fell as the King continued. ¡°-However, his power is not limitless. Had there been two of me, I would have tested him. Three and I would have wounded him. I cannot imagine him withstanding five Heroes of my strength or above.¡±


    Stiffening, the Necromancer turned on him.


    ¡°And how would you fare against him and his armies? If he wanted to, the Dark Lord could concentrate every undead under his command into the same location and render himself unstoppable. But he has grander ambitions.¡±


    ¡°And, I would imagine, too little skill to coordinate them in such density.¡± Silenos noted. He¡¯d absorbed close to a full kilogram of carbon already, and fifty times as much iron. Progress, but slow progress.


    ¡°Do you recall the grotesquery- the towering undead- that I conjured to crush the first army attacking Elkatin¡¯s capital?¡± Silenos challenged her. ¡°I imagine your Dark Lord has never produced one as potent as that.¡±


    Her eye twitched.


    ¡°Because he can¡¯t Fleshcraft them together like you did.¡±


    Clearly, she would not believe Silenos if he told her he could have made a similarly powerful reanimate through other means, so instead he concentrated on the point of what she¡¯d seen him manage.


    ¡°It would appear that my knowledge makes my Necromancy superior to your master¡¯s, then.¡± Silenos pressed. ¡°And it could similarly benefit you.¡±


    ¡°Enough.¡± The Necromancer snapped, her good mood diminished, but restoring itself shortly.


    ¡°You are my prisoners.¡± She repeated, slowly, calming with every word. ¡°Mine. I will present you to the Dark Lord, and I will be rewarded handsomely for handing him such powerful reanimate-fodder. Perhaps, even, by being made his wife. This is my victory, now, and there¡¯s nothing any of you can do to-¡±


    She was interrupted as the skyship crashed into the side of the castle.


    Even Silenos hadn¡¯t expected that, despite it being him who had sent word ahead to Swick the Swift, using the fastest means of communication available to the Hand of Abaritan, that they would require his help. He¡¯d spent no small amount of effort after learning of the flying Castle Edmari to calculate where it might go if it were to be taken and moved towards the Dark Lord¡¯s lands, then factoring in projected travel times as he sent the predicted trajectory on to the captain ahead of time.


    It had been a tedious thing to prepare, but seeing the great mass of enchanted copper and wood that made the vessel¡¯s face breach through enchanted stone only made him vindicated in having taken the time to do so.


    Dust filled the air within an instant, then became a hurricane in an instant more. With the outer wall breached, the castle¡¯s extreme velocity was clearly felt as intense currents of wind scraping through the interior. They doubtless left the eyes of all else present wet with tears, but Silenos¡¯ had long since been treated to resist such things. He focused, letting airborne particulates into his mouth and lungs, breaking the molecules down to add their constituent carbon to the reserves he was already amassing from the steel bindings. With the sudden volume, he¡¯d increased the power of his drilling, and already taken in a hundred kilograms more.


    He needed half a tonne more to enter his combat form, and Silenos had it by the time his restraints were completely removed.


    Silenos worked the Fleshcrafting he¡¯d gone so long without drawing on, feeling an uncharacteristic cry of triumph escape him as his body swelled with power and mass. More than a metre added itself to his height and width as centimetres of composite plating swelled to form along his epidermis. The musculature below was woven so tight and dense that its waste heat would cause tissue damage given too long, and talons and fangs replaced nails and teeth.


    While he transformed, the bodily alterations taking long, sluggish seconds to fully complete, Silenos aimed his cannon at Galukar. The King remained in his towering, muscular form. Which was good, as the shrivelled thing Silenos had first seen sprawled across his bed would surely have died when his cannon¡¯s single-shot caught the steel bands wrapped around his body.


    The bullet smashed against the metal, cleaving hundreds of cubic centimetres to ruined scrap, and before Silenos could even fire again the King had already torn the bound arm free. His fist came down on the strap about his chest, denting it slightly, and Silenos fired on the same spot. This time the band was thicker, but with Galukar¡¯s free arm working to widen the gash left by Silenos¡¯ weapon, he did not remain trapped for long.


    Before the King was free, however, Silenos saw undead descend upon him. He realised their motives instantly. Galukar was easily the greatest threat that still remained bound, and was moments from freeing himself. One did not allow that to happen if one had half a brain. The King would be either killed or restrained before he could bring his full strength into the battle, and likely before Silenos was able to fire on his attackers.


    It was not Silenos, however, who saved him. A man appeared behind one undead, lancing it through the neck with a knife the size of Silenos¡¯ un-transformed forearm, then disappearing before the rest could turn their blades on him. The instant he bought was enough for Silenos to remove one of their heads with his cannon, aiming it to ensure the projectile slammed into one of the King¡¯s leg restraints after ripping through their body. It came free just as the chest band did, and Galukar was straining his torso and two of four limbs against the remaining bonds without any hesitation.


    He ripped himself from the wall just in time to evade the stabbing swords and crushing hammers, rolling back from his enemies, and Silenos took the chance to fire a bundle of nerves far across the room, stabbing them into the body of the slain undead.


    That provided the final ingredients needed for his growing combat form to be completed, precious missing elements drawn from the three-metre reanimate and added to Silenos¡¯ own body. All that was left was for him to shape them.


    While he did, the world erupted into chaos.

 Chapter 27

    Ten seconds into his transformation, and Silenos estimated he had eighteen remaining. He¡¯d gotten faster. That was interesting, and logical. He supposed he¡¯d never practised Fleshcrafting at any great speed before, never felt the need to grow better, there had always been other Shaiagrazni to buy him time or fight in his place. It was promising to know he¡¯d be less reliant on such guards with time. But not immediately helpful.


    Seventeen seconds remaining, and Swick the Swift, the translocating man Silenos now realised had freed Galukar, made a second appearance. This time he lunged, the man¡¯s knife came down with a furious haste upon the shackles holding Arion. Those, Silenos saw, were by far the frailest, focusing on simply immobilising the magus¡¯ arms and fingers. Without those he could not focus his magic, and thus cast. It didn¡¯t take long for the metal to be eroded by the newcomer, and he was leaping from the wall amid a wall of thrown air, scattering several nearby undead that had not yet turned to brace themselves.


    Twelve seconds, and Swick the Swift had disappeared again. Galukar was backing away from a trio of towering undead, fending off weapons with his bare hands, wincing as trickles of blood wept from every finger-deep cut left in his meaty arms by scraping blades or rebounding maces.


    The King had impressed Silenos, in regards to strength alone, but even his might was not inexhaustible, and without a weapon there was little he could do against three enemies of such calibre simultaneously. His fist caught one, tossing it back with a dented helm even as the remaining two marked his body yet again, and Silenos¡¯ eyes were snatched to Falls by his latest idiot apprentice¡¯s scream.


    He was running, the imbecile, towards Ensharia. She was of course the last of them to remain bound, and her restraints looked perhaps as thick as King Galukar¡¯s. Even with three limbs free Silenos was unsure she¡¯d break them. Falls had come within a few metres of her when he caught the sight of Necromantic magic building from the corner of his eye.


    It was the Necromancer, of course, and her power was flowing from where she hid behind a pair of enormous, six-limbed reanimates clad in black plate armour. The distilled darkness of shadestuff congealed between her palms for just a moment before she cast it after the magus.


    Falls was still running, his hands held together and gathering magic in a way Silenos knew must have spurred on the enemy¡¯s attention. He turned just as he came to stand before Ensharia, revealing his face to Silenos a moment before the shadestuff impacted.


    He had expected to see terror, panic, fear. Instead he saw only victory. Arion Falls projected his wall of air out at a sloped angle before himself, letting the shadestuff impact, then splash just as Silenos¡¯ had when he¡¯d cast it at magus Walriq. This time the substance was deflected into Ensharia¡¯s binds, at least one globule hitting each band of steel and melting them through like piranha solution being doused over meat.


    Nine seconds, and Ensharia¡¯s bonds were breaking as Falls redirected the mach-zero-point-one winds from the breached wall into cleaving blades bouncing jaggedly from what was left of the metal. She dropped down, landed hard on her feet, then turned as the Necromancer¡¯s bodyguards joined the fight. Their master was leaving, and Silenos missed his hasty attempt to destroy her with his cannon before she could turn around a corner. The room was nothing but undead and allies, at that.


    Eight seconds. Ensharia had seized a piece of steel from her destroyed bonds, perhaps five centimetres wide, three thick and thirty or so long. It was not jagged enough to be a knife, but the sheer weight made it a serviceable bludgeon as she swung at the enemy, backing off from them while Falls provided aid with his winds. Jets of air knocking them from their feet, blocking swings, occasionally channelled from the breach to add power and speed to his magic. It was clear, regardless, that their fight was a losing one.


    Six seconds, and Silenos expanded his arcane sight to search the castle, desperately peering past its ambient magic for any sign of that inexhaustible power he¡¯d seen in Galukar¡¯s hands. The Godblade made itself known quickly. Their weapons, of course, had been confiscated upon their capture, but if Silenos¡¯ guess was correct, the ¡°divine¡± weapon that gave King Galukar his strength was likely stored along with the others. He called out its location, just before his throat finished reconfiguring past the point of speech.


    Three seconds, and Silenos saw the others reacting to his words, turning. Falls managed one step towards the door that led to their weaponry, Ensharia four, Galukar five. There was no sign of the captain, Swick the Swift, until an undead looked to be in-line to intercept Ensharia. Then he dropped beside it, knifing the thing just as unexpectedly as any others and disappearing before it could retaliate.


    One second. Silenos had to fight the urge to move, now, knowing his body¡¯s reforming state would be delayed and prolonged if he exerted any great force upon it prior to its finishing.


    Ensharia was at the door first, Falls second, Galukar third a moment later. The three of them disappeared down the hall pursued by one undead after another. But only four managed to actually follow, the fifth was slammed against the wall as Silenos¡¯ combat form finally reached completion and he lunged forwards like a striking viper.


    Almost ten thousand kilograms of keratin and muscle pinned it in place, crushing metal plates inwards and bursting the undead¡¯s body like a grape between molars. Then Silenos spun, his whip twisting around to take the head off of another as it hurried to strike from behind. While the weapon reared back, he raised his cannon, letting its bell-shaped multi shot exit in a spray that eviscerated two more undead. From the corner of his eye he saw animated armour spilling into the room, suits charging him by the dozen.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Good, he thought. All the more enemies to finally vent his true power against.


    Leading the suits of armour was a figure which practically glowed with magic, most of which was not Necromantic in nature. The reanimated Sir Olstick, he imagined, moving in with a two-handed sword that came for Silenos like a guillotine blade. He didn¡¯t even bother blocking, just let the metal bite into his shoulder.


    Back in the lands of House Shaiagrazni, Silenos¡¯ war form would come into battle equipped in armour made by other Named more specialised in metallurgy and crafting. Alloys able to weather the screaming heat of a star¡¯s surface, or mountain-cracking detonations. He could not make them himself, but in their absence, Silenos¡¯ combat form would be charging into battle naked. He had put the six thousand additional kilograms of mass suddenly freed up by that to good use.


    Eleven centimetres of keratin composites caught the sword, leaving its edge stuck fast. Silenos dragged himself to one side, forcing the undead to twist and turn as his weapon was dragged along behind him, then suddenly reversing his motion. The nacre lance engulfing Silenos¡¯ right arm ate the metal around Sir Oltick¡¯s right side, barely missing the reanimate¡¯s innards as it dodged back with all the speed of a whip. Suits of armour closed in around them as the undead Knight retreated. Silenos had no time to be dealing with them, and certainly not pinned down. He crouched and jumped, firing jets of explosive gel beneath him as he did and managing to propel himself almost to the five-metre ceiling. When he landed, it was like an artillery impact.


    Steel was not a match for the kinds of forces his reunion with the ground induced, and Silenos saw several of the animated suits actually topple over around it. Balance broken as the ground shook. The Knight was back, however, and well timed in his return. Leaping over his shoulders, grabbing the handle of his sword and wrenching it free in one swing. He dragged its edge across Silenos¡¯ back armour thrice before even landing, then lunged back out of range before Silenos could turn again.


    More undead came in to replace him, cudgelling and striking at a frenzy.


    He ignored the impacts, less than pinpricks against his armour. Easier to breach the hull of an ironclad warship than Silenos¡¯ combat form, easier to kill its crew than wound the mind beneath. Everywhere Silenos swung, another enemy was disabled. His cannon belching storms of bony projectiles to rip apart bodies and detach limbs, killing a half dozen enemies with every other second. Whip, lance, sheer muscularity all proving weapons deadlier than any other present.


    And then the bolt of lighting struck him.


    Silenos stumbled, mass somehow sent off-kilter by the sheer exothermic impact of electricity bleeding into heat and pressure against his shoulder. He did not feel pain, but his Fleshcrafting senses had been deeply infused through every cell of his body, and he was well aware that centimetres of his armour had been charred and sheared from the point of contact.


    Lightning was a deadly thing. Unlikely to kill in nature, largely for the fact that most who were struck by it did not catch the main, inch-wide fork of plasma that composed the stuff¡¯s body. When something did, the results were spectacular. Burning keratin filled Silenos¡¯ nostrils, and he sensed the proteins denaturing around where he¡¯d been struck. Heat in the order of twenty thousand kelvins was bad enough, the fact that megapascals of pressure were induced immediately around it as air was forcibly displaced only worsened things.


    Righting himself, Silenos exerted his will and forced muddling thoughts into a state of coherence. The Knight, Oltick, was charging again, and Silenos considered his other enemies. The Belladonnan Puppeteer he¡¯d seen dancing with the Necromancer was clearly the one responsible for the lightning, no caster short of that could conjure such a potent bolt, which meant that he likely had a good few moments before being struck again.


    A morning star caught the plate he¡¯d felt struck by lightning, and Silenos spun to snatch the wielder¡¯s unlife. It was out of reach by the time he did, then a sting caught him. Sharp, intense, not the mere cerebral alert of damaged armour, his actual body had been wounded. Silenos found the Knight¡¯s enchanted blade lodged between sheets of keratin about his leg, and once more Oltick was back before he could crush him. Silenos waited for the Knight to retreat further, then unloaded his cannon. It missed, but took a satisfying chunk of metal and meat from one shoulder.


    Then the second blast of lightning came. It was aimed perfectly, and timed even better, striking the exact same place as the first. Silenos felt the armour burned and crushed until it was so thin that he felt the heat upon his skin beneath it. More undead, more armour, and the Knight. They struck from all sides, and more than one caught the new vulnerability in his body. He killed and killed, then killed some more. Conjuring shadestuff to melt apart several at a time, dousing more with flames and watching as they fell apart under their own high-speed movements, even simply bifurcating one when it avoided his swing by one moment too little.


    Silenos fought so violently, that it fully slipped his mind he was merely buying time.


    King Galukar let his presence be known by taking off Sir Oltick¡¯s arm from behind, Godblade cutting so forcefully that sheer strength compensated for the bluntness of its edge. Before the limb had even hit the ground, its owner was kicked and launched high overhead to clatter down at the far side of the room. Before he could rise, Swick the Swift was dropping down once more upon him, knife thrust through his eye slit and making short work of the enfeebled enemy before he blinked out of sight again.


    A gust of wind was thrown from the outside, knocking several more suits of armour down, just as Ensharia fell upon an undead and stove its knee in with her mace. Silenos took the opportunity to conjure another wall of shadestuff and let it drop down over several more, watching them disappear beneath the abyssal touch.


    Within moments the room had been deprived of most that formerly inhabited it, and those that remained did not look like they would for long. Silenos took one step towards the Puppeteer, reading his whip to strike the head from its shoulders, and then Castle Edmari tilted.


    He had moments to realise what was happening.


    He studied the surroundings, recognised the ambient magic thinning as it drained away, and concluded that their flight had turned into a fall. Silenos thought back to their altitude, did the necessary calculations, and hurriedly transformed his throat even as he unravelled his armour into a sheath of fibre.


    ¡°Oo Maahhh!¡± He roared, words garbled by the abominable hybrid his half-transformed vocal chords had become. Fortunately, their message proved coherent enough for his allies to close in on him just before the sphere of tissue could close. Silenos hurled them to the breach, almost jumping as the skypirate ran into the folds of his exit strategy, then the last point of it was sealed up.


    With a sphere spanning several metres filled with air, he could only hope drag force would slow their impact enough for all present to land after the castle.


    If they were caught beneath the million-tonne ruin as it struck the earth, there would be no surviving.

 Chapter 28

    Venka had been hesitant to believe rumours of an asteroid impact, let alone investigate. It had been his casters who had convinced him, sensing a scent of magic upon the wind which, so they claimed, was greater even than that of the Dark Lord¡¯s own power. Such a claim demanded investigation, verification and, if appropriate, punishment. It was this that motivated him to lead his warband several miles off-course until they came upon the wreckage.


    ¡°Generl, would you like us search the runes?¡±


    It had been Chtun who spoke, one of Venka¡¯s officers. He turned to the orc, finding a stab of irritation at the near-monosyllabic grunting escaping the Colonel. Venka considered sarcasm, for a moment, but knew better. Orcs were dull creatures, closer in cognitive prowess to mere apes than they were to humans. Sarcasm had a way of confusing the poor beasts.


    ¡°I would, yes.¡± Venka replied. ¡°Sweep the perimeter first though, send in a¡­Hm, send a company of heavy infantry first. Surround the ruins, make sure nothing gets out.¡±


    Chtun nodded, turning and shambling back to the rest of his savage kind without another word. Venka watched him go. Orcs were a disturbing sight, even after long years of proximity to them. No taller than the average man at first glance, Venka had long since discovered their heights were actually a good half-foot or more above what they first appeared as due to the species¡¯ apparently inexorable urge towards slouching. No doubt a product of their natural predisposition towards ill manners and savagery.


    Their bulk was beyond human, and most of it was muscle and bone. Behind their low brow and sloped forehead, the orc¡¯s underdeveloped brain controlled a frame of four hundred pounds, close to three hundred of which was muscle. More than a slight amount magical, this robust body could typically raise double its weight fully overhead using shoulder strength alone. And that was only to speak of the average specimens.


    The orcs under Venka¡¯s command, however, were nonetheless a well-trained group. Led by individuals among their kind that could at least remember more complex orders, and serving under a human General. He watched them shift around the ruin, thousands of thirty-stone behemoths organised so tightly, they almost behaved human.


    It did not take long before the survey was complete, and Venka himself, finally, safe to close in and examine the site personally. It was an illuminating study.


    As it was, flattened against the ground and obliterated into scraps of broken stone scarcely bigger than a man, it was no wonder Venka had not immediately recognised the legendary Castle Edmari where it lay cratered and diffused across the landscape. Once he did, though, it recontextualised everything.


    Venka had never actually seen the ruin, of course, but he¡¯d made a study of it. All good Generals had, and most of the mediocre ones too for that matter. The prospect of a flying fortress large enough to hold thousands was rather an important thing to consider when planning the movement of armies across countryside.


    He tightened his eyes, focusing them into that ever-imprecise, esoteric sight that had marked him as special from his birth. Studying not the physical presence of stone and debris littered out a horizon¡¯s width before him, but the wisps of remaining magic that still clung to it. Venka¡¯s eye for magic was not something that could be taught, and that would forever remain a tragedy. It revealed so much to those who inherited it from birth that the world would surely have changed, were it to spread across humanity as a whole.


    There was no small amount of magic to be seen, of course. One would be foolish to expect anything else when studying the ruins of Castle Edmari. Nonetheless, Venka found plenty of useful clues to go off of. By the state of arcane decay he could tell the wreck was close to a day old, for one thing, and mixed in with the mangled magic of the structure itself were less physically-anchored remnants. Magic of density and intensity that let it stick out even among the sea of ambient power around it.


    Necromancy. That much was visible, and might have been even at a glance, it was thickly seen and concentrated all around the same rough area. Dark, in that ephemeral way that energies untouched by light could be coloured at all, and churning like the currents of a storm-driven sea. Necromantic magics tended to look like that, inherently vicious and destructive as they were. The thrashing around of all that invisible power almost distracted Venka enough to let the other presence slip his notice. That would have been a humiliating mistake, because its intensity was almost impossible to believe.


    What was it?


    ¡°Prepare a vanguard.¡± He ordered. ¡°And close the circle around that mound over there.¡± Venka gestured to some visibly jutting stone about where he¡¯d seen the magics, knowing that none present shared his gift. ¡°I wish to examine it more closely.¡±


    The orcs obeyed instantly, proving yet again the effectiveness of Venka¡¯s civilising influence.


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    Venka made his way through the rubble at the very pace he¡¯d spent so long drilling his troops to sustain, more than most humans could withstand. More, in fact, than any could, without the assistance of passive magical energies suffusing their muscles. He soon found the site in question, and upon studying it closer, found a great more to boot.


    Not the specific style of magic that made up the second kind, however, that remained a mystery. Venka had simply never seen its like before¡­No, he had, once. The Dark Lord had had wisps of it around him, and it was found in even slighter traces about the bodies of growing orcs. Beyond that he had no basis of what it could possibly be.


    But the scale of power that had been unleashed was without a doubt. Venka turned his gaze from that to see if he might find other kinds.


    Had it not been for the physical wreckage of the skyship, Venka would not have even noticed the fractional difference in flavour between the propulsion and levitation magics woven around it and those around the ruins of Castle Edmari. Once seen, however, the picture painted was easy enough to interpret. There had been an air battle, perhaps even a collision, and at the ridiculous speeds aerial vessels could manage it was not hard to imagine that it had been responsible for the descent.


    Mangled undead lay around them, but many had the tell-tale wounds of death to weaponry of the largest and most devastating kind. Clearly there had been a battle on-board before or after the crash. No, before, without a doubt. There was not nearly enough blood spilled on the ground for it to have been after, whatever veins had been emptied, it had happened in the air, and then had the evidence distorted by the collision.


    Venka peered once more at the magical, comparing the ambient Necromancy to that infusing the undead, and then once more to his memory. The conclusion he drew was not difficult to formulate.


    Sphera, then, eh? It was you. You got your nose stuck in this.


    He wasn¡¯t surprised. Easily the youngest of the Dark Lord¡¯s Generals, Sphera the Necromancer had fallen into the trap that so many natural prodigies tended to. She had become intoxicated on the drug of her own power. Everything was about magic and strength, for her. Even her service to the Dark Lord himself, Venka suspected, stemmed only from a desire for more might.


    Ordinarily that was not such an issue, for it motivated her into further excellence, but Venka had long since feared the girl would overstep and bring ruin upon herself. Or worse, upon her side. He saw, now, that she had made such an error.


    Sphera¡¯s body was nowhere to be seen, though there were several human corpses among the rubble so mangled that they could scarcely be recognised. All were, nonetheless, undeniably male. He was not entirely sure whether it ought to have been relieving, knowing that Sphera still lived.


    Venka studied the place further until he found evidence of further magic, far from the wreckage of Castle Edmari, and once again ushered his orcs on after it. More of that mysterious kind he¡¯d seen used amid the Castle .Not as powerful, but there, visible as ever. It was a mercurial thing, slippery, transmutative. As if someone had cross-bred the principles of megalomania and mathematics, then somehow blended the resulting offspring with poetry. A hybrid concept that could only ever have stemmed from magic. He committed it to memory.


    Tracks led away from the site, which he followed further, and scrutinised hard.


    ¡°What can the trackers smell?¡± He asked, aloud. It did not take long before orcs rushed to bring forth their fat-nostrilled scouts and hunters. The beasts hurried ahead, throwing themselves down onto all fours and drinking in the air around every track in the dirt, snorting whatever imperceptible scents remained. He followed them, slowly, as they grunted to one another, then fed their input to an interpreter. Venka had long since learned to assign some of the quicker-witted and civilised of his orcs to translating the verbal sludge of their lessers, oftentimes humans were barely better at recognising the intended meaning of regular orcs than bloodhounds.


    ¡°Six humanoids.¡± He murmured, once the information had been conveyed. ¡°Two women.¡± Venka saw a trail of Necromancy which, upon further study, he recognised as Sphera¡¯s. Then he thought.


    Despite his concerns, Sphera had been ever reliable in sending reports. The last word he¡¯d heard of her work in the field had been that Elkatin¡¯s so-called Saviour had allied himself with a Paladin and the magus Arion Falls. He had heard word himself of King Galukar¡¯s departure from Abaritan and even Arbite. That left only one individual possibly unaccounted for.


    The pilot of the skyship, perhaps? He paused, turned back to the ship itself, and resumed his examination, more detailed. Venka could discover no identifying marks or sigils despite searching for close to half an hour, and withdrew himself from the task only reluctantly. It would not do to tie himself up in scrutinising the wreck for non-existent details, not when a trusted champion of the Dark Lord was being hauled farther from him with every passing moment.


    He paused again, thought harder, then made up his mind with the same military precision he tended to place into all things.


    ¡°Men, we will be changing course slightly, assume marching formation double-time, and prepare for a brisk pace. We¡¯ll be making up for lost time.¡±


    As the orcs shuffled and reorganised, Venka considered his decision. He was on his way to a siege, with weaponry that might well alter its course. His presence was a grave thing to be delayed on any battlefield, and doubly so under such circumstances as these.


    But his forces were elites in all, and the speed they could sustain over land was greater than almost any other army on the continent. They would, he wagered, be catching up to their prey quickly, if stride size was any indicator.


    And that prey had the second most potent Necromancer to draw breath within a thousand years. Every day she remained deprived from the Dark Lord¡¯s side was a loss equivalent to a thousand orcs or more. Her death would be the equal to a million.


    ¡°Forward!¡± Venka called out, hauling himself back onto his mount and urging it on. Around him, orcs shook the ground with footfalls that came down into the dark dirt like hammer blows, and they headed for the horizon.


    Headed for whatever enemy was stupid and unfortunate enough to be lurking just beyond it.

 Chapter 29

    Silenos had gotten used to travelling with improvised Fleshcraftings. Sluggish, inefficient things that lacked the native speed and power borne into House Shaiagrazni¡¯s more traditional transportation by millennia of refinement and improvement. He considered himself unfortunate to have had to do so, considered the circumstances that had forced his hand bothersome and unacceptable. He had not realised how much worse things could get.


    The Dark Lord¡¯s land was not simply ugly to look at, and was not a region of mere discoloured soils or grim weather as he had mistakenly believed when glancing down upon it from the skies above. The entire place was, for want of a better word, simply cursed.


    Below the diffuse, black sands that seemed to cover every inch of it, Silenos had been carefully probing the terrain with every rest they took, letting threads of nerve bundles permeate to the greatest depths he could manage, branching off into tree-like structures that sifted through dozens of cubic metres at a time. Despite it all, he found nearly nothing.


    No free elemental matter that might be consumed for his Fleshcrafting, no abundance of microbiological life that might be forcibly converted. Not even the skeletal remains of creatures which had once been made from the same materials he now sought to do his work with. It was, for the first time in Silenos¡¯ life, a total and absolute scarcity of biological material.


    Clean water was yet another absence they¡¯d had to contend with, though Silenos had found means around that simple problem. Water was fortunately made of far more rudimentary molecules than other substances, and he had been able to generate it within his own body by simply utilising photosynthetic principles. He might have found other ways to do so, too, the air was far more humid than it was occupied by life, and the same went for the ground.


    A water mage would have been quite at home, as would an earth mage, or any one of a dozen other kinds of caster. Just not one who relied upon living and dead flesh. Silenos was beginning to suspect the circumstances of his travels had somehow been arranged by the Entity.


    Starvation was more of an issue than thirst, however. The landscape around them was predictably barren for a place with such a laughable scarcity of biomatter to be found within it, and neither Silenos nor any of his situationally-convenient travelling companions caught sight of another living thing as they moved.


    Save for the Necromancer, of course. Sphera was her name, they¡¯d gotten that much from the woman, and little else. Save that she was rather determined to be anywhere but under their custody.


    Within the first half hour of emerging from the wreckage, Silenos¡¯ new group had been pressed with two issues, only one of which had been related to her. The other had stemmed from their unlikely saviour. The sky captain Swick the Swift.


    He was a tall man of dark skin, darker even than Silenos¡¯. His hair was bound in thick, long dreadlocks which reached down to the man¡¯s broad shoulders, and his body, though scarcely armoured in loose leathers, was well built and scarred from numerous altercations left in his past. By the patterns and make of their damaged tissues, it was clear that the man¡¯s body healed unaturally well. Silenos had seen such things already in the new world, apparently those gifted with Vigour and innate superhumanity tended to recover more quickly, too.


    Well, all present had benefitted from Ensharia¡¯s healing too. Even Falls, whose body was no tougher or more enduring than any other sedentary scholar¡¯s. Silenos had benefited most of all, despite not requiring her aid to physically repair his body. He¡¯d gotten to see it work at last.


    As far as Silenos could tell, the Paladin¡¯s healing was certainly magical, but of a curious kind. Rather than physically alter the flesh directly, simply reshaping and rearranging it as his own powers would have, it rather infused the target with energies that allowed the body to repair itself, enhancing physical processes in much the same way it enhanced the muscular strength or durability of its user.


    That had been his first observation, and, disastrously, Silenos had almost left it there. Upon closer inspection however, he realised that the Paladin¡¯s healing actually targeted the magic within their patient, not their body. Just as Ensharia gained immense superhuman prowess through arcane energies naturally built within her body, so too did even the most mundane of humans have lower levels of magic lurking within them. Typically these amounts were too limited to do anything of note, but at her touch, Ensharia had enhanced them in all present. The results had been explosive, impressive, and revolutionary.


    Silenos could think of many uses for magic that affected other magic. It only increased his irritation to be stranded so far from his laboratory.


    ¡°I think I¡¯ll need to rest soon.¡± Falls breathed, sounding almost embarrassed. Even using the wind to help lift part of his body weight and move himself along, he lacked the stamina that came so naturally to those whose bodies were reshaped or augmented by magic. His words drew a harsh glare from the lumbering King Galukar, who eyed him over one shoulder whilst the Necromancer remained strewn across the other.


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    ¡°We¡¯re in the Borderlands.¡± The King growled. ¡°Ten, maybe fifteen miles in. There¡¯s a town ahead, I know it, just a few more miles away.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t walk a few more miles.¡± Falls insisted. ¡°You¡¯re asking me to push on for another half hour.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m asking everyone to.¡± Galukar replied, coolly. ¡°You¡¯re the only one complaining.¡±


    Silenos cut in at that, finding the stupidity too much for him to tolerate.


    ¡°And he is telling you he physically cannot, you can tantrum against reality itself, if you¡¯d like, but that will not change anything about this situation. The world is not going to conform to your will no matter how long you¡¯ve grown used to wearing a crown.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s rich, coming from you.¡± The King fired back. Silenos frowned.


    ¡°What in the world does that even mean?¡±


    ¡°It means that out of us all, you¡¯re by far the most prone to insisting that everything be just how you want it. Or are you too delusional to have noticed even that?¡±


    Silenos was just about to explain the finer differences between impotently whining about things and factually vocalising plans to change them when it was within one¡¯s power when the pirate began his own contribution to their debate.


    ¡°For one, I¡¯d quite like to know what¡¯s waiting for us in whatever town we¡¯re heading towards.¡± He declared. ¡°Because, and pardon me rightly if this is a bit too blunt, but I¡¯m not so sure I won¡¯t have my head chopped off if I¡¯m recognised.¡±


    It was his turn, now, to weather the glare of King Galukar, and he did so with an admirable lack of fear.


    ¡°Perhaps you should have thought about such things before deciding to make your life¡¯s work stealing, pilfering and raping.¡± The King replied, his eyes like lances, his words like a charging warhorse. Both bounced right off the pirate .


    ¡°We all have to do what we have to do.¡± He shrugged. ¡°You should know all about that, considering your choice of company.¡±


    He glanced towards Silenos at that, ridiculously. It was clear enough what he was referencing. Early after the crash Silenos had suggested they all head back to the wreckage and reanimate the slain crew of Swick the Swift¡¯s skyship. They had been left onboard when he made his assault on the castle, and thus killed instantly when the entire structure struck the earth. Apparently, their being mindless, lifeless blocks of useless meat was not justification to actually do something with their remains.


    Silenos had to take a moment to swallow his fury. It was getting harder, the emotion strengthening each time he was afflicted once more by its cause. How long would he spend trapped in this land of cavemen? He¡¯d already been here for months, would years more pass before he escaped? Decades?


    Would it possibly even be centuries? Silenos couldn¡¯t know, and that uncertainty gnawed at him.


    Minutes passed by quickly, then a few more passed more slowly as Falls¡¯ complaints picked up. Finally Galukar caved in and permitted the group to stop without more of his incessant urges onwards, and they all seated themselves to make camp.


    Silenos did not feel the lack of any fire, his body had been insulated to keep heat in just as it had to keep it out, but he could see Falls and the Necromancer were not quite so fortunate. The latter seemed to be doing a good job of hiding her displeasure, having it betrayed only as Silenos grazed her shoulder to scan the woman¡¯s vital signs, while the magus was taking rather a different approach to handling his issue.


    ¡°We ought to huddle together, for warmth.¡± He suggested to Ensharia, who looked no less disgusted by the proposal- or proposition- as might have been expected.


    ¡°You ought to keep yourself distracted from the cold.¡± Silenos cut in. ¡°With your studies.¡±


    The look of fear, of horror, sprawling across the face of an apprentice when they were called to practise was a joy he had never quite grown beyond appreciating, not after rewiring his brain for pure logic and mnemonics, and not after spending decades becoming used to it. It was particularly amusing on the features of Falls himself. The more pampered and privileged a student, the more they could truly bask in the misery of his methods.


    Reluctantly, the boy shuffled over to sit before Silenos, head lowered.


    ¡°I thank you for this opportunity, Master Silenos.¡± He said, mechanically, ¡°And I look forward to growing ever mightier from it.¡±


    The official, proper terms of opening for their sessions had not taken him long to memorise at least. His mind was nearly as impressive as his magic, after all.


    ¡°We will be starting with the practicum.¡± Silenos told him. They had had only one session before, and it had not been a long one. Exhaustion had kept Falls from dedicating much time to it, though with the rate at which he assimilated information it had almost been introduction enough. The boy was somewhere beyond genius, and not entirely far from Silenos¡¯ own gift of nature. Three, maybe four Shaiagrazni had surpassed his raw talent that Silenos knew of. All of which had been far in excess of his own idiot apprentices.


    Save for Adonis.


    ¡°Am I going to learn reanimation?¡± Falls asked, interrupting Silenos before his temper could implode on itself once more.


    ¡°No.¡± He replied, quickly, ¡°That would be an inefficient use of our time, it would take years for you to learn enough to reanimate corpses in amounts that would meaningfully add to the multitudes I can already bring forth.¡±


    ¡°-Of course, don¡¯t desecrate the dead because it would be inefficient.¡± The King snarled. Silenos ignored him, just as he ignored the pungent odour reaching his nostrils from the wind.


    ¡°-I will be selecting lessons more suited to leveraging your pre-existing strengths.¡± He concluded. Falls considered that.


    It was not impossible to learn more than one form of magic, but it was rare. Each new field a caster dedicated himself to mastering was longer, harder than the one before. Silenos was a rarity even among House Shaiagrazni to have come close to mastering two before his second century, and even with the new world¡¯s pathetic standards of mastery, the general principles remained in place and ensured that most magi used only one kind.


    Which meant the prospect of gaining a second would have given Falls quite a lot to consider. He landed on the obvious conclusion quickly enough.


    ¡°Wait, my strength of wind magic, right? So you mean¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Silenos smiled. ¡°You will be learning how to conjure shadestuff. That ought to improve your destructive potential a touch.¡±

 Chapter 30

    Early the next day, they caught sight of the town King Galukar had spent so much time promising them. The giant oaf seemed to think himself vindicated, despite it appearing entirely too early and westward, but Silenos was in no mood to burst the delusional bubble keeping his temporary asset in such an agreeable mood. Instead he maintained focus on approaching the distant settlement, and peering ahead to see what might be gleaned of it from afar.


    ¡°Do you know the name of the town?¡± Ensharia asked, succeeding in diminishing the grinning idiot¡¯s pleasure with just that simple question alone.


    ¡°I don¡¯t.¡± Galukar replied, testily, ¡°But we can learn that easily enough.¡±


    ¡°What about its loyalties?¡± Falls added. ¡°I don¡¯t want to step into some safe haven only to get lynched.¡±


    The King snorted.


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯re traitors, here, to a man. All of them under the Dark Lord, have been for years. They¡¯ll be well used to it I imagine.¡±


    It was Ensharia¡¯s turn to frown at that.


    ¡°Won¡¯t they crave freedom? Won¡¯t that make it that much easier to inspire them into revolt?¡±


    The King eyed her, almost pitying.


    ¡°No, Paladin, it won¡¯t. Freedom isn¡¯t a dream that survives being unfulfilled for long. They¡¯ll be more tired than angry.¡±


    Silenos could agree with that much, he¡¯d held plenty of cities using just such a concept himself. So long as things did not worsen for people, and they were held tightly and forcibly whilst given time to adjust, the urge to fight back against their conquerors would dissipate surprisingly quickly. It was what had made House Shaiagrazni¡¯s territory so easy to expand back in his own world.


    But it did beg one important question.


    ¡°If it¡¯s loyal to the enemy, we might run the risk of capture heading into it.¡± He observed. ¡°I advise that we send some of us in first, those of a less distinct appearance.¡±


    His eyes flitted across the group, though hardly needed to. It was more of a focusing aid than anything.


    Galukar was close to two hundred and ten centimetres tall, weighed almost as many kilograms, and had one of the most famous faces and names in the entire continent. Even to say nothing of his being as subtle as a brick dipped in nitroglycerin. He, obviously, was out of the question.


    Silenos himself was a few centimetres shorter, but he hardly looked entirely human. His clothing had been torn badly enough in the fighting that patches of keratin armour were visible through the gaps, and his own height was still far in excess of the new world¡¯s norm. His accent would be further evidence of his foreign origins.


    Ensharia was an option, however And surprisingly, so was Swick the Swift. The sky pirate looked distinct enough, but likely had better first-hand knowledge of the region than anyone else present, and with her previous Paladin armour destroyed and replaced by Silenos¡¯ Fleshcrafted substitute Ensharia had high odds of at least looking the part of a foreigner of no particular loyalties or inclinations.


    The only real question was whether he ought to send Falls in with them, which Silenos eventually decided against. Putting aside the boy¡¯s ridiculous lack of first-hand experience regarding the outside world, he was now an Apprentice of House Shaiagrazni, and one of the most gifted who¡¯d ever lived. Silenos would burn nations to the ground and scatter their ashes across the winds before allowing harm to befall him.


    ¡°It will be Ensharia and Swick.¡± Silenos informed the group, interrupting Galukar in the middle of what looked to be a promisingly horrible tirade. ¡°They have the most required blend of physical indistinction and actual social skills, not to mention worldly knowledge.¡±


    The King glared for a moment, then nodded. Seeming almost annoyed to have been given a logical idea.


    ¡°Makes sense.¡± He conceded, turning to the pair. ¡°Alright, head on in. We want to know where we are, get a map, if possible, and above everything else find some food and water. Horses too if you can manage it.¡±


    The sky pirate eyed him at that, seeming rather affronted.


    ¡°I have a couple of silver.¡± He noted. ¡°Not gold, silver, horses are out of the question. And I¡¯m not sure why I should be getting food for the rest of you as well, it¡¯ll go farther if I just save it for myself.¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯ll still be holding it when I throw you as hard as I can.¡± Galukar replied, calmly. ¡°Which, believe it or not, would actually bring you quite close to clearing that horizon.¡±


    Silenos did not inquire as to how the brute knew that, simply spoke up to add his own, less idiotic means of persuasion into the mix.


    ¡°And it would also mean you¡¯d be making your way through the Dark Lord¡¯s territory with no assistance, and no chance to collect the debt you¡¯ve sown in us by providing your aid during the battle in the castle.¡±


    He¡¯d had a feeling that it would be the appeal of wealth to sway the captain, and it proved correct. Swick the Swift did not take long to change his tune after Silenos aimed his words at greed and pragmatism, soon nodding, though still looking reluctant enough as he agreed. Good, that would, with luck, leave him more cautious.


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    The captain¡¯s eyes narrowed after a moment.


    ¡°Someone must¡¯ve found the rubble of Castle Edmari by now.¡± He noted. ¡°And you must¡¯ve known that, are you by chance trying to fuck me?¡±


    Silenos met his eye, keeping his face level.


    ¡°I would rather obscure our real numbers for when whoever may or may not be pursuing us reaches the town to ask about any suspicious outsiders.¡± He replied, preferring not to lie when unnecessary. ¡°I did not feel the need to mention this because I had assumed the rest of you had drawn similar conclusions.¡±


    He glanced around, found varying levels of disbelief greeting his eyes, then Swick the Swift sighed.


    ¡°Bloody casters, alright then, let¡¯s go.¡± He started for the town quickly, and Ensharia hurried after. Silenos watched the pair go with an odd disquet sitting in his gut.


    <hr>


    The air smelled of sulphur, Ensharia thought. Sulphur, and the strange, sickly sweetness of infected flesh. She¡¯d studied such scents during her time training as a Paladin, and knew them both well. They were the tell-tale signs of Necromantic corruption in a landscape.


    Normally such a state did not take a place instantly, which was good. When the lands turned dark and twisted like this, they became anathema to life of any kind. Attracted undead from across the continent, like the smell of flesh did scavengers, and strengthened and sustained those that dwelled within. Crops withered, water turned putrid and toxic, and, apparently, even the deep roots and burrowing insects, and the very matter which usually nourished such things, were reduced to such an extent as to deny Silenos his Fleshcrafting.


    The Saviour had said, insisted, even, that the Dark Lord¡¯s Necromancy was amateurish by the standards of House Shaiagrazni. She¡¯d believed him once, found the revelation a source of hope and strength, but Ensharia had seen the man¡¯s flaws demonstrated with far too much regularity to just take him at his word any longer.


    Could he have underestimated their enemy in such an excessive and extreme way? Perhaps, perhaps. Ensharia didn¡¯t think Silenos Shaiagrazni would ever misjudge a caster who had stood before his eyes, but he¡¯d still not encountered the Dark Lord in person. Until he did, his arrogance may well have been what motivated his conclusions.


    ¡°Bloody hate Necrotic lands.¡± The pirate breathed, beside her. Ensharia glanced over, pulled from her thoughts by the momentary assumption he was talking to her, then relaxing slightly as she found him staring ahead. Just thinking out loud. Ensharia¡¯s concern blossomed again as she studied the man.


    Swick the Swift had become famous for his piracy, in more than one way. Mostly, the stories told of his cunning. He¡¯d escaped from more prisons than most pirates with twice his experience had even been thrown in, stolen perhaps a full tonne of gold, made himself rich in the dirty work, and then made himself poor with how he spent it. By all merits, he was a man of staggering intellect and ridiculous impulsivity. She¡¯d been ready for that.


    What struck her now, though, was the sheer calm about him. He strutted along the dark, grimy soil as if it were a red carpet, looking almost bored at their surroundings, irritated at their circumstances. But not shaken.


    He had rammed a prized skyship into perhaps the most valuable building in the continent, destroying both, and lost each and every one of his crew in a failed attempt to keep them out of the fighting.


    Had Ensharia suffered as much misfortune and loss, she wouldn¡¯t have been able to even stand, and yet mere days afterwards Swick the Swift was striding away as if the fact weren¡¯t even occupying space in his head.


    It irked her, and she spoke up to let him know as much.


    ¡°Does it not bother you, that all your men are dead?¡±


    The man turned, eying her as if she¡¯d just asked if he wanted to drink a puddle of cow urine.


    ¡°Ray of sunshine, you, aren¡¯t you love?¡± He grinned, revealing two teeth which had, at some point, been knocked from his mouth and since replaced by ones made of gold. Ensharia shivered at the smile, returning her eyes to the space ahead of them.


    Fortunately, with Falls and the prisoner no longer in their company, she and Swick were able to make far faster progress along the landscape than their entire group had earlier, each stride eating up well over a yard of space and coming faster than would be sustainable for less trained and Vigorous individuals.


    Ensharia almost wished they¡¯d been moving slower, soon. It would have given her more time before her eyes took in the withered settlement awaiting them.


    It was not a small thing, nor was it particularly large. A town which likely held a few thousand, at first glance. As they entered through its outer wall, however, Ensharia found the streets far too thinly populated for such numbers to possibly be true. It seemed very much as if a typical settlement had had one out of each three of its citizens removed, and those who remained were terribly thinned by hunger and fatigue.


    With a few exceptions, which Ensharia had to fight herself not to attack on sight. The soldiers of the Dark Lord were perfectly healthy and well maintained as they walked around, looking as if they were enjoying rations of rare and exceeding quality for the soldier¡¯s lives they¡¯d chosen. The scum.


    They weren¡¯t undead, as was common for those servants of Necromancer-tyrants who policed civilian areas rather than marching to battle. That just made things worse. Oh, humans could be relied upon not to eat or slaughter those they watched over, but that was because they were thinking beings. People. It was not mere mindless nature that compelled them to act the way they did or obey orders with a singular savagery, they could choose. And these ones were choosing evil of their own volition.


    One of them shoved an old woman and sent her hitting the ground, hard. It happened just a few yards ahead of Ensharia and her companion.


    ¡°You owe nine.¡± The guard snarled, clutching what looked to be less than nine copper coins in one fist, while the other closed tight about a spear at his side. ¡°Are you trying to rob His Majesty?¡±


    The woman couldn¡¯t have been a day younger than sixty, and Ensharia feared her aged body might have given in from just that single shove alone before she rose to her knees, looking up at the soldier with pleading eyes as grey hair spilled over her face.


    A hand closed around Ensharia¡¯s wrist, and she turned to see it was Captain Swick¡¯s. His face had grown serious, eyes hard and determined.


    ¡°Careful.¡± He warned. ¡°We¡¯re here to gather information and travel supplies, and we need to keep a low profile.¡±


    ¡°The sentence for theft, woman, is flogging.¡± The soldier continued up ahead, turning Ensharia¡¯s face back around to watch as another man drew a vicious looking whip out from his belt. ¡°And since you stole from the Dark Lord himself, we¡¯ll be delivering your sentence in public.¡±


    One man moved to expose the woman¡¯s back while the other prepared his instrument of torture, and Ensharia tore her arm from the sky pirate¡¯s grip.


    She took one step, then another. Forcing herself to turn away from the sight and leave, knowing that extrication from the situation was the only way she had of ensuring she wouldn¡¯t cave in. Knowing that the impulses of justice and righteousness would kill far more people than one old woman if she were to obey them now and jeopardise her mission.


    The woman¡¯s screams came out, each one of them landing in Ensharia¡¯s ears like a whip strike itself. She weathered them.

 Chapter 31

    The Paladin, Ensharia, tore her arm from Swick¡¯s grip, and he readied himself for the worst. From what he¡¯d seen she wasn¡¯t quite as strong as him, and nowhere near as fast, but her armour was a damn sight heavier. If things got violent, she¡¯d have slim but greater than zero odds of beating him. Better to just translocate away if she looked to be on the verge of doing something stupid.


    She didn¡¯t, though.


    Instead of charging over to start splitting open heads and tearing off limbs, the woman turned, then started her march away from the atrocity unfolding just twenty feet ahead. Her strides were almost reluctant, as if she were wrestling herself just to make them. Swick recognised the disposition of a woman at war with herself, but though the conflict was clear, he didn¡¯t see any doubt. Given the same choice, she¡¯d make the same decision. She knew she¡¯d have to.


    He followed after her, taking only a moment for his shock to finish running through his system. Swick found his mood brightening somewhat as they avoided what could easily have been a very annoying problem.


    The Paladin had surprised Swick by turning away from the old woman as her lashes came down, and that surprise had been quite a pleasant one.


    In all honesty, he¡¯d not had his own skin on the line. If she¡¯d insisted on fighting the guards, he had no doubt she could have handled two, between them both- or perhaps even by herself- they likely could have killed however many hundred more were dotted around the rest of the settlement, even at once. And at worst, if there had been some nasty surprise awaiting them like a particularly strong undead or three, he could have simply translocated away.


    One particularly loud cry actually made Swick jump, and he found himself glancing back at the old woman¡¯s punishment, wincing before it. A screamer, that one. With lungs like those she¡¯d probably make it to eighty before going toes-up. Shame about the flogging.


    Surprisingly, the Paladin proved quite skilled at navigating the town, though not quite so much as Swick. He supposed her lot were probably taught all about different customs and regional cultures, on account of their job being wandering around them cudgelling brains out of things. Still, she must¡¯ve had most of her life eaten up fighting the Dark Lord rather than policing the world, and nothing beat experience in Swick¡¯s view.


    They focused on simple foods, light and filling. This region, apparently, was one that either grew or- more likely- imported rice, which was excellent for weight-efficiency in their travel rations. Water was harder to come by, but not impossible. Apparently this town was one that had learned to ration its drinking water out, because buying the stuff privately was damned expensive. By the time they¡¯d finished with it, Swick¡¯s reserves of coin had been reduced to under half.


    While the water-merchant headed back to retrieve the product, Swick was left standing beside the Paladin. The two of them had the company only of one another, and silence. He eyed her while it stretched on.


    She was not crying, nor had she been. That didn¡¯t surprise him as much. Swick had been around more than a few times in his life, and he¡¯d seen enough to be more than sceptical of women as the emotionally fragile whiners plenty of other men tended to know them as. More to the point, this one was tough, and more than just the way most Paladins seemed to be.


    But that didn¡¯t mean her sadness, and the wrathful bitterness feeding off of it, didn¡¯t strike him like a hammer to the chest.


    Swick tried to just ignore it, but the seconds dragged by, and the merchant kept on doing whatever the hell she¡¯d been wasting so much of their time doing in the back. Eventually something had to give in, and it was Swick¡¯s nerves.


    God, he needed a drink. He couldn¡¯t deal with people while he was sober.


    ¡°What we saw back there.¡± He began, choosing his words carefully. ¡°You, uh, you did the right thing in walking away from it, you know. World doesn¡¯t have a lot of heroes, but it¡¯s got plenty of dead idiots who tried to be one. There was nothing you could¡¯ve done except make this mission more dangerous for the rest of us. It¡¯s just the way of things.¡±


    She turned, and the look in her eyes made ice seem warm.


    ¡°Is that why you didn¡¯t so much as shed a tear over your dead comrades?¡± She snapped. ¡°Because it¡¯s just the way of things?¡±


    Swick felt a jab of irritation at her retort, and had to resist firing back one of his own. The headache was pricking his thoughts, brain slathered in acidic pain by its dehydrated, alcohol-deprived state. It was all he could do not to tell her to shut up and nap right then and there.


    ¡°They knew what they¡¯d be getting in for when they signed up for their jobs.¡± He explained, trying to make the mudwalker understand. ¡°It¡¯d be an insult to mourn them when they died in something they got themselves involved with of their own volitions, and I¡¯d be insulted if I found out they mourned for me were our fates reversed.¡±


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    ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡± She asked, not seeming to even believe him. Shock had to be an improvement over derision, at least.


    ¡°Deadly.¡± Swick growled. ¡°We¡¯re pirates. Sky pirates, at that. We have our code, just as you Paladins do. Treat a man like he¡¯s soft and you¡¯re insulting him, take a look behind you and you¡¯re insulting everything in front.¡±


    ¡°Unbelievable.¡± The Paladin stared. ¡°That you¡¯d even compare such a barbaric code to the tenets of my order. What, do you honour your men by drinking? I saw you guzzling away from that canteen the other day, it¡¯s like you were kissing it, and you¡¯ve been blinking fifty times a minute since it ran out. Is the boozing part of your code?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He replied, feeling a stab as her words touched something more sensitive than he¡¯d expected. ¡°The boozing is just fun.¡±


    At last the merchant returned, and not a moment too soon. Had she left Swick alone with the Paladin for much longer, he half suspected she¡¯d have started taking that mace to him, or trying. Purging the world of criminal scum like him was among their horribly lengthy set of vows, if he remembered right.


    ¡°Much obliged, darling.¡± Swick grinned, as she handed his coins over the counter. ¡°Much obliged. Tell me, uh, if it¡¯s not too much trouble I mean, my companion here and I could use a bit of directional advice, not quite used to navigating a landscape as black and deathy as this one, you understand.¡±


    She smiled back, apparently swallowing every word easily enough.


    ¡°Oh, of course, sir, of course, what would you like to know? I¡¯m not as well travelled as some of the merchants here, the older ones mostly, but I¡¯ve ventured out beyond the walls more than a few times.¡±


    Swick maintained his grin, and did his best to hide the strain that threatened to imbue it as he moved on to the real reason for his asking her.


    ¡°How exactly, if we were so inclined, would we cross the border and exit the Dark Lord¡¯s territory?¡±


    The change was instantaneous, and pronounced. Within the span of a single heartbeat Swick saw the woman¡¯s face fall, friendliness withering and dying like a rose under desert heat, openness disappearing as whatever cracks he¡¯d managed to widen in her guard were rapidly pulled shut. She was a wall of steel before he spoke again, but not yet fully sealed, not yet impossible to reach. He¡¯d have to move her quickly, before she clamped up completely.


    ¡°You understand we¡¯re just looking to move on.¡± He noted, hurriedly, ¡°Tell us what we need to hear- as, I assure you, plenty more merchants will- and you¡¯ll never have to hear from us again, eh? Just one trader to another.¡±


    She shifted slightly, but still didn¡¯t meet his eye.


    ¡°It is forbidden to leave the Dark Lord¡¯s lands.¡± She whispered. ¡°All of His Majesty¡¯s subjects are required to aid the Great Work, any who leave without His permission are deserters, and desertion is a crime that carries the penalty of death.¡±


    He might have expected as much. Swick had travelled enough that this was far from his first time in the Dark Lord¡¯s territory; borders in general didn¡¯t mean much to a sky captain after all. He¡¯d met plenty of people with similar levels of fearful loyalty, and all of them much closer to the border and more recently conquered. This far into the Dark Lord¡¯s land, with well over a decade of history under his rule, there were people over the adult¡¯s age of sixteen that wouldn¡¯t have ever known anything else.


    This one didn¡¯t look as young as that, though. By Swick¡¯s guess, he had a chance to sway her.


    ¡°Lots of things are forbidden by the Dark Lord.¡± He noted. ¡°There¡¯s a big difference between what he can announce, and what he can effectively police, eh?¡± Swick affixed his most winning smile. ¡°Come on, help us out, please? You might be our only chance to actually find a path back home, to our families.¡±


    She hesitated, an agonised look washing over her face at his words. Swick could see how torn the woman was, and it filled him with an adrenal shot of anticipation. A torn barterer was halfway to a convinced one.


    Just as her gaze stiffened, and she looked to be on the verge of refusing, the Paladin¡¯s hand came down on hers, and the woman was absorbed in a stare so heartfelt and honest that even Swick almost blurted out everything he knew about their route back home.


    ¡°We know we¡¯re asking a lot, that this would be a betrayal, but it would mean the world to us.¡± She whispered, squeezing the woman¡¯s hand gently for emphasis. ¡°We¡¯d be in your debt- I¡¯d be in your debt- forever, and¡­You might well be saving our lives. Can you do it for us, please?¡±


    Good lord, Swick had seen quite a few strumpets in his day, but none had ever managed to make their eyes inflate quite like this Paladin did. It was remarkable, almost wasteful, really, that she¡¯d chosen to use her talents on smashing undead heads open with a cudgel.


    And it revealed rather quickly why his own persuasive methods hadn¡¯t worked. By the sudden flush across the merchant¡¯s face, and the swift movements of her tongue lolling over both lips, her interests swung in another direction entirely to any man, even one as handsome as Swick the Swift.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know anything concrete.¡± The merchant whispered, looking rather more at the Paladin than Jolly Old Swick, ¡°But I¡¯ve heard rumours about the city Kaltan. You¡¯ve heard of it?¡±


    Swick saw incomprehension in the Paladin, and figured that was about right. Mostly they learned about nations, not cities. Far more efficient when they were being educated on a thousand other matters to travel around doling out justice that mostly wasn¡¯t city-dependent anyway. Sky pirates like him, however, tended to get a more nuanced and detailed view of the world.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of it.¡± Swick volunteered. ¡°The rebel¡¯s city, right? Overthrew their nobility and started lopping off heads a few years ago. Twenty or so, I think.¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°That¡¯s right, well a great deal fewer years before now, they fell under the Dark Lord¡¯s dominion. But there¡¯ve been whispers that there¡¯s a man within their walls offering safe passage from the Dark Lord¡¯s territory. They call him Silhouette.¡±


    ¡°Silhouette.¡± Swick echoed, whilst the Paladin busied herself with thanking the shopkeeper. He moved the word around in his mouth as they left. Silhouette.


    Yes, it did sound quite like the sort of name he¡¯d come up with while drunk.

 Chapter 32

    Sphera had not been having a good week, all things considered. There¡¯d been a few ups early on, besting the pretender Silenos had been fun- seeing the limits of her undead had been positively thrilling, and corrupting Castle Edmari through its Hero master may well have been the highlight of her service to the Dark Lord. Things had deteriorated, she decided, around the time of her being tricked, overpowered and hauled off as a captive. Such events as that did tend to have a marked impact on one¡¯s happiness.


    At the moment she was seated by the rebel group¡¯s campsite, if it could even be called that when they lacked the means to make fire. She was tied up, of course, fingers forcibly splayed and held out apart from one another by the special cuffs made by that damned Necromancer, body kept still and stiff as she lay face down, with nothing to do but glare, bask in the growing aches of her unnaturally sustained position and, of course, glare some more.


    Today, the subject of her glaring was the King. It was he who by chance had ended up within her line of sight, and so it was he who absorbed the unrelenting barrage of her fury. Sphera did not make the rules, she only obeyed them.


    ¡°Stop looking at me.¡± The giant said, without even glancing up. His voice was so deep it sounded more like something that would exit a bear¡¯s throat than a man¡¯s, Sphera had to keep her surprise from showing.


    ¡°I have nothing else to do.¡± She replied, and glared even harder. If he was bothered by the fact, it didn¡¯t show on his face. But Sphera felt the breath leave her as his eyes turned to hers.


    King Galukar¡¯s power was not something truly felt from any perspective save the one that was seeing it focused upon itself. She almost soiled herself then and there at the sight of his withering gaze.


    ¡°I am going to turn you to face another direction now.¡± The King told her. ¡°Attempt to move against me in any way and I will rip your head off, doing so will take me no more effort than uncorking a bottle would you. Perhaps less.¡±


    Sphera believed him, and so she stayed very still while the man moved her. He turned her quite roughly so that her eyes were falling upon the pretender and his student, then moved away without another word. Sphera wondered for a moment whether he¡¯d done it on purpose, then stopped her wondering. Of course he had, the hateful bastard.


    ¡°-The abyss,¡± She heard Silenos Shaiagrazni continue, ¡°It is the source of Necromancy, and death itself.¡±


    Her breath caught in her throat, and despite herself, Sphera leaned in. He was speaking about the metaphysics of their art, that, Sphera knew, would be worth listening to.


    ¡°Do all magics have a source?¡± The student asked, and his master frowned.


    ¡°We are not certain, entirely. My people know much more of phys- natural philosophy than yours. Yet the more we learn, the more discrepancies we find in how the world behaves normally, and how it behaves when magic is considered. It is possible that the very requirement of sources and beginnings, of time and causality itself, does not apply to the force.¡±


    Falls frowned in the way little boys or puppy dogs might, then nodded.


    ¡°That makes sense.¡± He breathed. ¡°We¡¯re made of mundane matter, it¡¯d be too convenient if we could intuit magic as well as natural law.¡±


    His teacher was expressionless, but nodded.


    ¡°Now,¡± Silenos Shaiagrazni pressed, ¡°The abyss. It is best explained through a philosophy of life held by some people within my land, likening the world to one great ocean. Individual lives, in such a universe, are waves. Born of forces acting on water, shaping it, moving it, giving it momentum and velocity, conducting its substance into a pattern that will never quite be replicated entirely again. Then the wave exhausts its energy, falls back down into the ocean, and is assimilated into the mass of water. In this scenario, the vital sparks that animate our bodies are the waves. The ocean is the abyss.¡±


    Falls nodded along as he listened, waiting patiently with a question. Sphera had to admit, he was a good student.


    ¡°So what is that shadestuff substance you conjure? Soul energy?¡±


    Shaiagrazni did not look impressed.


    ¡°Shadestuff is raw abyssal substance, and it varies in nature. Much as the pressure of the ocean¡­Ah, you don¡¯t know about that, nevermind. Within the abyss everything is shadestuff, except for the vital sparks, the ¡°souls'' '' as you put it, which exist within. Different parts of the abyss house different grades of shadestuff. It is always destructive and unrelenting in its interaction with physical matter, but can be more so if you extract it from a deeper part. Observe.¡±


    He held out two fingers, and two identical spheres of shadestuff formed from each. The man¡¯s face was instantly seized in concentration, as was proper. Only an idiot could ever be relaxed while handling the deadliest force magic had to offer.


    Without warning, Shaiagrazni dropped both the globules of shadestuff and let them fall into the dirt. Their reactions were instantaneous, eating through the matter like boiling water dropped onto ice. Within a second both had vanished, and in their place a pair of hemispherical craters rested in the ground. One was as wide as a man¡¯s finger, the other almost as wide as a fist.


    ¡°Neither of those reached the limits of shadestuff I am capable of conjuring, but the second would have been equal to, perhaps, the Dark Lord¡¯s Necromancer officer we fought the other day.¡±


    Neither of them glanced over to meet Sphera¡¯s glare, which somehow made being used as a measuring stick even worse. Fury bubbled in her breast as she watched the smug bastard explain what he¡¯d done and how to replicate it.


    He talked of the methods through which shadestuff was conjured, the way one might extend their consciousness to touching the abyss, the sensations of plunging a head underwater and holding one¡¯s breath. The dangers, the risks, the rewards. Sphera searched his words for any faults, and found none. Her irritation only grew.


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    Clearly this one was skilled when it came to teaching the fundamentals, that was a mark to his credit at least. Perhaps he could have become one of her lieutenants, or a bodyguard, more likely, given the potency of his other magic. Sphera reminded herself to try and uncover how he¡¯d broken his bonds in the Castle. More even than the skyship collision, that had been when things began to turn sour.


    Sphera found herself suddenly sick of the sight, grunting and snarling with effort as she forcibly turned her body again. The pained sensation of hard dirt scraping against the underside of her body was worth not having to watch any more of that smug bastard¡¯s teaching.


    For all the tedious, punishing effort, Sphera soon found her decision a stroke of luck. Just as she¡¯d started settling into her position staring out into the distance, something caught her eye. It was subtle, quick, but all too familiar. Orcs.


    Just two of them, moving along the ground faster than most humans could run, eying their surroundings as they shuffled ahead with wind under their feet and fire in their legs.


    Scouts. Venka¡¯s scouts, surely, because Venka was the only human General on the continent to use orcs in such a way, and certainly the only one who trained his orcs to move like that. As she looked harder, Sphera made out the bulk of armour about them, and not the kind that orc barbarians produced around the Steppes.


    There was a lot for Sphera to consider, but one of the few, perhaps only, advantages to being held hostage was that she had nothing but time on her hands, and so she put it to good use. Considering the implications.


    If Venka¡¯s orcs were nearby, then so was Venka. He had never trusted the creatures to act outside of his immediate supervision before, not without a tight line of communication which was only sustainable over smaller distances. If Venka was nearby, then¡­


    Then he was near because of her, searching for her. Sphera¡¯s heart fluttered with triumph, and she checked her reasoning, all too weary of the trap that was false hope and wishful thinking. Venka was an offensive General, an attacker, he did not hold ground as often as take it. Moreover, they now stood within one of the more loyal and secure regions of the Dark Lord¡¯s territory.


    Sphera thought, trying to recall any local regions that might be contested in the Dark Lord¡¯s conquest. There weren¡¯t any close by, but one or two could be reached by only taking a minor detour. Would Venka send himself off course in such a way to retrieve her if he thought she was missing?


    Without question, yes. He was ambitious above all else, convinced he was the greatest genius to ever live, and rescuing one of his peers would be an undeniable mark in his favour.


    And a mark against the peer being rescued, she realised, but that was a concern she didn¡¯t have the luxury of considering.


    Her suspicions were confirmed soon enough, the scouts were followed by marching columns. Humanoid and bipedal, but broad in the way only orcs could be. The figures were clad in thick, dark metal that Sphera knew from experience was the armour of heavy infantry- particularly brave and violent specimens Venka had singled out as shock troops and turned into certifiable siege engines by covering them in half an inch of wrought iron.


    They were not as subtle as the scouts, which were in turn less subtle still than well trained human ones. Sooner rather than later, they¡¯d be spotted. Sphera strained harder, faster, more painfully even than before to quickly turn herself, this time trying to keep the entire group of her captors within sight at once.


    She¡¯d not get another stroke of luck as big as this one, that much was certain. Sphera would be damned if she let it go to waste. Figuratively, and very literally. She needed a distraction from the approaching army.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t there when your sons were killed.¡± Sphera began, addressing her words to the King. ¡°But I was there when they were¡­Worked on.¡±


    He stiffened, then, slowly, lifted his gaze to eye her. It was a hell of a thing, lying in the midst of that stare. Like facing down ten armies at once. Like staring into the mouth of a volcano. Casters had magic running through their nerves, if not their muscle and bone. Sphera was confident she would see the King moving if he went for her. She was more confident still that those plate-sized hands could close around her head so powerfully as to liquefy it before she¡¯d even felt the sensation of her own death.


    It was the sort of observation that dried a tongue and tightened a throat, but she made herself speak in spite of it.


    ¡°Necromantically, you understand.¡± She continued, forcing a smile. ¡°They were very, very powerful. Really, each one had the strength of several Knights, you must¡¯ve been proud to call them your blood. I can only imagine how impressive they are, now that they¡¯ve been further infused with the strength of the abyss.¡±


    She did not, in the end, fail to see King Galukar move. But she failed to react to it. One moment she was mid word, then a hand was around her neck, and her body was suddenly straining the soft tendons with its own weight as she dangled in his grip. Sphera choked, legs kicking in instinctual search of ground that was a yard too low for them to reach. The King¡¯s eyes were harder than ever.


    ¡°You will not speak of my sons.¡± He told her, as if she were a subject to be commanded. No challenge, no rage, just a single, simple statement of fact. Sphera had to admit, she was awfully tempted to let it be so. The King dropped her with no great measure of care, leaving her to land knee-first in the dirt.


    The King took his steps away, and Sphera waited, catching her breath, hardening her nerves. Readying herself.


    ¡°It was odd,¡± She gasped, through her half-crushed throat, ¡°How much they moved. Most corpses are still while being reanimated, but your sons danced like puppets.¡±


    King Galukar¡¯s sword was moving for Sphera like a bolt of lightning, and it took just long enough for her to realise her error before it was upon her.


    She¡¯d gone too far.


    The Goblade swept past Sphera, missing her shoulder by mere inches as a strong wind struck her in its proximity. The dark iron dug itself feet deep into the ground by her feet, and only once it had done so did she realise that Falls had knocked the swing aside with a blast of wind.


    It wasn¡¯t buried for more than a second before rising again, but by then the Necromancer, Silenos, had stepped in to place a hand on the King¡¯s arm and wedge himself between him and Sphera. The two stared at one another, separated by mere inches in height and distance, yet seeming to her the picture of a man facing down a giant.


    ¡°Do you think your strength will resist mine?¡± The King growled. ¡°That even your abominably-remade flesh can even press hard enough for me to notice any difference between it and that of an infant?¡±


    ¡°I have no doubt at all that it cannot.¡± The caster replied. ¡°But I do not care.¡± His hand was instantly filled by the abyssal black of shadestuff. ¡°This is not a fight you can afford to start over a few hurled barbs.¡±


    The King¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°I¡¯m an ally.¡± He growled. ¡°You¡¯re stupid enough to wound me?¡±


    ¡°If you kill a hostage with valuable information because you decided to tantrum after hearing your pathetic children insulted, then you will have proven yourself too unstable and unpredictable to be of use. Better to kill a mad dog like that before it can turn on me.¡±


    The Necromancer¡¯s voice did not quiver in the slightest as he spoke, and Sphera found herself struggling not to drown in his bottomless, empty eyes. It was like staring into the depths of a sea, and the vertigo it induced forced her to look away.


    Which was why she heard the King¡¯s concession, rather than seeing it.


    ¡°Watch yourself, abomination.¡± Galukar grumbled, striding away. Sphera didn¡¯t notice much beyond that, subtly turning herself one last time.


    As she glanced over at the settlement, this time, she caught no sight of orcs, soldiers or anything hopeful at all. A grin split her lips.


    That meant the enemy wouldn¡¯t either.

 Chapter 33

    Ensharia was just about ready to be done with her and the pirate¡¯s little outing, finding herself driven to the edge of her tolerance by more or less every word from him. Her oaths forbade wanton violence, particularly in anger, but breaking them was made more appealing each and every time she heard him smack his lips or murmur about a yearning for alcohol.


    Just a few more minutes, Ensharia, just a few more minutes to get the rest of our supplies and you can leave.


    The mantra was of some comfort, but her nerves still kept on eroding. Right up until the people around them started moving.


    Ensharia didn¡¯t need to ask why the town¡¯s citizens were suddenly slipping along the street like some human river, she found her answer shortly.


    ¡°The Generl Venka is calling a town-wide ounce-ment!¡± Came a voice, dull and heavy as a hammerblow, loud as the sound of a trebuchet striking castle walls. Ensharia barely even noticed that the speaker was an orc, barely even took a moment to glance at the unholy creature. Her mind was occupied by the name sitting in the midst of it, searing a hole in her thoughts.


    Venka.


    Venka. General Venka, the butcher. The orc-wrangler, the man responsible for putting a dozen cities to the torch and ordering so many hangings that all the world¡¯s scholars had yet to fully uncover, record and count them. Her blood boiled at the mere mention, hands curling into fists so tight they¡¯d have crushed stone caught between their fingers.


    She turned to look at the pirate, suddenly struck by a great curiosity of what his reaction might have been. It did not surprise Ensharia that Swick¡¯s emotions on the matter were limited to no more than surprise, concern and a dull, subtle worry.


    ¡°We need to leave.¡± Ensharia told him, doing everything she could to keep from screaming the words out, then following them with a hasty attack on the nearest orc.


    ¡°We need to head with the others.¡± The pirate replied, and Ensharia wore her stare openly.


    ¡°Are you mad?!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m smart.¡± Swick shot back, with unexpected venom. ¡°Trust me, the most suspicious thing we can possibly do now is leave at the precise moment we found out about some big, town-wide meeting. We follow everyone else, blend in, and leave when we have a chance to do so by walking in the same direction everyone else is.¡±


    Ensharia tried her best to find a flaw in the man¡¯s reasoning, but it proved stubbornly insistent on yielding none. With an exhalation of breath heated almost to scorching by her temper, she nodded.


    ¡°Fine, lead the way.¡±


    They both headed onwards.


    Around her new, Shaiagrazni-made armour, Silenos had hastily conjured and wrapped cloth constructed from various ¡°materials¡± within his form. Apparently the issue of food had been less demanding of his redundant armour plating than the issue of disguise.


    Being told as much had certainly annoyed Ensharia, but now she couldn¡¯t be more glad for the draped fabrics hiding her abominable armour from sight. Orcs were dull, but it would take only one enemy human taking notice of them for the Dark Lord¡¯s finest General to be brought word of her presence.


    That made something else occur to Ensharia, and she turned quickly to Swick.


    ¡°Won¡¯t you be recognised?¡± She asked. ¡°You¡¯re a Hero, right? Even the others had heard of you, and they didn¡¯t study¡­Outlaws. Your name¡¯s spread halfway across the continent, and you¡¯re a particular issue for the Dark Lord considering you possess the means to travel through his corrupted lands without ever actually encountering a reanimate or monster.¡±


    He smirked at that, in a way that left Ensharia somehow rather disconcerted rather than reassured.


    ¡°You ever heard of a witch?¡±


    Her irritation soon replaced the worry.


    ¡°Of course I have.¡± Ensharia snapped. ¡°What does that have to-¡±


    ¡°-Five hundred gold, more or less.¡± The man cut in, eyes still ahead, smirk still in place. ¡°That¡¯s how much they usually charge to erase the memory of my face and appearance from the world, provided only a few people see me at a time.¡±


    Ensharia was speechless.


    Witches were rare, and feared. And both for good reason. Theirs was a miraculous magic, incomparable in power and versatility, yet terrible in practice. Every instance of its use, whether a parlour trick or grand working, cost them a little piece of their lives. Aged them that tiny bit more. The Paladins used them only sparingly, and with great reverence, and most barely had any understanding over even their own powers for fear of wasting their lives by practically training with them.


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    Finally, she found her voice.


    ¡°How could you do that?¡± Ensharia demanded, anger, rather than curiosity, flooding through her. Life was sacred, time was sacred, to use a magic that demanded its price in both so casually was¡­It was beyond evil.


    Swick merely shrugged.


    ¡°Cost them a few weeks, or months, and over the years it¡¯s probably kept me alive for just as long in total. You don¡¯t live long in my position if you¡¯re prone to being recognised, I might have been held down and killed by orcs already if I were.¡±


    ¡°And you didn¡¯t think to simply not be a pirate and anger people into wanting to kill you, instead?¡± She snapped. Swick grinned that infuriating, Swick grin that never failed to make Ensharia want to pick him up off the ground and hurl him as hard and far as she could manage.


    ¡°Seems to me like that¡¯s the major concern, here, rather than what I pay witches to voluntarily do as part of a mutually beneficial transaction.¡±


    He was right, in the practical matters at least. That wasn¡¯t all that Ensharia cared about of course, it wasn¡¯t all that any Paladin cared about, but it wasn¡¯t a disagreement she had the time to push in their current situation either. For the moment, practicality would have to reign supreme.


    It seems that every moment has been one of those moments, of late.


    The people were ferried along the streets by yet more orcs, and in following them Ensharia was able to gaze at the creatures more closely than she might have liked. They really were repulsive, like things made by Silenos¡¯ magic. Musculature bulged so broadly and sharply that it seemed almost edged, where it wasn¡¯t covered in thick layers of linen gambeson or hidden behind sheets of ugly iron.


    ¡°Don¡¯t stare.¡± Swick whispered. ¡°They aren¡¯t as stupid as people say.¡±


    Ensharia whipped her head around quickly, feeling her face burn. She was getting corrected a lot, it seemed, by this one. Perhaps he had been the wisest choice of company.


    Soon enough the river of flesh reached its mouth, a large town square with a statue placed in the centre and surrounded by cobbles instead of the dirt roads that marked everywhere else in the settlement .Standing at the statue, standing on its very head in fact, was a man Ensharia could only imagine was General Venka.


    He was shorter than in the stories she¡¯d heard, which Ensharia had found was an eternal constant common to all Generals. His skin was of a pale Northern shade, like hers rather than the darker fleshed Necromancer they¡¯d captured, and a pink scar ran over the brow and lid of his left eye, reaching just through the cheek.


    Venka¡¯s hair was black, like Silenos¡¯, but far shorter, carefully cropped and carefully held in place with such attentive scrutiny that Ensharia found herself wondering whether it might have been encased in molten tar. It was his eyes that struck her most, though. More than the cruel twist to his lip, more than the towering orcs standing at the base of his perch, and more than the creaseless attire covering his body which looked to demand the work of a dozen servants in its maintenance.


    The General¡¯s eyes were fierce and inexhaustible in their search of the crowd.


    ¡°Good people, I offer my greetings to you all on behalf of our master, the Dark Lord.¡±


    Heads lowered, eyes shifting to avoid meeting his, bodies trembling slightly as the crowd recoiled in mere mention of their dominar. The General continued.


    ¡°I am sure that many of you must be startled and disturbed by the presence of my forces in your town, and for that I can only apologise. It is not my intent to spread upset or distress among any of you, nor any other citizen of the Dark Lands. These are hard times we are facing, plagued by war on each side of our borders, and I am well aware that the demands of taxation and rationing will already be gnawing at your livelihoods. You have no need of further concerns added to that, and yet, I am afraid, I have no choice but to burden you with my presence. For among your settlement is a man, woman or group who are working to act against our great nation and all that it stands for. Among you, there are, I believe, enemies. Rebels, terrorists acting against the people of His Majesty''s Empire. I am here to extricate them from among you.¡±


    Ensharia¡¯s mind raced. The General, obviously, was talking about them, but she wasn¡¯t certain how he could have followed them. Silenos hadn¡¯t been using magic outside of the crash site, none of them had, and they¡¯d specifically watched the Necromancer to keep her from doing


    They were, however, at the nearest town to the site, just a few dozen miles from it. If someone wanted to track them, they¡¯d not need much more information than the simple direction they¡¯d been moving. Was that what the General had been operating on? How could he have gotten even that much?


    They turned as the crowd dispersed, hurrying for the edge of the city. So far only a few orcs had made themselves known, and all were armoured in the way of General Venka¡¯s heavy infantry. So elites, too few, Ensharia hoped, to fully encircle the settlement¡¯s perimeter.


    Mud streets were dented by their footsteps, so hard did they make their way for the town¡¯s edge. Dirt cratering and spattering outwards with each stride. They reached the edge in a mere minute, and that was when Ensharia;s heart sank.


    Orcs waited for them, not heavy infantry. Mere footmen. Numerous slabs of hulking muscle, lined outside the settlement with sneering faces and cruel glints in their eyes. Tusks and fangs split their mouths into perpetual grins, and each one held an ugly weapon tight within their fist.


    They started coming for them instantly, having already seen Ensharia and Swick moving for the edge, and doubtless having been told to seize anyone who did so. The General had hidden the bulk of his forces to encourage any traitors hearing his announcement to flee quickly and daringly, an elaborate trap that Ensharia had been just clever and stupid enough to trip.


    ¡°Halt.¡± One of the orcs growled, as a dozen more followed it in marching over to them. They moved in a wedge formation, an oddly complex position which Ensharia imagined said far more about their General than it did them. Each held a spear, shafts thick enough to be driven through stone without breaking, tips as dark and dense as all their other metal.


    Obviously, halting was not an option.

 Chapter 34

    Ensharia turned to Swick, eying him with a silent question and finding the man with no answer. Ensharia half expected him to translocate elsewhere, but he remained. She couldn¡¯t think why. Perhaps his options were limited, and he couldn¡¯t muster the distance to travel far enough to reach true safety. Perhaps he¡¯d been covering up some additional limit in his power that she had no idea of. Either way, he readied his fists instead of his magic and readied himself for a fight. It appeared Ensharia, if nothing else, would have a Hero as an ally.


    The first orc came on so fast Ensharia almost felt like she was fighting a Knight. No, faster, as fast as a Dullahan even. Its spear was like the lance thrust of a mounted rider. She slapped it aside, feeling the sensation of wood shivering against her knuckles, wincing even as the weapon went wide. She was unarmed, unprepared, vulnerable and lucky enough not to have met something harder than her bare hands already.


    Obviously, the orc was not expecting to lose a contest of physical power, and she gave it something else to worry about by driving her fist out to smack into its chest. The wrought iron made a thick cushion against Ensharia¡¯s strength, but it wasn¡¯t steel, and she wasn¡¯t the woman who¡¯d once struggled in battle against magical enemies clad in plate. The material surrendered with a grating, shivering groan as its wearer was knocked flat, legs twitching in agony where it lay in the dirt.


    Ensharia did not wait to consolidate her advantage, merely turned and ran, desperately running around the remaining orcs. A light pop beside her warned of Swick the Swift translocating in without her needing to actually look at him, and the two of them were heading towards the town¡¯s edge faster than Ensharia had ever headed towards anything at all.


    They were unarmed, which was never a good way to open a fight. Ensharia was glad she¡¯d insisted on bringing her armour, if nothing else, but it would be poor protection against weapons and enemies as big as those orcs. Just a quarter-mile ahead of them was the city¡¯s outskirts, beyond that it wouldn¡¯t take them long to catch the sight of their teammates. They¡¯d have a chance from there, but everything hinged on escaping.


    Ensharia tried to find the confidence she so desperately wanted, settling on determination instead.


    Three hundred yards to the outskirts, and more orcs closed from the sides. There must have been an entire army around them, Ensharia thought, to have men so far out as to reach her sidelong where she was already. And reach her they did, crushing in like the jaws of a bear trap.


    Ensharia caught one orc across the jaw with a punch, and felt the bone snap. Another grabbed her from behind, but she merely forced its grip apart with a flex of her arms, slammed the back of her head into its face and moved on to strike another as the creature fell convulsing and groaning at her feet. Blades came, great big machetes and blunter cudgels aside them, those that actually hit left little etches in the impossibly hard material of her armour. None did true damage.


    It didn¡¯t matter. The danger here was losses of time, Ensharia knew an army of this size would have at least a few elite soldiers, she¡¯d already fought one herself. If a handful more orcs like the one she¡¯d knocked flat attacked simultaneously, there wasn¡¯t a hope in hell she¡¯d win. Not without her weapons.


    And then there was the General.


    Ensharia threw an orc down over her shoulder, snarling as something crunched into the joint between her arm and torso. The armour there was thinner, more vulnerable, and she actually felt it give before something sharp bit her skin. She rounded on the attacker instantly.


    By the dent in its chest, the orc she¡¯d laid flat at the altercation¡¯s opening was the same one who¡¯d just cut her. It didn¡¯t hesitate to try drawing more blood, flailing its oversized weapon one way and the other like a leaf caught in the wind. Ensharia stumbled back, forcing herself not to rely on any of the old parrying reflexes she¡¯d spent so long developing. They¡¯d only fail her here.


    Swick the Swift, however, did not. Ensharia actually blinked as the block of stone came down upon the orc, smashing its helmet in and sending the creature to drop face-down into the dirt. The pirate didn¡¯t hesitate over it for an instant, simply dropped the makeshift weapon and seized the orc¡¯s own. Ensharia took the chance to do likewise. Following after him, waiting for him to kill, then taking the hammer from his fallen enemy.


    An orc went low, then fell as she cudgelled it. Three tried to attack at once from different sides, showing Ensharia how high she could jump as she found herself leaping into the air and clearing all of their heads, then laying waste to the confused enemies from their back. One after another, a score after a dozen, they fought and moved at once as they came closer and closer to freedom.


    It was when they¡¯d just come to within a hundred or so yards of the city¡¯s limits that Ensharia heard a voice ring out, and felt the sudden pressure of orcish assault let up.


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    ¡°Back off, these two are far beyond the likes of you.¡±


    She turned, panting, but barely needed to. Venka¡¯s orcs did back off as they were ordered, and she knew there was only one man alive capable of commanding those soldiers. The General approached, strolling down the street as if he were in the parade ground, fingers resting on the handle of a sabre held at his side.


    He did not wear much in the way of armour, but he walked like a man covered in it from head to toe. He didn¡¯t seem armed with anything more than his sword and his body, but he moved as if the Dark Lord himself were standing behind him. General Venka¡¯s face was like a hawk¡¯s as his eyes fell upon Ensharia.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± He asked her.


    Throat tight, she took a moment to think. He cut in before she could answer.


    ¡°The next question I ask, you will answer instantly, or I will attack and kill you where you stand. You¡¯ll have no time to lie here.¡±


    It was as stunning a verbal blow as any physical one she¡¯d ever received, knocking the wind from her lungs and the thought from her mind. A simple, devastatingly effective tactic that seemed to leave no reason at all for the contrivances of counter-play or strategy. Which was, of course, the point.


    Ensharia couldn¡¯t even blink before he spoke again.


    ¡°What are you doing in this village?¡±


    ¡°Buying food.¡± She replied, instantly.


    ¡°For whom?¡±


    ¡°For myself.¡±


    ¡°Why did you attempt to flee without any after hearing my announcement?¡±


    Her heart seized, and Ensharia almost delayed that single, precious moment that would have cost her life itself.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of your reputation, of your infamous brutality and cruelty, and thought that you¡¯d be likely to decide any foreigners were enemies of your Lord.¡±


    ¡°And are you?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Ensharia replied, but he was speaking again before she could elaborate.


    ¡°What brings you foreigners to our lands?¡±


    ¡°Trade.¡± She replied, blurting out the first thought to enter her head.


    ¡°You have trade caravans, then? Goods?¡± The General challenged. Ensharia almost cursed. Every answer she gave locked out possible others, left her ever more tightly held within his voice of deduction. Her panic was mounting with every moment that passed.


    ¡°We were robbed.¡± She replied, hastily, ¡°On the road.¡± Ensharia found herself elongating the lie without even realising what she was saying. ¡°We, uh, we saw something fall from the sky, something absurdly huge. And when we went to investigate it there were¡­These people, moving away from the place we think it landed.¡±


    ¡°How many?¡± The General asked. ¡°What did they look like?¡±


    ¡°Six.¡± Ensharia replied. ¡°A tall man of brown skin and black hair, a giant hulking one with a sword so big it looked heavier than me, a woman with black skin- she was being carried by the largest of them- a man in magus robes with green eyes and a¡­¡± She couldn¡¯t describe Swick accurately, he was standing right there. ¡°A sky pirate, I think. It must have been, he talked about crashing his ship, and he had the sort of accent they usually do. All guttural and common. They¡­They robbed us, killed my friends, stole our goods.¡±


    Ensharia could only hope her look of pained frustration was convincing enough.


    ¡°Interesting.¡± The General replied, and began to pace as he spoke, taking long, easy strides. The sword swayed by his side, hand still resting atop it. ¡°Very interesting. Your story does seem consistent with other facts I have gathered, I know of the great falling object you speak of, of the people you claim you encountered. It all lines up rather well.¡±


    The sword was out before Ensharia even saw it, thrusting through the gap between backplate and pauldron, digging in and leaving blood to fountain from her wound. Whatever its edge was made from, it wasn¡¯t steel. Steel could not survive such forces being exerted through it. She staggered back.


    Ensharia whirled, but the sword did not fly for her again. Only twisted where the General held it.


    ¡°Intriguing,¡± He breathed, studying its edge. ¡°You¡¯re oddly well armed for a merchant. But then, you¡¯re actually the Paladin Ensharia Zeriqua, are you not?¡±


    Her blood ran so cold, Ensharia thought it must have expanded to ice in her heart. The look of victory upon the General¡¯s face almost thawed it instantly.


    ¡°If you¡¯re wondering, King Galukar was with your group. I deduced that much myself before arriving here, that you failed to mention one of the most famous men alive by name rather than simply physically describing him betrayed your deception. It was, however, not a poorly made one beside that.¡±


    The praise seemed genuine, bizarrely enough, and it was followed by another sword swing. Ensharia was watching General Venka this time, and saw clearly that he moved faster than any man she¡¯d ever seen. Faster than her, Silenos, faster than Galukar himself. The man¡¯s sword was like a streak of mercury as it came for her, biting into a pauldron before she could react. The force of it sent her fabric attire flying free, exposing the armour beneath as Ensharia slid backwards five, ten, then fifteen feet. She stopped only as she crashed into an orc, knocking the beast flat.


    Swick the Swift was living up to his name, dancing back from Venka¡¯s blade for almost three entire steps before it caught him. Cleaving the shoddy knife he wielded in half, sending its remnants to scatter away, then arching back around to cut an equatorial gash from his shoulder to hip. The pirate didn¡¯t even make a sound as he fell, just gasped in shock and seized with muscular convulsion. Venka examined him for a few moments, and so did Ensharia. She found a flutter of relief as she saw the subtle rising and falling of the pirate¡¯s chest. Venka only laxed his face a shade, clearly invested in taking him alive, but not by any great degree.


    Not a great enough one to delay him any more than an instant before he was charging once more for Ensharia.


    She tried. She really, truly tried. But a rat could try just as hard and just as long against a cat, some results were simply immutable. Ensharia¡¯s hammer was cut in half, then the handle of Venka¡¯s sword caught her between the eyes. The General was not as strong as King Galukar, not nearly, but he didn¡¯t need to be. Not with a blow as cleanly delivered as that.


    Before the flecks of light had even finished dancing in her vision, he brought the flat of his blade down hard.


    That was when her memory cut off.

 Chapter 35

    It really was rather promising, how quickly Falls was picking up the art of Necromancy. The boy had learned more in four hours than most did in fifty, and Silenos suspected he would hit a learning curve on top of that within the next few lessons. If all went as planned, he was in the process of training one of the most gifted and powerful Necromancers to ever live. If all went as hoped¡­He may well, eventually, produce his own equal in the art.


    That begged a great many questions, however. Too many to ignore. Silenos, like all of the most recent generations of House Shaiagrazni, was the product of some four thousand years of constant, painstakingly executed eugenics applied across a population of millions. His talent had been scoured from numerous well educated, nourished and developed humans, who had all had all of their needs and requirements met to grow as completely as they could. All to ensure that House Shaiagrazni extracted its Named from the most ideal genetic stock possible. On a purely statistical level, when measured against a more conventional human populace, Silenos¡¯ talent was one in quintillions, perhaps less.


    Falls was not his equal, but he was still an anomaly. Finding him, naturally occurring, in such a backwater world was no different to finding a strip of perfectly alloyed factory steel among a sheet of iron ore inhabiting the wall of some cliff face. Not impossible, very few physical occurrences were truly impossible, but so vanishingly unlikely that it almost defied calculation.


    And that was to say nothing of the other, too. Silenos glanced over at the Necromancer, Sphera. She wasn¡¯t quite the equal of Falls, but her gift of nature was still sufficient to leave statisticians baffled. What was it about this world that yielded such magical talent?


    The better question, he imagined, was what sort of reward would await him for being the first of House Shaiagrazni to discover and suborn it for the rest of their use?


    Silenos¡¯ plotting was interrupted as his eyes came to focus upon the woman¡¯s features, and he found something very, very wrong in them.


    The woman¡¯s typical glare was nowhere to be seen, not hers, and not the more general expression which remained in place atop the expressions of all who found themselves held captive and dragged along miles of countryside. She had stopped her fidgeting, no longer scrutinously glanced at every minor thing around her in silent search of an opening. Indeed, everything about her was¡­Not content, but patient. Waiting.


    He thought back to the inexplicable outburst of taunting she had hurled at King Galukar, and everything clicked into place in an instant.


    ¡°Falls, go and check on the other two in town, if they¡¯re in trouble then fly back to us as quickly as you can manage.¡±


    ¡°Are you just screaming at phantoms, now?¡± The Necromancer asked from the side, confirming all of Silenos¡¯ suspicions at once.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Falls frowned.


    ¡°I believe our companions have been ambushed.¡± Silenos told him. ¡°And I want you to verify that, if we can help them, we will. But we need to know what we¡¯re dealing with first, and time is of the essence, now hurry up and make your observation.¡±


    He was careful to control his temper, all too aware of how angered demands tended to leave men freezing up with indecision and worry. Falls, fortunately, was moving into action quickly.


    ¡°I can do this.¡± He replied. ¡°You can rely on me, Master.¡±


    The boy was rushing off without another word, and Silenos found a strange sensation building in his chest. Actual approval of something his Apprentice was doing?


    Stranger things had surely happened, but for the life of him he couldn¡¯t recall any off the top of his head.


    <hr>


    Arion¡¯s heart was a drum, beating so loud he felt certain it would attract the attention of whoever or whatever he was hoping so desperately to avoid. As luck would have it, it did not. Not even as its volume rose to exponential heights upon his reaching the town¡¯s outer perimeter.


    There were orcs, not in front of him, fortunately, but all hurrying along and around the town to reach some point at its far end. Falls took the opportunity to slip by them even as he drew the obvious conclusions about why so many heavily armoured monsters might be moving at once.


    Falls found his first source of answers in a woman, however limited such things were.


    ¡°You there.¡± He demanded. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    The poor thing seemed rather confused, apparently not grasping that he was an outsider for long moments before she answered him.


    ¡°You¡¯ve not heard? The General Venka came, said he¡¯d investigate us for, for traitors, for spies. Then within a quarter-hour he ordered all his orcs to rush in on one side of the town. Most reckon he¡¯s found one.¡±


    Arion felt an ache appear within the depths of his stomach, mounting and convulsive in its intensity, like holding hot magma in his belly. It made him want to vomit, to scream, to run away with both arms flailing over his head and his bowels emptying themselves down his leg. Why was it that he could never go anywhere, or do anything, with Silenos Shaiagrazni without some new complication emerging that threatened to kill him?


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    Why was the world so desperate to ruin his life?


    He resisted the urge to flee like a terrified animal, instead forcing himself to stop, wait and think things through. Ensharia and the pirate had been gone for a few hours, at most. That wasn¡¯t enough time for much to happen, they were almost undoubtedly still in the town, at least, and that meant there might just be some means of reaching them still.


    Of course, his major issue was in actually gathering the information. Arion knew about the town, knew about its history, knew about most of the world¡¯s facts, he often thought. But he¡¯d never lived there, spoken to its people or actually interacted with its culture in any meaningful way. He could pass a quiz on the place a hundred times before figuring out how best to ask for directions to the nearest inn.


    Which was inconvenient, but not something he had the luxury of humouring. It was another half hour to his Master, at least, and bringing in the rest of their group with an enemy army in the city would only risk capture for them all. Whatever Arion found himself doing, whatever solution this latest disaster had, he was on his own in resolving things.


    Something oddly freeing about that. Arion had often been on his own before, for years during his tutoring, in fact. Walriq, may he rest in pieces, had always been a great teacher, but never a good mentor. Arion could handle doing things by himself.


    Could, or would. There really wasn¡¯t any choice besides one of those.


    Arion was in the town for about half an hour before he was confident he¡¯d gained enough information to act without being instantly exposed and clubbed to death by giant, angry orcs. Fortunately, his skin seemed to match the tone that was most common in this region, that would make any subterfuge go over a shade easier.


    His questions didn¡¯t seem to garner much suspicion, which he¡¯d been banking on given the overall excitement with spies and imprisonment the town seemed to hold, and Arion was soon pointed to a rather large building near the town¡¯s centre. He headed for it with a weight of fear upon his shoulders.


    The building wasn¡¯t a fortress, that much was clear. Perhaps it had been some barracks, once, or storehouse. A large, stone thing constructed sturdily enough that it might have weathered a trebuchet. For all of ten minutes. Arion saw no small number of orcs standing outside its front door, guarding the interior with a focus and patience he¡¯d rarely heard attributed to their kind in the scholarly articles he¡¯d consumed about them.


    Arion, as subtle as he could manage and from the widest berth available to him, scanned the building for potential points of entry. In yet another stroke of cosmic misfortune, it appeared the enemy had done a fine job of covering them. Orcs stood guard around each and every doorway, as well as even the less convenient entrances through windows.


    Had he been anyone else, it might have spelt trouble. Fortunately Arion was Arion, and wind mages tended to dislike the ground in any case. He looked around for a few minutes, locating a washing line hung just a street and a half from the warehouse, then conjured the strongest wind he could and diffused it across the area.


    It took a moment of focus to rip the large blanket from its place along the wire, and a moment more to ready himself for its slow flight over to the space just above his head. Arion jumped, then caught his body with a conjured wind and lifted it high, carefully manipulating the sheet to be between him and any surveying eyes that might watch from below.


    The flight was blessedly quick, taking only seconds before Arion came to drift over the warehouse and could let himself drop down. He didn¡¯t land particularly gently, but the wind gave its helping hand for that too.


    Around him was the roof, less cramped than might have been feared, and fortunately unguarded. Arion took a few moments to study it before deciding on his next move. There was a hatch which didn¡¯t strain him to lift open, unlocked, fortunately, and led down into the building¡¯s guts. He followed it quickly.


    The building¡¯s size was considerable, but it was not at all difficult to extend his magic throughout it and press at the air. Just a shade, not enough to conjure some galeforce wind, merely the minimum amount required to draw tactile sensation from his surroundings. Arion felt more orcs, a dozen maybe. He felt jagged walls, iron plate, patrolling guards. Then, after a few moments, he felt a familiar form. Ensharia.


    She was deeper than he¡¯d have hoped, as deep as a smart captor would have had her placed, but Arion swallowed his fear and forced himself down after her regardless. Every step was a victory, and he got the feeling that each one would only bring him closer to defeat.


    At the deepest point of the warehouse, there was a cellar. Arion knew without even checking that it was where Ensharia would be, but he gave it a quick survey with his magic just in case. It wasn¡¯t good to read the air too often indoors, people tended to notice the minor atmospheric shifts it caused, but a second indulgence didn¡¯t seem disastrous to him.


    Not unexpectedly, he felt the same things he had before. An unoccupied room save for two figures, one of which matched his companion. Arion moved down into it and found a stab of relief almost cutting his speech off as he laid eyes within it.


    There was a great cage in the room, thick bars of iron sealing one half of it off from the other. It was within this cage that Ensharia and Swick the Swift dwelled. Both were in a poor state.


    Ensharia, the least obviously wounded, was covered in minor and larger bruises. Her armour had been cracked at several points, which was terrifying given the sheer resilience of Shaiagrazni engineering, and a cut seemed etched across her skin with every few inches of it one bothered to look at. There was an undeniable fatigue to her face which left Arion¡¯s question as to the lack of guards answered, and even still she was in a better state than the pirate.


    Swick the Swift had been bleeding, and bleeding a lot. Most of his clothes were fully soaked through with his own ichor, dark and clotted, scabbing and congealed. His black skin seemed to have greyed somewhat with the exsanguination, and he was shallowly breathing in as deep and inexorable a sleep as Arion had ever seen.


    His studies of the pair did not take long to be interrupted. Ensharia soon noticed him, looking up and speaking with a sharp fire in her eyes, managing only three words before realising who it was she was addressing.


    ¡°What do y- oh¡­¡± Her eyes widened, first with hope, then panic. ¡°Arion, what are you doing here?!¡±


    He was hardly less concerned than her, being honest.


    ¡°Rescuing you.¡± Arion whispered, resisting the grin that tried to take over his face as he said it. ¡°And the Pirate, I suppose, now come on, stand and get ready to leave. I¡¯ll take care of those bars.¡±

 Chapter 36

    Iron was harder and denser than stone, and by no small amount. There was a reason it had been the material of choice in the construction of Arion¡¯s own cell back in Magira. His winds were powerful, powerful enough to cut through steel plate armour, but they¡¯d need to cleave apart an order of magnitude more material here. Could they do it?


    Yes, of course they could. The real question was how quickly. Arion wasn¡¯t certain about the answer to that.


    ¡°Wait.¡± The Paladin snapped, her voice a jagged thorn lodged deep through his thoughts. Arion turned to her, confusion blossoming. ¡°You need to leave.¡± Ensharia whispered.


    Anger flared up in him at that.


    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving without you.¡± Arion snapped.


    ¡°You have to-¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He growled, interrupting her with an anger that surprised even him. ¡°Twice now, you¡¯ve saved my life, I¡¯m not leaving you to lose yours. I¡¯m getting you out of here, then we¡¯re heading back to the others and escaping this shithole of a town.¡±


    The woman¡¯s fury grew to match his own, and Arion ignored it. Just kept on examining the bars for some sign of a weakness. He found it, fortunately. A great, thick lock made of iron or steel. It would have been the strongest part of a boulder, but around the surrounding obstacles it left Arion sighing in relief at how much easier his task had become.


    ¡°Falls, leave, there¡¯s no point in bringing me. I¡¯m too weak to move myself, I can¡¯t fight, I can¡¯t even run. You¡¯re only endangering yourself.¡±


    Arion tuned her out, concentrating on the lock. He felt its interior, in the vaguest sense. He couldn¡¯t glean enough information through the touch of his air to know exactly how to unlatch it, but he had other options in any case.


    His will infused the air within the lock, expanding and hardening it like a growing bubble underwater. The pressure around it grew by the moment, iron straining against magic. He was growing close to breaking it, that much was clear. Solid metal was one thing, but the delicate mechanisms of a lock were no match for the most gifted magus alive.


    Second most gifted. Bugger.


    Noise reached his ears, running down from the rooms above. It was Ensharia who reacted first, speaking in a hurried, strangled tone that spoke of primal fear and haste.


    ¡°Arion, someone¡¯s coming, you need to fucking leave.¡±


    It almost gave him pause, hearing her swear. She never had before. Perhaps it was ridiculous, that that of all things conveyed the severity of his situation, but one couldn¡¯t choose one¡¯s own wake-up call.


    What he was doing was insane, beyond dangerous. Perhaps even suicidal. So why did he feel so right in doing it? Why did every nerve of Arion¡¯s body scream at him to keep going?


    He was a thing of magic unrivalled, and he¡¯d been told from the first moments of his memory that that made all the world¡¯s luxuries his due. But why?


    In House Shaiagrazni, a man¡¯s magic earned him power and privilege only because of how he could use it to help the collective. Somehow that made it all taste better. Somehow, Arion realised, he found himself wanting to be more than just a pampered trophy. He kept working.


    ¡°Listen, even if you get me out now, you¡¯ll need more than just your own power to fight a path out. General Venka is here, and his soldiers- the elites- they¡¯re stronger than you¡¯d believe. We need help. Get the Saviour, King Galukar, come back later. Just don¡¯t try to fight this fight by yourself.¡±


    Arion hesitated, and in the moment he spent thinking more footfalls rang out from the space above them. He cursed, feeling all of his strength and courage evaporate at once. Was it just pragmatism? It was a convenient excuse, one way or the other.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back.¡± He promised her, and Ensharia nodded.


    ¡°Go.¡± She insisted, voice as soft as a summer breeze. ¡°Go to Kaltan and find the Silhouette, they can help you out of the Dark Lord¡¯s lands.¡±


    Arion went, hurrying from the room like a panicking rat and scrambling his way back out through the building. He¡¯d memorised his path in, and didn¡¯t need to exert much of his intellect to reverse the directions in carving an exit. His mind was good for handling information, it seemed, just not doing anything righteous or worthwhile with it.


    Up the stairs, down the hall, three lefts and a right. Then Arion was closing in once more on the hatch he¡¯d come through. That was when he heard the footsteps behind him, rapid, terrifying. Sending a shiver down through skin, muscle and into the very marrow of his bones. He didn¡¯t dare look back at whatever was causing it, just hurried on in his flight from the building, teeth chattering all the while.


    On the roof, he finally turned. Slamming the latch shut, then slamming down a wall of air atop it. He felt the stone ceiling creak, crumble, then collapse entirely as tonnes of rock rained down to fill in the cavity below it. Arion was already running farther away by the time he heard it start to happen, rushing for the ledge.


    A gust caught him, as they always did, and flung Arion far into and through the air. He¡¯d seen rocks hurled at lower speeds by catapults, and felt less pressure from the attacks of amateur windmagi than he did from the wall of air breaking against his face. His time in the sky was closer to a minute than a second, ending as the streets below began to close with a terrifying speed.


    Arion was not Walriq, not yet. Flight, even levitation, were powers denied to him by the demands of time and experience. But he¡¯d always learned half as fast again as the old man, and he¡¯d worked at few things as hard as mastering the skies.


    When the floor came up to meet him with its crushing embrace, he wrapped himself in a cushion of pressurised air that deformed and decelerated him while he was still yards from the ground. His body¡¯s weight still kept him from breathing while he bounced, and it took all of Arion¡¯s focus to stabilise himself once he was flying from the point of contact. He just about managed to turn his flight into a rapid sprint without falling.


    Had almost anything in the world been chasing Arion, he¡¯d surely have escaped. Dozens of yards cleared in mere seconds, and a sprint started faster than any man could manage, then sustained farther by the continued press of wind at his back and stabilising pressure at his sides, he would have bet money on himself out-racing a horse, let alone a biped.


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    Once more, the urge to turn was on him. Arion resisted it just as he had in the corridor, but it only grew stronger now that there was no potential escape awaiting him within a few strides. If he¡¯d gotten his directions right, and a windmage of half his competence could not have failed to, then he had a good few hundred yards to reach Silenos. Ordinarily he¡¯d have been confident of clearing such a distance, not now. Whatever was chasing him, it seemed well equipped for pursuit.


    Arion finally risked reaching out after himself to feel the presence, and almost vented his fear out as a verbal groan as he did. It was humanoid, cold, covered with metal and moving in on him like a bloodhound. He didn¡¯t need his book learning to tell him it was an undead chasing him, nor did he require his newly gained worldly experience to realise that there was a second one falling in beside it.


    He churned the mud up in his wake, creating a great wall of clotted air and debris to try and distract them, then sent heavy items flying from nearby. Buckets, carts. Arion found his panic growing as the enemy came closer and closer, and then a sudden, inexorable sort of calm washed over him.


    If he simply kept as he was, death would catch him before he reached Silenos. Arion cooled his wits, gathered his focus, then plucked himself from the ground once more with wind.


    Nine times out of ten, such a move as that was devastatingly dangerous for him. He¡¯d not yet mastered the art of vectored, aerial thrust, not yet managed the hundred tiny little subtleties that kept a person both aloft and stable at once. Arion could never have turned a corner, let alone evaded a strike. Not in the air.


    But he didn¡¯t need to. All his magic did as he called on it was throw him, lifting him and hurling his body like the stone from a whistling sling. He moved so quickly through the world that he scarcely felt a part of it, faster than before, faster than he¡¯d ever gone. His few moments in motion were well needed to wrap himself in decelerating coils of pressurised air, then the ground met him.


    Arion had thought he¡¯d landed hard before, thought he¡¯d been hit hard once or twice in his life. What met him in the dirt proved the ludicrous delusion of both beliefs. He broke the ground, so hard did he strike it, and bounced several of his own height back up skyward before hitting it again on the return stroke. Spinning, ears ringing, blood dragged to all the wrong ends of him with the accelerative forces of his rotation, he barely had any wits left in his head by the time he finally came rolling to a stop.


    Groaning, twitching, gasping. He stood. It was an effort done more with magic than muscle, for every fibre of Arion¡¯s body screamed and trembled like a battered dog. Even the arcane struggled to heed his calls, mind left blunt and clumsy by the concussive disruption of his impact. Arion glanced back over his shoulder as he lurched on, finding some sliver of satisfaction at the hundreds of yards he¡¯d cast himself across in mere moments.


    Finding a much larger lance of fear as he saw something else.


    There was a crater some handful of dozen feet behind him, no doubt the point of Arion¡¯s initial impact. It was wider than he was tall, and almost as deep, the sort of ruin left by an impact which would leave no room for survival. Had he not shielded himself his body would be a sack of blood and floating flaked bone fragments. But it was the sight beyond that truly brought about thoughts of his mortality.


    Still coming, still faster than charging horses, the undead he¡¯d felt earlier were powering on. Moving with that lifeless gait they all did, carrying a dexterity and grace born from muscles moved by nerves too dead to tremble. Arion swallowed his fear and surged on away from them.


    Every second of movement was a new torture as bodyparts ached and groaned at the exertion. Muscle, bone, even tissues so deep he thought they must have been close to the median points of his torso. Every pause he took was worse, a stabbing, damning moment of progress he¡¯d allowed his enemies to make in hunting him.


    Stride by stride he neared the hill, the one he could only hope was right in his memory as hiding Silenos and Galukar. Chain by chain the enemies closed, halving the distance, then passing the crater, then halving it again. Soon enough they were within fifty yards of his back, and mere seconds away. Arion roared, turning himself around and mustering all the power he could manage.


    He was going to die, fine. He¡¯d hurt the fucking monsters responsible before he did. Dent that black armour, smash the necrotic bones beneath, leave rotting juice to drool out through whatever gashes he managed to make. There was nothing of a magus in his will, as he waited for the towering plate-clad figures to close. Only raw animalism. Perhaps that was what he needed to make the most of his last few moments.


    The rain of fire was all the more of a shock in his bestial frame of mind, snapping Arion from his savagery and leaving him gawping. It was not like any flame he¡¯d seen before, almost a liquid as it dripped down in broad sheets, clinging to the ground around and atop the undead, burning so hotly and bright that there was scarcely any sight of them within it. Arion took a moment to recognise the magical fire his Master had conjured, only just doing so before Silenos Shaiagrazni dropped down beside him.


    ¡°We must leave.¡± The caster said, instantly, hosting Arion over one shoulder as if he weighed nothing, then taking off at a sprint. His head still left facing the undead, Arion got a good, long look at the inferno continuing to scream around them. No figures emerged, though he had no way of knowing whether they¡¯d perished. If nothing else they weren¡¯t being followed.


    It did not take long to reach their new safe haven, naturally Silenos chose a different hill from before, and Arion wasn¡¯t surprised to find King Galukar seated behind its crest. The Necromancer was lying down beside him, thoroughly gagged and glaring daggers.


    Arion couldn¡¯t imagine the fury she must have felt, knowing her allies were within shouting distance, knowing she couldn¡¯t shout. He hoped it was worse than he was picturing, the bitch deserved it.


    ¡°What happened?¡± His Master asked, interrupting Arion¡¯s thoughts with his usual tact-shaped vacuum.


    Turning to him, Arion made a concerted effort to focus. Silenos must have gotten tired of waiting after a moment, for the caster lifted a hand to his head and extended magic to his flesh, banishing the throbbing pain from his skull, then quickly moving on to work at the rest of his body.


    Arion took the moment of clarity to speak.


    He told Silenos of all he¡¯d seen, all Ensharia had said. Told of his endeavours, his failures, her position and his flight. Silenos was finished with the healing before Arion was with his account, and eyed him in much the same way he did whenever observing a mistake made with magic.


    ¡°You were foolish to remain as long as you did, almost getting yourself killed. Nearly threatening me, even. It was pure luck that saved you, had I not heard the impact of whatever caused that crater, you I can only imagine, I¡¯d have not known to come and meet you on your way back.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to just leave her there.¡± Arion growled. ¡°Now that we know where she is, now that I have you too, we can go back and-¡±


    ¡°And do nothing.¡± Galukar interrupted, voice like a needle. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, magus, but we can do nothing. An army of thousands, with elites in the area of power you¡¯ve described¡­And a Hero on the enemy¡¯s side¡­That is too much, even for us.¡±


    Arion felt like the sky was falling down and leaving his shoulders alone to bear the impact. He glared at his Master.


    ¡°And you agree?¡± He growled. ¡°You¡¯re Silenos Shaiagrazni, how can you not even try-¡±


    Silenos hit him, a blow just fractionally harder than most he tended to discipline Arion with. It sent him to the ground, left his ears ringing as they received the words that came after.


    ¡°I cannot try because I cannot muster my full power.¡± He replied, and for once Arion heard none of the iron-cast calm in his Master¡¯s voice. ¡°Because I have found myself in a world of simpletons and savages, grunting like apes and beating their chests in aggressive, fearful anger when they see sciences and magics they do not understand.


    I cannot try because I have been travelling with one such primitive.¡± He glared a venom more concentrated and corrosive than any Arion had seen at Galukar, then continued. ¡°And am thus now without an army of my own, and less options as a result. We will go to the city of Kaltan, we will contact this Silhouette, and we will see if something can be done about Ensharia¡¯s capture. That is all.¡±


    Nobody said anything after that. Not even Galukar.

 Chapter 37

    Finlay bloody hated crossbows.


    Oh, they were convenient. Easy to use, simple enough that an idiot could become competent with a fraction of the training one might give to a good longbowman. But they were loud, too. Louder than a bow, which was already a damn sight louder than most tended to guess. All well and good if you were assembling a conscripted force to stand on a hill and put bolts into whatever tried to push them off it, but useless for the types of work he tended to do.


    Today, as on so many other days, Finlay was leading his rangers on a night raid. Quiet, precise, rapid. A lightning-strike of an assault meant to gouge the eyes out of their enemy¡¯s force, then lance the heart of its body while it still spasmed in disorientation. It was the sort of operation that required coordination, hard-drilled protocols, men of talent, fierce training and experience all at once.


    It was not, by any measure, the sort of thing for which Finlay would have requested five hundred fucking crossbowmen to try and help with their blunt, flaccid-penises for fingers. But it was also one skirmish of many in a war that grew more desperate and doomed by the year.


    He¡¯d make do. He had no choice.


    Finlay moved over the hilltop as quietly as any creature he¡¯d ever encountered, insects included. There were many magics in the world, many powers. Some people could uproot trees and use them as clubs, others could¡¯ve set the hilltop he was so carefully crawling across ablaze with barely even a few seconds of thought. Finlay wasn¡¯t anything so flashy as that.


    Indeed, Finlay¡¯s power was assassinating flashiness itself. And he did it better than any he¡¯d ever met.


    He slithered, moving with the unbreakable certainty that he was beyond notice. Any eyes that happened to drop their gaze upon him would see it slide off like water on stone, and unless he decided to enter a coughing fit while breathing down the sentries¡¯ necks, there was little chance of them paying any more heed to whatever sounds he let out.


    Fomori, six of them. He recognised the abominations quickly. Not undead, not alive, some wretched halfway point. Each was over seven feet tall, but no broader than a normal man, rapier thin and paper lean. Their skin was grey, yellow or crimson, their eyes black or glowing violet, with mouths filled by jutting razors for teeth and scalps coated in stringy, matted thorns for hair. One had an axe blade for a nose, the tiny scrap of steel catching moonlight whenever she turned. Another¡¯s legs were made from stalactites. The third did not look so unremarkable, with luck it meant the blood flowed more weakly in him.


    Of all the things leading the enemy, Fomori were perhaps the worst. Finlay felt his mouth dry as he studied them, the dozen or so Dullahan around them, then the handful of thousand orcs still around them. This was going to be a nasty, brutal and hard fought fight.


    Pulling out his bow, tightening his focus, Finlay nocked an arrow. His weren¡¯t made the normal way, there wasn¡¯t a scrap of wood in their structure. Just solid, sharpened steel running a few feet from ass to head and boasting a nasty point on one end. It gave them more mass, a smoother path through the air. Most importantly, it gave them a body that could withstand impacting things as hard as his drawstring tended to launch them. Finlay drew the string back.


    It wasn¡¯t strength that let him do so, not entirely. Finlay¡¯s power felt the tensile demands of the string, and lowered them. It hummed around the air adjacent to it, stifling sound before it could even begin, and when he loosed the arrow it flew with no more noise than might a punch have.


    Both were misleading features, because it moved as fast as an arrow could do without giving away Finlay¡¯s position with a supersonic whip crack. The length of steel caught one Fomori perfectly, guided mid-flight by Finlay to adjust its course by precious inches and plow right into the vulnerable point between breastplate and helmet. He watched the creature fall in a fissure of blood, already drawing another arrow before it even hit the ground.


    By the time he fired his second, the remaining Fomori were scattering. It didn¡¯t matter, Finlay managed to skewer a second through their neck before they could fully remove themselves from danger. The attack came just as the third escaped his field of view.


    Finlay had spent years training his Rangers to be living instruments of death, and they proved his success within moments. Coming out of seemingly nowhere, opening up blood vessels and skewering organs as they fell on the orc guards before their hapless enemies even knew a fight had found them. With his night vision as potent as it was, Finlay saw the air turn crimson with spraying arterial blood as five hundred pound bodies thudded harshly to the floor, watched the enemy¡¯s ranks begin to tremble in exertion. He swallowed his anticipation, focusing only on the job.


    A Dullahan¡¯s helmet ruptured as Finlay cast another arrow through it, then a towering orc reared up calling out words of galvanisation and encouragement to its men. He got that one through the eye. Every time he released a projectile, another enemy died, and he made sure they counted. Killing officers, killing elites, killing anything that might have the ability to restore order to the chaotic cancer spreading through their forces, or individually challenge and kill any of his Rangers.


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    The carnage could not have taken more than half a minute, but by the time it ended he¡¯d already emptied a full quiver of thirty into the other side.


    Finlay saw orcs roaring and flailing in confusion, campfires rapidly extinguishing, braziers emptied out into the dirt. He saw officers snarling at their sudden loss of confusion over the ranked men in their forces, and undead lumbering one way and the other in search of something to kill. It seemed, to him, about as chaotic a state as the enemy was likely to enter, and like all military chaos a sharply temporary state. It was his moment.


    Calling out, Finlay gave the order for the rest of their men to advance, then began to draw on his second quiver. He took off an orc¡¯s arm before the first of their conventional soldiers crashed into enemy ranks.


    He hated crossbows, he really did. But there were times when it did help a shade to have a few hundred idiots throwing their contributions into the giant, convulsing monster of combat. Finlay saw orcs falling en masse as volleys of bolts tunnelled into grey meat and let blood to spurt out in their wake.


    Finlay saw his Rangers congealing, forming the lance formation that would cut to the heart of whatever counter their enemies managed to hastily construct against the main body. He hurried to join them.


    It took only seconds to reach the group, but those seconds were enough for the fighting to intensify. Men flew head over heels as orcs launched them one way and another, gambesons splitting open along with their wearers beneath the guillotine-swings of Dullahan. Finlay came into the weakest flank, his bow discarded in favour of two long-knives. He started putting them to work on one of the black-armoured undead without a moment¡¯s pause.


    The Dullahan swung back at him, its broadsword out-ranging Finlay¡¯s knives by well over a foot and forcing him to hang back. He dodged, sidestepped, kept at bay and forced to evade rather than parry. In a contest of strength he didn¡¯t think he¡¯d lose, but his physicality wasn¡¯t so great that he could push back a blade that heavy with ones as small as his, not when a Dullahan was on the other end. Eventually, though, his chance came, and Finlay leapt on it like a bloodhound upon a fox.


    He drove one length of steel deep into a gap between armguard and cuirass, then twisted. The chainmail blocking his blade was thicker and heavier than could be worn by most humans, but it didn¡¯t last long against the enchanted metal grinding against it, not with the amount of strength Finlay had at his disposal. He tore apart ligaments and joints, then wrenched the knife out and stepped in, placing another one through the Dullahan¡¯s eyeslit and mangling the brains beneath.


    Another Dullahan moved in beside him, readying a sword stroke that might have killed Finlay on the spot. Had his men not moved faster. Two of them, Rangers both, one snatching the undead¡¯s arm with both of his own, the other sliding his own knife along the most fragile areas of its plate. Properly made armour didn¡¯t have many true openings, but wielding a weapon with the strength of twenty men caused a lot more functional gaps to appear. And all of Finlay¡¯s boys were well trained in finding them.


    One Dullahan dropped, then another, and then all that was left to fight were orcs and undead. The former had strength, the latter a near-inexhaustible endurance, but neither characteristic provided much aid as limbs started to detach beneath slashing blows. The only hitch came when one Ranger was sent flying high, blood arcing away from him as a spinning limb flew from his body in the opposite direction.


    It was the Fomori, the last one. Finlay saw his men backing away, the momentum of their crushing assault quickly evaporating as terror seeped in. It entered his mind, too.


    Fomori were neither undead nor living, things of Demonic blood and esoteric magic. Just to behold one was to stare at an entity more instinctually terrifying than death itself. Even his Rangers couldn¡¯t overcome such a fear easily, there was simply no training to do so. It took innate, immutable will to manage something like that.


    Finlay¡¯s hands tightened about his knives as he closed in for it. Had he been a man lacking in will, he¡¯d have died in the gutters he came from.


    The dagger scraped along heavy armour, leaving a deep gouge in the steel as Finlay leapt back. His enemy¡¯s spinning arm came fast as a striking viper, missing him by inches. Finlay made sure to snag the wrist with another knife as it went past, not missing the chance to leave another gash in his enemy.


    It was not the sort of wound that typically felled a normal man, let alone a Fomori. The monster was rounding on him again when the first of Finlay¡¯s Rangers fell upon its back, the second and third following soon after.


    He saw his chance, shoving while the abomination struggled for balance and sending it to the ground, then all of them fell upon it. Their knives found every vulnerability there was to be found, drawing acidic, black blood in great rivulets and puddles as they skewered the piece of monstrous meat at their feet. By the time they were done, a crater had been eroded beneath the minced enemy.


    It was then that Finlay stumbled back, panting for breath, feeling the adrenal frenzy of battle finally slow enough for thought. He surveyed the state of his men.


    Many wounds, some dead. The vast majority of casualties had, perhaps expectedly, come from the regular soldiers he¡¯d been granted, their bodies less sturdy and swift than his elites. A few Rangers had died, too, though. That made him truly hurt. Each of those was a man possessing talent found in only one among dozens, then trained for years to hone it. They were not easily replaced.


    And the ones lost today were not the only casualties of their rebellion.


    Finlay climbed to his feet, forcing himself to think of other matters before his thoughts could turn once more to Collin. His son would not be freed from the Dark Lord by simply agonising over his capture, nor would any of the men now under Finlay¡¯s command be served by finding their leader¡¯s mind elsewhere. He buried every scrap of distraction, weakness and humanity he had to.


    His men needed him, his people needed him. Kaltan needed him. As the city¡¯s governor, that had been something he¡¯d made peace with years ago. What Finlay hadn¡¯t known, accepting the job, was that the entire world would one day demand he do it well, to boot.


    But that was the least among his concerns, leading a rebellion against the Dark Lord. And yet more larger ones would soon be added to the pile. They always were.

 Chapter 38

    ¡°Arion¡¯s the name.¡± The boy explained, beginning his lie with an admirable ease. Such aptitudes were a sign of personalities that went well in House Shaiagrazni. ¡°Arion Hawk, merchant, trader, entrepreneur¡­You may have heard of me? No matter if you haven¡¯t, I¡¯m just passing through for a bit of bargain-hunting, you see.¡±


    The guard did not verbally reply, only peered at Silenos and King Galukar in silent question. It was an understandable concern of course, Silenos knew full well that both of them cut an intimidating enough sight on their own. He stood a full two metres in height, and though he was far leaner than muscled, his body would nonetheless have been correctly assessed as physically potent even were it not for the genius of Fleshcrafting that gave it such macromolecular strength.


    King Galukar¡¯s physicality was more apparent even than that. Beyond the handful of centimetres he towered over even Silenos by, his musculature was quite frankly in defiance of Shaiagrazni biology. No man in a pre-industrial world ought to have been able to sustain it, nor even could any animal natural selection was likely to engineer at all. Between that and his sheer scale, Silenos estimated the barbarian King to weigh even more than his own quarter-tonne.


    A single flexed bicep on that King¡¯s part was enough to quickly snap the guard¡¯s eyes back to Falls, who used the resumed attention as well as Silenos had come to expect.


    ¡°My bodyguards.¡± He explained, grinning. ¡°These are treacherous lands, you understand, if you don¡¯t happen to be a dark magus or such things.¡±


    The man nodded in empathetic understanding, then sent his gaze expectedly to the next sight of note. The largest point of failure in their entire masquerade.


    Sphera, the petty Necromancer-officer of the so-called Dark Lord, was no more compliant in their deception than she had been in their journey.


    ¡°They¡¯re lying.¡± She snapped, glaring from one of them to another, then staring at the guard with a desperation that would have been enjoyable to witness at any other time. ¡°That one¡¯s a magus, he¡¯s a dark caster. They¡¯re just trying to get entrance without giving you their true identities-¡±


    She trailed off as Falls hit her, perhaps a shade harder than was necessary.


    ¡°Shut it, whore.¡± He snapped, then turned back to the guard, feigning apology. ¡°You must forgive me, that one¡¯s a slave and she¡¯s rather recently captured. Still haven¡¯t finished breaking her in, if you understand, so she¡¯ll be a bit unmanageable for a while.¡±


    It had been their one great concession. Finlay Baird, Governor of Kaltan, was famously a man of progress and liberation.


    He despised slavery almost as much as a slave might, and had all but outlawed it within his own city before being redirected in his efforts by the Dark Lord. Travelling with one openly behind his walls was not a way to go unnoticed.


    But they could not have risked leaving Sphera behind outside, not without the risk of her escaping whatever bonds they encased her in, and there was simply no other way to bring an openly held prisoner within. Gagging her would only have conveyed all that binding her already had, as well as making it apparent that they did not wish her to speak.


    It was possible the guard saw through their facade, as imperfect a concession as it was, but if he did there was no hint of the fact in his gaze. He only nodded, slow at first, then more earnestly as he watched the hateful glares Sphera sent at Falls.


    ¡°You¡¯re aware of the Governor¡¯s opinion on slavery?¡± The man asked, wearily. Falls shrugged.


    ¡°Nobody¡¯s perfect. I¡¯ll take a bit of abolitionist sentiment if it means doing my business in the only undead-free city within fifty miles.¡±


    The guard snorted, then stepped aside to allow them unbarred passage through the broad gates.


    ¡°In that case, by all means, go about your business, and please accept my apologies for keeping you so long in the first place.¡±


    With a few more tedious moments of feigned smiles, they moved past the man and into the city. Silenos felt his expression relax into its usual, sensible mask the moment he was certain it could no longer be scrutinised by the guard.


    ¡°Arion, you stay with the prisoner.¡± Silenos ordered his apprentice. ¡°The barbarian and I shall investigate this place alone, we can walk faster and easier than you, and are more intimidating.¡±


    The latter would be useful in extracting answers from otherwise unwilling containers, while the former would simply allow for more ground to be covered within the same span. Perhaps even Galukar understood as much, because he gave little in the way of protests before following after Silenos.


    It was an uneventful day, for them both. Grinding sluggishly past them in lengthy patches of nothing, punctuated by the occasional bout of insubstantiality. It was easy to grow frustrated as their continued efforts proved uselessly applied, but Silenos found his temper a simple thing to control. Perhaps he had simply been unpractised in regulating the primordial idiocy of emotion, given his century of freedom from its touch. Perhaps, more disturbingly, he was growing accustomed to being denied his will. That was an unacceptable thought. Seniors of House Shaiagrazni did not get accustomed to such things.


    However wrong it was in the ethical sense, reality did not seem to care. The people Silenos probed with questions were of invariably little help. Refusing to answer, turning back in fear, or even meeting him with overt confusion. Those few who knew something, they all knew the very same fact. And it was a tedious thing to squeeze from each and every one of them despite its insignificance.


    Only one fact emerged with any consistency in their search; that the Governor, of all people, knew of the man named Silhouette, going so far as to even publicly claim he had met the man. Galukar¡¯s face darkened to a rather grim mask as that much was made clear, his eyes sharpening with rage.


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    ¡°This was a fine city, once.¡± The King growled. ¡°I knew many of the people who ruled it. Good, decent people. Then Finlay the Butcher staged his little coup and painted the streets with red. I¡¯d sooner surrender the world to the Dark Lord than work with that upstart little monster. I say we wring his neck before taking our leave and find some other way out of the area.¡±


    Silenos really was getting tired of the local idiots of this new world. Really, he¡¯d never seen a class rebellion that hadn¡¯t been deserved. It was remarkably easy to keep the common people held underfoot, ordinary humans were a remarkably docile bunch. Anyone stupid enough to be overthrown by them deserved it.


    And that was without considering the simple fact of Finlay¡¯s success in holding the city. As Silenos had heard it, half of the settlement was going to be ceded over to the Dark Lord by its inept rulers before his coup. No doubt, that had been the inciting incident for it. People tended to lash out against foreigners substantially more readily than they did starvation or tyranny.


    One citizen after another, regardless of rank, they all gave the same responses. Either nothing of any real substance or a direction towards Finlay himself. King Galukar grew angrier by the answer, his blood pooling with rage intensely enough that it actually showed beneath his bronzed skin. Silenos found himself wondering whether the giant oaf might burst a blood vessel, if it continued. Found himself hoping he did. Such a thing would be trivially healed, and unspeakably amusing.


    Silenos¡¯ own annoyance mounted as they continued their questioning, eventually becoming clear that there was only one man they had anything to gain by investigating. He asked, more specifically, about Finlay.


    Arion had gotten a cheap inn, given the state of their funds, and found himself mortified to realise that it was striking him as some sort of luxury. The walls were thin, and marked by numerous holes. Floors rough, unvarnished wood. The beds were two in number and rickety, with the ceiling being low and the entire place smelling faintly of human flesh and alcohol.


    But it was not the wilds. Not a charred wasteland of black, Necromantic dirt. The ceiling was better coverage than unbound sky, the walls were better windbreaks than empty air. Good God, he was going native. What a revolting thought.


    The Necromancer, Sphera, was with him still of course. Arion didn¡¯t intend to let her out of his sight for an instant, leaving her bound against the far wall, glaring back at him as he glared likewise. She was powerful, he had to admit. For a woman.


    No, just powerful in general. The more Arion actually saw of women in the wilds, the more sceptical he found himself of how the other magi regarded them. If nothing else there were exceptions to the general rule, and he was holding one of them prisoner. A dangerous exception.


    She was older than him by at least a few years, and as far as Arion could tell her talent was superior to Walriq¡¯s. The difference wasn¡¯t small, either. In raw power alone she was likely the equal of a lesser Hero, more than a match for Arion¡¯s own. She was bound tightly, though, carefully immobilised and kept from conjuring shadestuff to free herself. More importantly, she was a Necromancer without reanimates. Arion had already seen just how a fight like that went when his master spent those days struggling so dangerously while weaponizing his Fleshcrafting.


    ¡°Thinking of how you¡¯ll fight back if I escape?¡±


    Her question came abrupt and staggering as a cavalry charge, whipping Arion out of his own mind and back to the present. He turned, sharply, to the Necromancer, half expecting to find her already free and readying an attack. Instead she remained as she was, bound to one corner, but smiling now. Looking altogether too confident for his liking.


    ¡°Why would I bother thinking about that?¡± Arion shot back. ¡°You don¡¯t have a chance against me and we both know it.¡±


    He briefly considered breaking an arm or leg, to make sure, but decided against it. The noise, and the injury following the noise, might attract undue attention. Even in a city not actively filled with the enemy, caution was needed.


    ¡°I had a chance against your master.¡± She grinned back, speaking of her killing the great windmage as if¡­Well, as if it were the killing of the great windmage. ¡°And I didn¡¯t have a hard time tricking you about it, either. Dead to a heart attack mid-fuck, eh?¡±


    Arion felt his jaw tighten with rage. Hers, meanwhile, grew lax with amusement.


    ¡°Oh! You didn¡¯t recognise me? Come now, how little attention do you pay? No wonder you magi never get anything done, too busy thinking about sex and food to even notice what¡¯s right beneath your nose, hm?¡±


    Arion couldn¡¯t know whether she was telling the truth or not. He didn¡¯t remember the girl he¡¯d found standing over his dead master, couldn¡¯t even recall the colour of her skin or hair. For all he knew, the Necromancer really was telling the truth.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t think of a better way to get him alone than by fucking him?¡± He noted, deciding to be safe and simply turn things around on her. ¡°A woman is still a woman, I suppose.¡±


    He saw the Necromancer¡¯s eyes narrow for a moment, turning jagged with hatred at his jab. Arion found that interesting. He¡¯d struck a nerve, it seemed. She didn¡¯t let it remain exposed for long.


    ¡°And how about the woman in your group, that Paladin. Still held captive by Venka, I¡¯d guess?¡±


    Arion¡¯s blood curdled as she threw the verbal lance his way, feeling it sink in deep. Her smile only widened at the sight.


    ¡°Oh, yes, I know it was him she got snatched up by. You¡¯ve heard of his reputation of course, yes?¡±


    ¡°I have.¡± Arion snapped, but she just kept on talking as if he¡¯d said nothing at all.


    ¡°Cruelty is the main thing. Though having met him I wouldn¡¯t say he¡¯s exactly cruel. More¡­Hard, sharp. Doesn¡¯t take uncooperative prisoners lightly. He does his duty in the hopes of one day ascending in rank as reward, and won¡¯t let anything get in the way of that. Your friend should be fine as long as she gives him what he wants to know during interrogation.¡±


    He wanted to vomit more with each new word past her lips.


    ¡°We¡¯ll get her back.¡± He snapped, glaring at the woman, feeling his hatred foam over. ¡°Or she¡¯ll escape, Ensharia¡¯s smarter than you¡¯d believe. She-¡±


    ¡°-She is not getting past several thousand orcs and the most gifted fencer currently alive.¡± The Necromancer grinned. ¡°But it¡¯s adorable that you have so much faith in her. Perhaps it will prove well placed, if she¡¯s particularly resourceful she might make it out of whatever cell she¡¯s in and manage to get killed in the attempt of fleeing by her guards, rather than strapped down and peeled like a grape for information.¡±


    Arion was storming towards her before he knew it, hand raised and cocked back in a fist, ready to strike her. He was interrupted by the door¡¯s opening.


    Silenos Shaiagrazni strode into the room as if his every step were something to be celebrated, and behind him King Galukar ducked down beneath the low frame to squeeze in after. The door closing behind them, both men affixed Arion and the Necromancer with thoughtful looks. Galukar seemed approving of what he¡¯d been about to do, Silenos indifferent. Neither bothered to remark upon it.


    ¡°I have decided upon our next move.¡± Silenos declared, moving to the single chair resting against a wall in their room, then pausing. He remained standing rather than taking it. Arion would have done the same, the caster was far heavier than he looked, and such a fragile thing would surely have perished beneath his weight.


    ¡°What is it?¡± He asked his master, eager for the distraction of planning.


    ¡°We require the aid of this city¡¯s Governor.¡± Silenos explained. ¡°And to get that we need an audience. If an audience of thanks and gratitude on his part, then so much the better. We are going to break his son out of prison.¡±

 Chapter 39

    The first thing General Venka had done when Ensharia was finally taken from her makeshift cell and marched alongside his men, was to shackle her. He¡¯d used big, thick bands of iron to do it. Things large enough that a normal woman wouldn¡¯t have been able to raise her arms against their weight, strong enough that she might have struggled to break them were she unbound and armed with an axe.


    He needn¡¯t have bothered. The day before, and the night after it, she¡¯d spent virtually all of her time healing the pirate. Ensharia was not a true healer, not even a true Cleric of her order whose power was focused exclusively in such things rather than equipping its wielder with physicality and potency. Her ability to restore a man¡¯s life and strength was stretched almost to its limits in treating Swick the Swift. Almost.


    Now, the pirate shuffled along just ahead of her. His feet were bound in shackles of leather fixed to thick rope, like Ensharia behind him, and like the man behind her. Slaves. Captured and sealed, dragged along in the wake of General Venka and his grey-skinned engine of war. Ensharia felt rather sick at the very thought.


    Orcs were among the slaves. That fact had surprised her, when she¡¯d first learned of it the day before. It seemed absurd. Orcs were the soldiers, they were Venka¡¯s warriors, and yet the more she considered it the more sense it made. Humans were her warriors, too. And they were the Dark Lord¡¯s. There was no reason a species could not be cast into two roles at once.


    Soon enough they stopped, and their work began. While some slaves set up tents for the officers and pickets for defence, others, like Ensharia, were put to work in more manual roles. It was their job to provide the campfires.


    Apparently the black dirt of the Dark Lord¡¯s lands could be burned, it simply required the right treatments first. One of the major steps was compressing it. Such knowledge was known well in advance of Venka¡¯s expedition, had been for years, and so the forces had hauled several purpose-made wooden moulds to do so. She¡¯d been confused, at first, by the metal bands around the sides of the moulds. Then the work had begun.


    In making the black dirt useful as fuel, one had to squeeze it to an absurd degree. Ensharia was taught to fill the containers up roughly three quarters, leaving the dirt piled up to a line drawn just a hand or two from the top, then press down an iron top, drive a lever through a side slot and start drawing it back to crush the stuff.


    Easy work, at first. Then harder. Ensharia eyed the lid of the thing, knowing that she was permitted to call each batch finished only once it had reached the median point of the container. Every inch closer it came, the effort required for the next shift grew ever more. She started looking at the other workers for some example of how she might improve around the sixty percent mark.


    Most others, she realised, were working in teams. Five, even six orcs at each lever, all gripping and grunting, sweat building against their skin in great globules. Ensharia¡¯s body was still sore, throbbing, and at any other time it might have been heartening to see so many great brutes needed to match her own work.


    Now, she just found herself dwelling on how similar their roles had become. She was an orc in function, and lesser even than most of the orcs present.


    Certainly, less than the humans were.


    Ensharia¡¯s work was finished soon, despite her injuries. That much she could thank Silenos for. The Saviour¡¯s Fleshcrafting was growing on her by the day, proving itself well worth the moral compromise each and every time she put it to work, and the free rest she gained from using it so was valuable. It meant more time to spend resting, and more strength to use once she¡¯d finished her recovery. All that was left was finding the best way to use it.


    Her much needed observations were not given much time to be completed, however. A voice soon rang out in her ear, interrupting whatever surveillance she might have managed and almost making Ensharia jump.


    ¡°I was half drunk when I got Shaiagrazni¡¯s message.¡±


    She turned, half expecting some orc or even Venka, realising what the words meant- how many possibilities they eliminated- only as she finished turning. Swick the Swift was seated a foot or two beside her, still chained just as tightly, still bound to the orcs working away not three yards ahead. His face was almost unrecognisable. The man¡¯s broad grin was gone, his unbroken cockiness shattered. The sockets of his eyes seemed deeper than before, the eyes themselves bloodshot, and by the texture of his skin and hair he seemed to have aged halfway into a corpse.


    Ensharia took the sights in while digesting his words, taking her time before replying to them.


    ¡°I thought you were always half drunk.¡± She noted, testily. He didn¡¯t react to her response at all, simply moved past it as if he¡¯d not even noticed.


    ¡°Half drunk, fully stupid.¡± Swick murmured. ¡°They were my men, my crew, and we¡¯d sailed for years. A decade, some of them. Seizing entire galleons, snatching home tons of gold. Literally tons! Another few years and we¡¯d have been rich, all of us. I¡¯d have watched some of them retire with wealth to make most nobles jealous, and made some of the others my captains. Always wanted my own fleet of ships. Admiral Swick the Swift, King of the sky pirates, dominator of the winds¡­Aye, that always seemed good for me.¡±


    She didn¡¯t say anything this time, only watched him speak. Listening with a sickening satisfaction. Ensharia wouldn¡¯t have expected the display she saw now, not from a man half as proud as the captain had been. She wondered what the cause was for all of a second before it became apparent.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Ah!¡± Swick winced, clutching his head. ¡°Shit, the headache.¡±


    Ensharia had treated her fair share of drunks, and knew the sight of withdrawal all too well. It could get nasty in most men, as bodily functions either shut down or went haywire, mind sending its vessel into spasmodic frenzy as if to compensate for all the hours spent blunted and dull. That didn¡¯t happen to Swick the Swift, such things were difficult to inflict on a man of his native physical prowess, but it almost felt like he¡¯d have been struck by a mercy if it had.


    ¡°You took a risk.¡± She said, hesitantly. ¡°They all knew what they were in for, you told me that yourself.¡±


    She had been ready for more drunken self-loathing or hatred. The fire he directed at her as she said that left her taken aback completely.


    ¡°Don¡¯t speak on things you don¡¯t understand.¡± The pirate snapped. ¡°They didn¡¯t sign up to be thrown into suicide by some drunkard.¡±


    Tears were threatening to form upon the man¡¯s features, and Ensharia felt whatever animosity or disgust she¡¯d been overcome with earlier bleed back into simple pity. Perhaps it was weak of her.


    It certainly wasn¡¯t kind, because Swick the Swift didn¡¯t so much as glance back at Ensharia after that. Just remained locked in his own agony. She found herself reassessing the man, watching him blubber and weep.


    Ensharia decided he really did need a drink, after all.


    <hr>


    A day passed, and Ensharia used it well in learning even more about the circumstances around her. Some of it was rather promising and good, other things, most things, were terrible. It was, she supposed, the sort of ratio one might expect from information gained while held chained and imprisoned amidst a horde of orcs.


    The orcs were what soaked up most of her studies, and for good reason. It was taught among Paladins that they were simple creatures. Clever enough for tool usage and primitive ambushes, but never any form of complex society. When more than a few hundred joined together they would invariably collapse and schism through in-fighting. What Ensharia was seeing around her now, though, defied it all.


    Venka had managed to forge a military glue capable of binding even the most savage species of all into one block, and the more she observed, the more she understood how it worked.


    Each orc was motivated not by loyalty, or a yearning for status, but by fear of becoming like the ones beneath them. The basest soldiers acted to keep from being made slaves, the officers acted out of desperation to keep themselves removed from the common ranks, and Venka¡¯s most trusted orcs each worked tirelessly to retain his favour. It was a brutal system, leaving countrymen pitted against one another, and yet it held the orcs chained into their stations remarkably well.


    Ensharia¡¯s appreciation for it only grew, the more she saw of their casual savagery.


    Brawls were common, and terrifying. The strength an orc could unleash in battle was sufficient to send another of their kind flying and rolling as if they weighed no more than children. Ground was churned up and dirt cast in all directions whenever two of them fought, and on the occasions where they snagged the slave¡¯s binding rope, it would drag several to the floor. Each time Ensharia was pulled from whatever thoughts occupied her and reminded of the monstrous company she was trapped among.


    Her one reprieve came briefly, as she passed a flower. It wasn¡¯t anything big. A small, fragile strip of crimson petals mounted on a withered stem, hunched and desiccated amid the ocean of black dirt around it. She couldn¡¯t have explained why, if pressed, but the sight of it still left a tear welling in the ducts of her eyes even still. It was hope in a land of ruin.


    Ensharia made herself look away from the flower, and focus back upon their march.


    Her body still ached, despite the time spent recovering and healing, and it would continue to ache no matter how long she was given for it to mend. That was Venka¡¯s doing. The General had not been satisfied with what Ensharia had told him, which was almost fair enough, given that she had lied and feigned ignorance without exception. He had called for her torture, one day and then the next. Ensharia had felt her skin peeled back from muscle, flesh burned and tortured by hot iron, had a molar torn from her mouth and a steel-tipped whip strike at her back and buttocks with such force that it would have flayed a tree of its bark.


    Through it all, she¡¯d surrendered nothing.


    Venka had surely not expected her to, because he didn¡¯t seem the least bit surprised. Ensharia might have hoped he would grow tired of the torment, that she might be spared further agony the next night, but somehow she doubted it. General Venka did not strike her as the sort of man to stop doing a thing just because he grew weary of it.


    Something moved in Ensharia¡¯s vision, drawing her eyes back across to the site of the flower. She felt a stab of urgency take her at the sight of an orc kneeling down beside it, reaching to the dirt and plucking the plant free.


    Her fury was instantaneous and instinctive, sending her surging on for the savage with such force that she toppled several of the beasts still tethered to her in doing so.


    It looked up just as Ensharia came over to shove it, sending the orc flat against the floor, eyes wide and face tight with sudden fear as she stared down at it.


    ¡°Why did you do that?¡± She snarled, temper almost blinding her. ¡°That was the only living thing anywhere in this awful place, what made you so incapable of resisting its destruction? Do you just hate life?¡±


    The orc stared up at her, and to Ensharia¡¯s surprise its face was twisted more by confusion than hate or fear. Carefully, slowly, it took an arm out from under itself and raised it out to her. The fist was curled, and she took a half-step back from it, fearing an attack. When it unfurled, however, Ensharia found nothing within. Save a crimson flower, resting along the palm.


    It had been spared any damage at all, despite the orc¡¯s heavy fall. Preserved delicately and perfectly amid the grey flesh.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± The orc mumbled, not meeting her eye. ¡°Flower prit tee. Human like flower. I¡­Wanted make hap pea.¡±


    Something twisted in Ensharia¡¯s breast, and she reevaluated the information. The orc hadn¡¯t been destroying the flower, Ensharia realised. He¡¯d been picking it. Picking it for her.


    Forcing herself calm, swallowing the blend of guilt and regret, Ensharia slowly reached out to take the delicate plant. Eyes wide, heart breaking as the orc flinched again. He hadn¡¯t meant any harm at all.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± She breathed, speaking slowly and clearly for the sake of understanding. ¡°I¡­Didn¡¯t realise what you were doing, I¡­This is a lovely flower, thank you.¡± She took the thing, raising it up to her head and gently pushing its step into her hair. It was all tangled, knotted and greasy from unwashed travels, but that only made the flower hold its place easier.


    The orc¡¯s eyes brightened a shade as Ensharia helped him up.

 Chapter 40

    Ensharia was tortured the day after. And the day after that. After a while she almost grew accustomed to it, which was disheartening in its own way. Paladins were trained to resist interrogation, however, and she found herself kept calm and solid by the very same breathing techniques and mental dissassociations she¡¯d spent so long accruing all those years ago in training.


    It helped, she knew, that despite the sheer brutality inherent to any act of torture, Ensharia¡¯s body had not been broken or crippled in any way that surpassed its ability to recover.


    She¡¯d been confused by that, at first, but quickly realised the motive behind it. Unsurprisingly, it was not the General Venka¡¯s mercy.


    Ensharia, and captain Swick the Swift, were both to be presented to the Dark Lord himself. Her heart had almost stopped with fright when she¡¯d first realised that, and then her thoughts had further accelerated into a frenzied, panicked mess at the implications. One conclusion was very clear, indeed. She would not be surviving his presence.


    They¡¯d kept her body intact because they planned on reanimating her as an undead after whatever interrogation the Dark Lord had planned was finished. Or, possibly, they didn¡¯t plan on getting any information from her at all. Perhaps the sessions of torture were merely a pretence to keep her body enfeebled and weak, to prevent escape without letting her know she¡¯d already been consigned to death. Either way, Ensharia didn¡¯t plan to find out on her enemy¡¯s terms.


    She¡¯d not been sure how long it would take for the group to reach their destination, but it couldn¡¯t have been long. Her days were numbered, and with no way of knowing what that number was, Ensharia had thought quickly. Gathering every scrap of knowledge she could, scrutinising General Venka¡¯s entire convoy for whatever weaknesses might be exploited.


    It was yet another mark in the inscrutable commander¡¯s favour that she managed to find so little.


    Ensharia turned quickly to Swick, asking the man about whether his magic might manage the deed. His response was pained and bitter.


    ¡°Not a chance.¡± He grunted. ¡°I can¡¯t translocate without bringing whatever I¡¯m touching with me.¡±


    She frowned at that, recalling the way he¡¯d seemed always to step back from an enemy before using his power.


    ¡°Including the slaves bound to us?¡±


    ¡°Including them.¡± He confirmed. ¡°And before you suggest it, I can¡¯t just bring them along with us. The distance I can manage is limited enough usually, a quarter of a mile on a good day. It drops, and the fatigue of reaching it rises, as I need to carry more and more mass along on the journey. I also can¡¯t travel to any place I haven¡¯t splattered with my blood either.¡±


    Ensharia glanced back down the row of their fellow prisoners. They weren¡¯t all bound together, such a thing would be inconvenient, rather they¡¯d been separated into several dozen rows of perhaps a hundred or so. One hundred people was one hundred times the captain¡¯s own mass already, one hundred orcs, though, as so many of the prisoners seemed to be¡­She could imagine the strain it would impart.


    ¡°What¡¯s the largest thing you could bring?¡± She asked, considering a way they might free themselves from the rest and translocate away once the connection was broken. Swick just sighed.


    ¡°Something small, I¡¯m afraid. A suit of armour, a young child. Not an adult, definitely not one of your¡­Size. Sorry.¡±


    It was almost funny that he thought she¡¯d be bothered by a perceived slight against her figure or weight. Almost. But nothing could have truly amused Ensharia in such a time, not if every fool in the world had tried at once. Perhaps she¡¯d have cracked a smile if one of them had broken off her chains and doubled Swick¡¯s powers, first.


    She took a mental step back from her current predicament, assessing her situation in more general terms. What did she know of Venka? Of his army, his plans, his methods? Reassuringly, quite a bit.


    The man¡¯s plan was to link up with another, larger force of orcs in order to prepare a besieging army with which to attack Kaltan. Such tactics were commonplace among human forces; it was, after all, far easier to send ten forces of a thousand through land than one force of ten thousand. What was exceptional was the fact that Venka dared to do it with orcs.


    But then, Venka had done so much else with the creatures. Ensharia had been studying the hierarchy of his army, and everything she learned just left it ever more impressive in her mind.


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    Hierarchy was the secret at the centre of everything, a strict and irresistible hierarchy. Rather than valuing strength, as many Generals did in their men, or wits and intellect, as most did in their bannermen and lords, Venka¡¯s soldiers seemed to gain promotion and status based on nothing more complex than good behaviour. Good behaviour. It was like the man was training dogs, rather than thinking people. Ensharia had seen the results clear enough.


    At the bottom of his ranks were the slave-orcs, almost all of which were newly captured and newly conscripted into the forces. At the top were those that had learned to navigate Venka¡¯s preferences of manners and etiquette, most commonly the orcs which had been among his men for longest.


    It was one of the former kind, not the latter, that Ensharia headed to next.


    Garutan was sitting down as Ensharia approached him, one who had an appreciation for taking his life slowly, she had learned. The great orc stood almost a head taller than even most of his kin, and had perhaps enough bodily mass in bone and musculature that even she might have felt its resistance were she to try moving him. He looked up at her approach, face splitting into a broad smile the way it always did when she came to speak.


    ¡°Enshar!¡± He grinned. Ensharia smiled back.


    Garutan had been the orc responsible for handing her the flower she now wore in her mottled hair, and she¡¯d spent no small stretch of time speaking with him over the past days. At first she¡¯d thought him to be a savage animal. That perception had not long survived knowing Garutan.


    He was not an animal, not savage, and certainly not a cruel beast as many of the stories might have claimed. True, he was not as clever as a human, but that was hardly the orc¡¯s own fault. He¡¯d brought Ensharia the flower because he¡¯d thought she looked pretty and nice, and having known him for just a few more days, Ensharia had found him to be simply one of the sweetest people she¡¯d ever met. Less a giant animal, and more a giant, loving little boy.


    ¡°How are things going?¡± She asked, taking her own seat. Garutan answered as eagerly as ever, seeming thrilled just to have had the question posed to him. He was always one to enjoy talking and sharing, but more than that, Ensharia had found, he enjoyed having an interest taken in him.


    Garutan excitedly talked about the sights he¡¯d seen, mostly clouds and mountains, but occasionally veering into a revelation of curious behaviour from his fellow slaves or guarding soldiers. Ensharia listened, committing it all to memory as usual, and interrupted only as a harsh voice called the orc off to continue his work elsewhere.


    ¡°Sorry Ensha.¡± He grumbled, storming off with his misery dripping from him. It made Ensharia¡¯s guts twist to behold. She watched him leave until the rattling of shackles and scraping of binds told her Swick was coming back to sit beside her.


    The pirate had changed, over the days, and not for the better. Face infested by scraggly, messy stubble, eyes sunken ever deeper into his sockets. He had looked half corpse before, and since made the transition farther to at least three quarters. She felt nothing but pity as she gazed upon him.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to die here.¡± He grunted, sounding like a man holding his own blood-slick entrails in the midst of a battle. ¡°I killed my men, and now I¡¯m going to get myself killed right alongside them.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that.¡± Ensharia growled, speaking with a venom that was perhaps disproportionate to his words. Whenever he spoke of such things, it made her think of them. Squeezed those last embers of hope in her mind almost to the limit.


    ¡°Have you come up with any plans?¡± The pirate countered, looking at her with a blend of emotion Ensharia couldn¡¯t quite identify. It was hard to be truthful, but she forced herself to.


    ¡°Not yet, but even if I think of nothing at all we still have hope. We¡¯ll be heading to Kaltan soon, yes?¡±


    The pirate eyed her, frowning, then nodding.


    ¡°...Yes.¡± He conceded. ¡°You say that as if it changes everything.¡±


    ¡°It does.¡± Ensharia grinned. ¡°Silenos and the others will be heading to it, as well. Arion came to try and rescue us while you were unconscious, and I told him about what we learned of the SIlhouette, that they can find a way of leaving the Dark Lord¡¯s lands there. If they end up there, they¡¯ll doubtless find out about the city¡¯s conflict with the Dark Lord and be roped into helping defend it, or even find out Venka himself is marching on it and stay deliberately to wait for us.¡±


    ¡°How will they know we¡¯d still be with him?¡± The pirate challenged. Ensharia felt a smile grow, a genuine one for the first time in days.


    ¡°Simple calculation, if Venka is there within the timeframe he¡¯ll arrive in, then he will have had to forego dropping us off with the Dark Lord or any other forts. Otherwise¡­Well, we¡¯d be there already. If they have access to maps or decent scouting, they¡¯ll draw the same conclusion. And if we can¡¯t be brought to a powerful Necromancer, we¡¯ll be kept alive to ensure we¡¯re reanimated in as fresh a state as possible, given our combat power and magic.¡±


    Swick considered her words with slow, subtle nods. Ensharia had expected- or hoped- to see some new flash of resolve across his features as she explained her optimism. That didn¡¯t happen, but there certainly was a change behind those glassy eyes. It was an unnerving one, rather than reassuring. Gnawing at her confidence and leaving her uncertain.


    ¡°What are you thinking?¡± She challenged, finding the ludicrous question escaping her out of sheer, sudden desperation.


    Swick eyed her levelly.


    .¡±I¡¯m thinking that I¡¯m sorry.¡± He replied, as if he were a headsman, and she the condemned criminal. Swick turned away from Ensharia before she could process his words, heading to an orc. One of the guards, not the slaves.


    ¡°I have information your General might be interested in hearing.¡± He told it, speaking with that loud, confident voice that best maximised the odds of being understood by their kind. ¡°Secrets, from traitors, and enemy plans. Take me to him and I can share it.¡±


    The orc took its time in processing Swick¡¯s words, but not as much of it as Ensharia did. By the time she¡¯d truly realised what was happening, that she had been betrayed, the pirate had already been unbound from the other slaves, firmly grabbed by both arms and hauled away to speak with the General.


    Leaving her alone once more.

 Chapter 41

    There hadn¡¯t been much for Collin to do, of late. But he supposed that was one of the states one could expect to enter, when one happened to be confined within a cell.


    His little room was a hard one, that much was clear. Bars of iron were mounted over the window, which itself was barely larger than his head. Through it, he could estimate the walls to be over a foot in thick, and solid stone all the way through. Diabase, of course, no doubt the work of some very gifted magi. The fuckers. He wanted to find those magi, then slam their big, ancient tomes down onto their scrotums. Collin bet he¡¯d outright burst the things, started wondering how wide the blood spatters would end up.


    It was not a particularly productive train of thought, he had to admit, and even moreso, it was not the kind his father would have encouraged.


    You¡¯re a Kaltan boy, Collin. He could practically hear him saying. People expect the worst of you, everything you do will be criticised and scrutinised just because of how you talk. It¡¯s not fair, and it¡¯s not right, but it¡¯s the way things are. So put on a show they can¡¯t find fault in.


    Fat lot of good such teachings had done him, in the end. Collin hadn¡¯t found much use for them in the field of battle. He¡¯d not found much use for anything there. Save his skill, his power, his quickness. And even they had been of limited help. As evidenced by his being trapped in a fucking cell within the enemy¡¯s lands.


    Collin got to his feet, making his way across the room and nearing his window. He jumped. The thing was built about seven feet off the floor, so if he ever wanted a decent look at the world outside, he had to elevate himself a bit. It wasn¡¯t hard, fortunately. His training may not have kept him out of prison, but it¡¯d made a fathom-high jump no issue at all.


    He caught the ledge of the window, holding his body up with the strength of his fingers and peering out. The angle wasn¡¯t ideal, thanks to the sheer thickness of the wall Collin could see nothing within half a mile of the tower¡¯s shadow. But he saw enough.


    Black dirt, dunes of corrupted sand. Putrefying air. He dropped down a moment later, then moved back to a corner, sitting. It had been a mistake to remind himself where he was.


    What he¡¯d do for just an hour outside. Just a minute. One minute, one bow and fifty arrows. He¡¯d have fired each one and killed as many of the Dark Lord¡¯s bastards before the time had expired, that much Collin was certain of. Even one would be something. Even one would be more than his weeks of worthlessness. In his cell, there was little to do save focus on keeping his strength from waning.


    Collin¡¯s musings were interrupted when the door blew up.


    It was rather an abrupt thing, abrupt enough that he just sat and gasped at the ruined, mangled heap of smouldering metal rather than move to do anything about it. Fortunately, it wasn¡¯t an enemy responsible.


    The man was not one Collin had ever seen before, and his foreign features were apparent at a glance. Hair the colour of coal, skin like copper, eyes a vibrant glare that somehow rang empty as they fell upon him. No more invested in what they might behold than a butcher studying a slab of meat. The stranger was ridiculously tall, closer to seven feet than six, and lean as a duellist. His skin had a curious texture which took Collin a moment to identify as similar in appearance to the exoskeletal armour of an insect, all hard and ridged. It shifted slightly as he moved farther into the room.


    ¡°You are Collin Baird.¡± The man said. Said, not asked. He did not seem to doubt the fact at all, but Collin nodded anyway.


    ¡°Are you here to¡­You were sent by my father?¡± He asked, finding his shock abating as he spoke, hope finally flaring up like an inferno in his chest.


    ¡°Yes.¡± The man replied, as if the matter was of no more consequence to him than the weather. Collin supposed imprisonment did tend to carry less significance for those outside the cell.


    ¡°What sort of forces do we have?¡± Collin asked, realising only then that he¡¯d heard no combat outside. The walls were thick, the spaces in them few, but even so he¡¯d have certainly caught wind of armies clashing outside the fort. Clearly this was a stealth mission, which meant the destruction of his prison door had alerted every enemy nearby. There¡¯d be fighting soon.


    ¡°None.¡± The man replied. ¡°I am here alone, save for a single companion. I believe he should be finished now.¡±


    Before Collin could speak, could do anything more than panic at the thought of being swarmed by enemies, a new figure emerged at the doorway. This one was bigger even than the first, almost too broad to fit through the opening. His shoulders were like those of a draft horse, hands like dinner plates. On his back there hung the biggest sword Collin had ever seen before, a great slab of ugly iron that dwarfed even its gargantuan wielder.


    But all the size in the world was little help against a force of undead thousands strong and led by Fomori.


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    ¡°You found him.¡± The giant grunted, with a voice so low and rumbling it sounded almost like the marching of armies itself.


    ¡°We need to leave!¡± Collin snapped, finding himself almost stunned at the sheer stupidity of these men. ¡°The enemy will be on us any moment, we have to-¡±


    ¡°Enemy?¡± The giant asked, with a grin. ¡°You mean the ones outside, and throughout the fort, yes?¡±


    Collin wavered slightly. Clearly, there was something known to his rescuers that he¡¯d not been enlightened on.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Collin snapped. ¡°What are, what have the two of you got planned?¡±


    ¡°Nothing much.¡± The giant shrugged. ¡°We¡¯re going to march back on foot, nothing fancy. But the fort¡¯s occupants aren¡¯t an issue anymore. We killed them all.¡±


    Collin looked from one man to the other, scrying their faces for sign of the joke. He found none. The first man, the leaner, smaller one, looked more impatient than anything, as if human conversation were a mere inconvenience he¡¯d learned to occasionally tolerate. The larger one seemed to be in rather a good mood, grinning broadly like a man who¡¯d just been handed a particularly enticing barrel of wine by a particularly curvaceous woman. Neither expression struck Collin as that of a person waiting for crushing defeat to descend upon them.


    ¡°My God.¡± He breathed. ¡°You¡¯re¡­Both of you are serious, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°It never ceases to amaze me how simple your kind are.¡± The smaller man sighed, turning for the door. ¡°Let us go.¡±


    The giant followed, glaring at his companion with more hate than irritation.


    ¡°You keep saying that. You keep being stuck here with us.¡± He spat.


    ¡°And I draw closer to doing something drastic with each moment that continues.¡± The younger one replied. ¡°While you continue to speak as if you have not already been extended more liberties than most men could earn in a lifetime.¡±


    Collin did not really have much to do, which he imagined was an experience common to many weeks-long prisoners. For the most recent stretch of his life, days had been divided into time spent exercising, time spent eating, and time spent throwing punches into the cell¡¯s outer wall in hope of eventually breaking through. The latter had so far achieved a dent only fingers deep and less than a foot wide.


    Outside, he found the air almost driven from his lungs. The hall outside Collin¡¯s cell was something he¡¯d seen only once before, ever. He was kept clean, and sanitary. Sterile might have been the best word for it, really. Exercise had never been a priority for his jailors, and so he had only a weeks old memory to compare the sight of carnage he was met with.


    Bodies were broken apart, both skeletal and fleshy. Rotting brown blood stained floor, walls and ceiling in seemingly equal volumes, while broken and bent weapons were littered around the place. The devastation was such that Collin couldn¡¯t even hope to count the number of enemies left strewn across the corridor. He recognised some of the types, though. Basic reanimates, stronger Dullahan... And a Fomori.


    Instantly, his eyes were back on the duo, heart racing.


    ¡°Who are you both?¡± Collin demanded. These two men were strangers to him, but not the world. One could not walk the earth with even half their power and not leave a legend behind.


    The slender man seemed as irritated by the question as all other things, the broader one only amused. Neither slowed their stride as the second of them answered.


    ¡°You will not know my¡­Companion.¡± He replied, referring to the other man as if even referencing him tasted foul. ¡°But you may have heard my name. I am Galukar, King of Arbite and-¡±


    ¡°-Wielder of the Godblade!¡± Collin gasped, realising then where he¡¯d seen him before. King Galukar was a foreign monarch, a distant one at that, but his name was one to transcend any border on the continent. Collin had seen a painting of him once, at a party. He barely seemed exaggerated by the paint.


    ¡°The very same.¡± King Galukar nodded, smiling now. ¡°And, of course, we already know who you are, Sir Baird.¡±


    Something strained in the King¡¯s eyes as he spoke Collin¡¯s name, and it wasn¡¯t hard to guess what. His father was not a popular man among the world¡¯s royals and aristocrats. Such things were hard to even consider, however, when measured against the weight of reputation now standing before him.


    No bloody wonder the fortress¡¯s garrison had been scythed away so effortlessly, if even half of what Collin had heard of King Galukar was true, and the slender man was so much as one third his equal, then he was following perhaps the deadliest pair currently walking the world. They might have flattened the entire building itself within a few minutes, if they¡¯d really tried, let alone killing all the monsters inside.


    His pondering was interrupted as the smaller man halted, raising an open hand in silence. Despite the obvious friction between them, the larger one caught his meaning before even Collin, freezing himself, then holding Collin still with one giant arm.


    ¡°New enemies.¡± The slender man whispered. ¡°They are few, but powerful. Dullahans numbering one or two dozen, a handful of those Fomori creatures¡­Yes, a lich is with them. There are maybe two hundred well armed orcs to boot.¡±


    King Galukar nodded, gravely, speaking quietly, but somehow still rattling Collin¡¯s bones as he did.


    ¡°We can take them together.¡± He grunted.


    ¡°It is not worth the risk, Baird is too fragile, and this may well be an assassination squad designed to cut losses in the event of his escape. Their timing is conveniently inconvenient.¡±


    There came the slightest pause, then, impressively quick, the giant nodded again.


    ¡°Very well, one of us must divert them.¡±


    ¡°I can.¡± The smaller one said, instantly, ¡°Take the boy, it is best if he is not¡­Present.¡±


    Another pause, then a great tightening of the giant¡¯s face. He finally sighed, as if conceding to something, and took Collin by the arm. His grip did not feel in any way exertive or strained, but it still sent a dull throb through his musculature and into the bone. How easily could this man have crushed the limb entirely, had he wished? Collin was whipped along behind him before he could ponder the thought.


    Their strides came fast and rhythmic, but not so much so that he was kept from glancing behind him. Just before they turned a corner, he caught one last sight of the smaller man.


    Collin couldn¡¯t begin to guess why, but for some strange reason there seemed to be thin tendrils of some curious substance shooting out of him, stabbing into the fleshen bodies of fallen enemies. They were gone before he could glimpse what came next.

 Chapter 42

    Collin heard explosions thrashing the building around him as he ran. He¡¯d read about them, of course. Typically things born from that weird, black powder made in the East, but more commonly the work of a particularly strong magus. He wasn¡¯t surprised to find such ability in the lean man, but to feel it unleashed on the fortress was another thing entirely.


    The floor shook, the walls creaked, and the sound of crumbling mortar and crashing stone was impossible to ignore. It felt more like being in a castle under attack than simply hearing a distant battle, and apparently King Galukar was not immune to his concerns.


    ¡°Damned fool is going to bring the place down around us.¡± He grumbled. ¡°Pick up the pace, I¡¯d rather not have to dig us both out of stone.¡±


    He didn¡¯t make it easy for Collin to pick up the pace. Rangers like him were trained for speed, able to outpace a warrior without even reaching the limits. Most of the time. Collin was no Hero, though, and clearly King Galukar was a man to match the stories shared about him. Within a few more moments sweat was running down Collin¡¯s body in thick rivulets as he strained himself just to near the King¡¯s velocity.


    The corner was turned sharply, first by Galukar, then Collin. As Collin himself rounded it he found the King locked in battle with a Fomori of all things, giant. Gaunt beast reared up to more than a yard over even the foreigner¡¯s incredible height, its powerful limbs whipping at him to tear the flesh away with barbed points. Like a man being attacked by an entire den of snakes at once.


    Galukar did not seem to struggle with such a thing.


    In an instant the Fomori¡¯s tendrils were tight around Galukar¡¯s forearms, squeezing them and straining to drag them apart, exposing the man¡¯s chest to further attack. The King¡¯s lip curled as he eyed the beast.


    ¡°Please,¡± He scoffed.


    With one move he broke its grip, tearing his arms from the Fomorian hold and flexing the fingers as he did. The creature was sent forwards, off-balanced by the movement, and quickly turned its stumble into a desperate lunge for the warrior. Collin understood why, the man had yet to draw that beastly sword of his. Attacking now, while he remained unarmed, seemed the best chance for victory.


    Galukar moved, too, however. And Collin saw in that single motion that victory had never been within his enemy¡¯s reach to begin with.


    The King slammed a shoulder into the Fomori, sending it flat against the ground, then he came down atop it, pinning the creature beneath his body, holding its flailing, thrashing form in place. With one hand he reached up to the blade mounted at his back and drew it, raising the sword high, then turning it and thrusting downwards in one great motion.


    Collin had seen kebabs skewered with less ease than that Fomori, seen the juicy stock of cooking meat let to ooze free in more reluctance than the black blood of its veins. The sword stabbed the monster so violently that it broke through the back of its skull and sank several feet into the stone below, pinning it in place to flail and scream.


    But not to die. Fomori took a long time to die, even when hurt enough to die properly. Collin watched this one fail to lose its life, and felt a stab of satisfaction.


    King Galukar ruined it by dragging his sword free, standing, and swinging down. His second strike split the thing¡¯s head open completely, his third took it from the Fomori¡¯s shoulders, and by his seventh the abomination was in more pieces than could easily be counted.


    Collin stared blankly as the King finally straightened back up, glancing to eye him thoughtfully.


    ¡°You¡¯re unhurt?¡± He asked.


    ¡°...Yes.¡± Collin breathed, barely finding the words in light of what he¡¯d just seen. Galukar nodded, seemingly heedless.


    ¡°Good, then let¡¯s continue. Do as you did this time for any more enemies we encounter, we need you kept safe.¡±


    Collin almost thought he was being mocked for a moment, then realised that to this man his regionally famous combat power was simply not a factor to be considered. Not entirely sure how he might respond to such a truthful slight, he merely nodded and hurried to follow the jogging King.


    Their pace continued, and the combat continued with even more violence. Soon enough Collin found cracks beginning to diffuse along the stone walls, dust raining from the ceiling. King Galukar seemed more annoyed than angry.


    ¡°What is he doing!?¡± The monarch growled. ¡°Does he not know anything but damned blasting magic and heresy?¡±


    Many things had been drilled into Collin over the years, when it came to dealing with the doings of magi, and chief among them was to ensure he was as far away as possible when one of them started hurling magic. Being inside the same building certainly went against those tenets, and so he was rather tempted to just continue walking as they came past the armoury.


    Tempted, but he didn¡¯t cave.


    ¡°Wait.¡± Collin barked. ¡°In here, my weapons, if I get them I¡¯ll be able to defend myself.¡±


    The King seemed half-tempted to argue, but ended up just gesturing him on.


    ¡°Hurry up.¡± He growled.


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    Collin did so.


    The armoury was not shaped in the same way that any he¡¯d ever encountered had been, but there was a certain, inexorable logic to the organisation of any storehouse that made it navigable to one familiar with what it held. Collin soon found the bows, then his bow, taking the weapon with the sensation of power and lightning running along his arm. A purely phantom sensation, most would say, but he knew better. Limbed with flexible steel and strung with metal wire tense enough to hurl arrows over a horizon, it was a weapon that had served Collin even beyond its physical faculties. A thing of luck and old magic the likes of which only fighters could understand.


    His arrows were located nearby, or ones able to serve as arrows, at the very least. Lengths of worked iron heavy enough that a normal man might have used them as smaller javelins.


    Collin resisted the urge to take his time in admiring the finds, simply stuffing as many arrows as he could manage into quivers, binding as many of those as he could manage across his body and taking flight. As he exited the armoury, he found Galukar locked in battle again. This time, it seemed a more testing contest.


    Two Fomori were already attacking the King, whipping at his body with their wiry limbs, drawing blood on direct hits and gouging great clefts out of the surrounding diabase upon misses. The King himself fought back well, but his focus was split between the two greatest undead and the numerous lesser beasts striking from other sides. Dullahan, numbering perhaps a half dozen, and a magic caster hurling jets of flame and spears of ice as if they were Collin¡¯s own arrows.


    Collin got to work quickly, overcoming his shock and shaking off the weeks of rust from his old killing machinery. He was in a corridor. A wide one, it had to be said, but far from the ideal circumstances for a Ranger to do battle in. His best chance- his only chance- was to provide support for the King. Slipping around to put the giant man between himself and the enemy, Collin nocked his first arrow, then drew.


    He was not his father. He was better. Collin¡¯s arrow flew with a skill and strength trained into him from before he could even recall, and it met the eyeslit of a Fomori just as the beast reared up. He felt himself smiling at the sight of iron burying itself in necrotic flesh, fragments of skull, ocular fluid and brain matter frothing forth from the socket. Then the other monster was turning onto him. He froze, started for another arrow, realised in an instant that the second enemy would move too quickly and unpredictably to bring it down before he was dead.


    Then King Galukar stepped in.


    His sword moved like nothing Collin had ever seen, or even heard about. One moment it was cocked back, held by his side, then the next it had already passed through the Fomori¡¯s arm and hacked the limb off like a meat cleaver going through entrails.


    The sheer weight of it actually spun his enemy, and Galukar had already readied another swing by the time it did. This one found the Fomori¡¯s side, biting down to cut an angled mark as low as the monster¡¯s hips, almost opening up the groins and leaving disgusting viscera to spill out. More undead were closing in at the King¡¯s back, by then, and Collin got to work quickly. His next arrow found a Dullahan.


    A puncture, a fountain of dark blood, then Galukar rounded on the charging undead with a roar like an entire pride of lions. The Godblade took another dark knight¡¯s head off at the base of its neck, then the King¡¯s foot sent a third crashing back into several more with such force as might have been mustered by a crumbling fortress.


    Collin was given a more immediate point of comparison as the fortress continued to crumble around him.


    ¡°We need to leave!¡± He roared, loosing another arrow which found that magic site between pauldron and cuirass. A fireball came for him, and he sidestepped just in time to keep himself from death.


    King Galukar was quick to respond, plucking a fallen enemy from the ground with one swift motion and hurling them across the corridor. They crunched into the caster so hard that Collin swore he heard bones break even from ten yards back, both bodies flailing and spinning in separate directions as they bounced from one another. He and the King were sprinting past before the enemy could reveal itself to be either active or destroyed.


    It seemed to Collin that the fortress was racing them, desperate to crumble and die before they could be free of its shadow, but if King Galukar shared his observation, he certainly didn¡¯t share his fears. The man moved as if escape from the place was merely his due, and the lengthy run a scarce inconvenience in claiming it. Collin did what he could to match the pace, but it was a challenge even for him.


    They were out of it, thank God, before it finished dying. Rubble fell in their wake and stone ruptured in their shadow, each sight and sound another fist closing tight about Collin¡¯s lungs. He felt the fear taking him deep and harsh, perhaps more so than ever before. It felt sharp after his weeks of captivity, a sensation exaggerated by how alien it had become. Like feeling his gut burst from overeating after a month without food.


    A more poetic man might have extended that metaphor, upon seeing the place Collin had been wishing to escape crumble just as he left. Collin had never found the time for poetry, though. Kaltan lads had more practical things to concern themselves with, like watching the devastation.


    It happened oddly fast, great sections of the dark spire seeming to fold inwards like a punctured wineskin. Gravity and tension did much of the work, that much was clear, but one thing caught Collin¡¯s eye clearer than anything else. Despite the scale of the place, the sprawling lengths and towering peaks, despite the formidable depth of its fortifications and bedrock foundations, he still caught sight of the great pillar of flame arching high into the air.


    One moment after he did, the concussion of its force reached him.


    Collin yelped, humiliatingly, and took a step back, though he needn¡¯t have bothered. A normal man may have been wounded by the force, and certainly would have by the chips of rock carried upon the winds, but his body was hardened beyond such considerations. King Galukar didn¡¯t even blink, just watched the display with an oddly disapproving look. Collin stared back at it, and realised what the monarch had been studying a moment later.


    Wings, leathery and spanning the height of five men each. Both emerged from the back of some creature so terrible as to defy description, and so powerful that even Collin could feel the press of its power from all the hundreds of yards separating them.


    ¡°What is that?¡± He croaked, hating the sound of his own wavering voice, hating his helplessness to strengthen it even more. He¡¯d fought the Dark Lord¡¯s armies thrice, bested them twice, slain over a dozen Dullahan and two Fomori. But he¡¯d never seen anything half the equal of that abomination. It soared higher, rising as if dragged skywards on invisible strings, then its wings stretched outwards and Collin watched a new wave of fire descend upon the structure below. His heart sank.


    Ten. With just ten creatures like that, he thought, the Dark Lord would be unstoppable. The entire continent could unite against him and still break against ten creatures like that.


    King Galukar only sighed.


    ¡°You can stop pissing yourself now.¡± He growled. ¡°Relax, you¡¯re not in any danger. That¡¯s my companion.¡±


    Collin blinked, trying to make sense of the nonsensical claim just as he saw a dark streak flit out from the inferno.

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    Hello everyone, thank you for all the support The New Dark Lord has gotten. It has kept us eagerly writing and excited to see your reaction to each new chapter.


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 Chapter 43

    King Galukar¡¯s apparent companion, the creature, was swift in reacting to the attack from below. Furling its wings and dropping like a stone. Collin saw the newcomer- the lich, he realised- suddenly veer off to one side as its enemy approached. Closer as they had become, he could gauge their relative sizes, and surprised himself by seeing that the surely human-sized lich was faced with a body nearly double its scale and surely many more times its mass.


    Like watching an owl swoop down on a bat. He thought, just as great sword-long talons unsheathed themselves from the larger combatant and scythed for the smaller. It avoided them, barely, and replied with a flash of retina-searing light Collin knew all too well as a blast of lightning. He blinked the stars from his eyes just in time to see the larger figure take a single moment in reclaiming its equilibrium, thrown off-kilter by the strike as it had been. Then it twisted and flew after the smaller thing.


    Flecks of black shot between them, each one missing the pursued monster, and the larger one changed tactics quickly. It dove, slipping beneath its enemy, then opening its wings once more. Collin realised what was happening a moment before it finished doing so.


    Beneath them there blazed a fire larger and more sustained than the mostly-stone construct should have permitted, and it was doubtless casting all the hot air of a forest fire skyward. This same air caught the wings of the larger beast as it came lower and closer to the source, adding extra upwards thrust which let it surprise its prey.


    Again the talons flashed, and this time Collin¡¯s Ranger¡¯s senses picked out a few flecks of blood as they grazed their target. The lich, though, was far more graceful and swift in the air, shortly coursing backwards and beyond reach. He saw the tell-tale static of building lightning, readied to see the King¡¯s companion blasted.


    Then the smaller figure was engulfed in a net.


    Collin blinked, staring as the waited tangle of strange fabric and tethered ceramics wrapped over the lich and started dragging it downwards. The net was huge, huge to a man in the way a fishing net was to the clams and shoals it smothered. Such a thing could not have come from nowhere.


    He took a second to work the events through.


    By the time he figured it all out- realised that the larger figure had dropped the net as it set the fires, knowing gravity would take precious seconds to let it fall a significant distance over the area it covered- it was all over. A quick flight, a final unsheathing of deadly instruments, and the lich fell back down into the burning palace as a mass of butchered meat.


    Collin had seen intestines mulched into sausage meat with less completion than the death inflicted upon this enemy. He wasn¡¯t complaining.


    In only moments the giant creature was closing on him once more, and Collin braced himself. He looked to the King, who still did not panic, and found that it didn¡¯t rest his nerves at all. Galukar was known as a decent man, but he was a monarch all the same. A tyrant by nature, a threat by necessity. More to the point, he was a man, and the giant fucking thing coming at Collin was not. Better to remain a little on edge when you were dangling over one, his father had always said.


    Fortunately, the abomination changed as it neared. Shrinking, compacting, transforming so completely that as it finally, slowly flapped down to land before Collin, it was a man once more.


    Or something that looked like a man, he realised. There was no wisdom, and plenty of danger, in assuming a shapeshifter¡¯s original form to be the one he found most palatable.


    ¡°It is done.¡± The man declared, as he finally reached the two of them. ¡°Where are the others?¡±


    ¡°The others?¡± Collin frowned, fearing, for a second, that there would be yet more undead to throw themselves at him. Galukar didn¡¯t seem worried, but then he never seemed worried about anything.


    ¡°Pooled out on the other side of the fortress, I was able to send them out to rally before we freed Baird, or before reinforcements arrived.¡±


    ¡°Who are you talking about?¡± Baird snapped, finding his temper mounting, no longer willing to merely be disregarded or ignored like some bundled objective of value. ¡°I will have you know-¡±


    ¡°Silence.¡± The smaller man cut in, wearily, just as he started his march back around the castle. Galukar moved alongside him, and Collin, after a moment of frozen staring, found himself forced to do likewise. He cursed them with every step.


    It soon became clear who and what the pair had been discussing, and Collin found his heart sawing as he beheld the sight of other prisoners lined up and waiting beyond the blazing fortress. They were more numerous than he might have thought, perhaps close to a hundred, and most looked relatively healthy all things considered.


    Revoltingly, it occurred to him that their condition was likely intentional. And almost doubtlessly signified that the Dark Lord¡¯s people had intended for each and every one of the fortress¡¯ prisoners to be made undead. Healthy bodies made strong abominations, after all. Collin was glad to find the chill running his spine¡¯s length diluted by the intoxicant of freedom.


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    The smaller of his rescuers interrupted the moment by speaking again.


    ¡°Let it be known,¡± The man called out, ¡°That you are, all of you, bearing the privilege of having been rescued by Master Silenos, esteemed Fleshcrafter of House Shaiagrazni, keeper of the Auburn Flame, Conductor of Arts most Ancient and Lord of Hara¡¯lguanta.¡±


    It was not unknown, or, indeed, uncommon, for magi to insist on names of a ridiculous length. Collin had rarely heard of one to match this man¡¯s pretension, however. And he just continued on, apparently far from done demonstrating it.


    ¡°Go on, now, and live out the remainder of your pathetic lives.¡± The caster called. ¡°But do so knowing that they continue only because of me. That is all, you may leave.¡±


    The man turned, stalking away quickly, and Collin saw the group begin to confusedly turn and leave. He almost joined them, before a hand closed about his arm.


    ¡°Not you.¡± King Galukar told him, bluntly. ¡°You¡¯re with us.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t an order, per say, but it wasn¡¯t quite a request either. Things tended not to be, when made by a man capable of removing orc heads with one hand.


    ***


    Silenos was back within the day, fortunately. Arion wasn¡¯t entirely surprised. They¡¯d looked around the city before finally finding its refuse pile, and, disgusting as it was, the matter there apparently served just as well in providing raw materials for his Master¡¯s Fleshcrafting as any living tissue. It hadn¡¯t even smelled after transforming, which was a pleasant surprise.


    It had not been pleasant, staying alone with the bound Necromancer, but Arion had managed it. Keeping a careful eye on the woman and making sure she remained fed, even as she insisted on taunting him whenever her gag was loosed for eating. However much he¡¯d handled the petty task, it was a relief to not have it be only his responsibility any longer.


    Striding into the room, Silenos claimed the comfiest seat on the floor for himself without bothering to extend a word to anyone else, crossing his legs and peering at Arion questioningly. He¡¯d known him long enough that the answer being asked of him was obvious, even without vocalisation.


    ¡°Nothing went wrong.¡± He explained. ¡°And it wasn¡¯t exactly difficult to ensure, you had me watching a bound woman to stop her from causing trouble. Not exactly hard.¡±


    Silenos eyed him, then nodded fractionally. He didn¡¯t speak, sending a globule of irritation to congeal at the base of Arion¡¯s mind.


    ¡°How did things go with your mission, Master?¡± He asked, keeping his voice from a growl. Just barely.


    ¡°It was a success.¡± King Galukar grunted, from the doorway. His own exit was rather more difficult than Silenos¡¯, the extra inches of height and hands of breadth making peasant doorways quite a challenge for the giant. He squeezed in after a moment anyway, and even avoided tearing any chunks out of the door frame. ¡°Collin Baird is safely in the city and should be on his way to reunite with the Governor.¡±


    Arion felt a tug of relief. So much had gone wrong lately, seemingly everything in fact, that he¡¯d found himself hanging his hopes onto this latest endeavour with a single, fraying thread. Even hearing of its apparent success had him worrying over what they might have missed.


    ¡°Did he seem grateful?¡± He asked.


    Silenos¡¯ face drew as close to a scowl as he¡¯d ever seen.


    ¡°He was not.¡± The caster replied, foul mood making itself known. Galukar cut in hastily.


    ¡°He was grateful enough.¡± The giant added. ¡°It¡¯s just that nobody can be grateful enough for this bastard, he expected to have the ground he walked on worshipped in thanks.¡±


    Silenos did not confirm or deny the accusation, merely huffed irritably. Arion felt a curious weariness.


    No sane person could question the power at his Master¡¯s command, and Arion would be at the back of the line to do so. But there was an ice to him, too, that was more to credit than any other aspect for the inhuman, almost otherworldly presence he¡¯d always had.


    That ice was thawing, or at least wetting. He was beginning to let slip more and more emotion, sometimes guarded, and sometimes without even seemingly realising enough to try and keep from doing so. Arion would still have never even considered playing cards against the man, but he found himself growing ever more nervous.


    Human volatility with Shaiagraznian power seemed a bad mix, to him.


    ¡°What happened exactly?¡± Arion asked, deciding he could use both the information and the distraction of receiving it. Silenos didn¡¯t even glance at him, but King Galukar¡¯s manners won out, as they tended to. Arion listened while the monarch explained everything, finding himself rather glad to have missed the fighting.


    ¡°You burned the fortress down.¡± He said, once the King had finished. ¡°Isn¡¯t that a bit¡­Conspicuous?¡±


    His question was addressed to Galukar, but meant for Silenos, who seemed to realise the fact and answered it.


    ¡°It was the best way to ensure corroborating word of our claims reach as many people as possible.¡± He said, simply. ¡°If the Dark Lord is busy in this region, he will not be seeking us in others. Once we leave that will make pursuit less likely.¡±


    Arion reckoned that made sense. The Dark Lord had never been one to take an insult, and had historically found the destruction of his property and men to be just that. It was sound reasoning to bet on such a devastation as he¡¯d heard described luring the conqueror¡¯s focus away.


    Assuming it was he who heard about it first, of course. If the more local leaders of his forces caught wind of their flight, there¡¯d be a pursuit all the same.


    Knocking. It was abrupt, more abrupt and more forceful than Arion had heard in a long while. He¡¯d just realised why it struck him with such nostalgia, identified it as the very same tempo of a heralded magus, when King Galukar pulled the door open and stepped back expectantly.


    It was a boy who revealed himself on the other side. Tall, broad in the shoulders and with the sort of jaw one might break their fist against. He had blue eyes bright enough to almost seem cyan, and brown hair that seemed to have been militarily cropped at some point, but since grown out. He wore green.


    ¡°Silenos Shaiagrazni?¡± The boy asked, looking to the caster without any of the surprise universal in those beholding him for the first time. A prior acquaintance then.


    ¡°I¡¯ve come from seeing my father.¡± The boy continued, not waiting for an answer. Evidently he¡¯d spoken to Silenos, too. ¡°He sent me, knowing that I¡¯d be recognised and hurry things along. He wishes to have an audience with you.¡±


    Silenos smiled, and got to his feet. Arion realised rather quickly that the boy at the door was Collin Baird.


    Which meant they¡¯d be on their way to meet the Governor.

 Chapter 44

    King Galukar¡¯s mood was foul as they walked. It was a growing commonality of all the man¡¯s moods that they would be some variety of low quality, but this one was perhaps among the worst Silenos had seen. His shoulders were hunched, neck driven slightly forwards, fingers twitching. It was all the same bodily shifts that tended to emerge as the King prepared himself to kill.


    His history with Governor Baird had not been lost on Silenos, of course, but he¡¯d not been yet able to wheedle any of it out from him. The man seemed far less open to answering his questions than Ensharia, and he¡¯d not yet gotten the chance to try directing them at Arion. It was irritating in the way sulphuric acid upon subdermal tissue was irritating. Harsh enough that a lesser creature might have deemed it pain.


    Kaltan¡¯s streets had been well explored by the time of their summons, and Silenos found no new sights awaiting his gaze on this latest trek through them. It was, however, refreshing to be moving through in the knowledge that something of guaranteed worth awaited him at the end of his journey. Almost enough to distract from the scent of manure.


    Ahead of him Baird walked with a back that remained straight and a gait that remained loping, despite his captivity. Silenos rather approved of that, always finding appreciation for a being able to remember itself regardless of circumstance. Were he not a sense-dead moron incapable of even trivial magic, he might have made a Shaiagrazni. Alarming numbers of this world seemed to fit that bill.


    Beneath his feet, mud turned to cobbles, to smooth tiles. They came to the wealthier, central parts of Kaltan.


    Silenos had continued his typical habit of gleaning information about the place during his habitation of it, if only for the non-zero chance that such data would prove useful. It was for this reason that he knew, already, the noble quarter of the city was not actually a Noble¡¯s quarter. Years ago its revolution had seen such function obsolete, as most of those who might occupy it lost either head, property or inclination to remain within the settlement.


    These days, it was rather more militarised.


    A tale as old as time, he had found. Social revolutions were not uncommon, nor even were they uncommonly successful. Almost invariably, however, the ones that actually triumphed were forwarded or directed by the military.


    Soldiers. He could feel his lip curling at the very thought.


    House Shaiagrazni ensured that all of its citizens fulfilled their purposes. Indeed, one of Silenos¡¯ jobs when he was younger had been to scan the bodies and brains of people to ascertain what roles their genetic and environmental products made them most suited to. Soldiers were the lowliest of all these assigned positions.


    To be a mathematician, one needed patience and dedication. To be an engineer, spatial reasoning and working memory. A tactician needed predictive power and logical skill, a navigator accurate memory and inductive reasoning.


    Soldiers were not so demanding of their recruits. To truly excel in that field required only a trifecta of traits. Strength, courage and a generous helping of violent savagery. They were not a stock which Silenos imagined his people would have bothered sustaining, were they not beset by enemies from other nations.


    Finlay Baird had been a soldier, which was why his revolution had succeeded. Might did not make right, of course, but neither did right make might. In a primitive society, it was violence and power that declared the ruler of a land.


    Around them, walls rose only to moderate heights of a half dozen or so metres, but frequently demonstrated ridiculous thickness. Men marched and patrolled in armour Silenos would not have expected to be common among their culture and technological peers. Quilted fabrics woven thick and tough, or even strips of steel shaped to make the spine of boiled leather slabs. It was all impressive for mere foot soldiers, and it was not so uncommon to see men marching among the grunts clad in suits of full steel plate.


    ¡°Not a bad arrangement.¡± Galukar grunted, clearly observing just what Silenos had. ¡°Must cost a lot to keep men outfitted like this.¡±


    ¡°We save money on training.¡± The Ranger, Collin Baird, replied. ¡°That, and the city in general saved a lot of money. Our former Earl used to hoard a lot of the product of taxation, then disperse much more amongst his nobility. With them gone it¡¯s all being cycled back into the city itself, some infrastructure but, given the state of things¡­Mostly it¡¯s into the military. Nice fountains and water pipes wouldn¡¯t mean much if the Dark Lord took it all.¡±


    Galukar smiled at that, and Silenos wasn¡¯t surprised to hear his choice of focal point.


    ¡°Cheaping on training.¡± He sighed. ¡°You¡¯ll regret that, when they see battle-¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t cheap out on anything.¡± The boy cut in, harshly. ¡°We just found a better way of doing it. We offer promotion through performance and assessed expertise, and rank all the men in each squad during sessions. Those who over-perform in any given week compared to their usual earn additional rations or ale, those who under-perform compared to previous abilities get nothing. It incentivises them to keep working, sometimes even in their own time. Speeds things up a lot and lets us do more with less.¡±


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    His tone was insolent beyond the capacity for any Shaiagrazni to tolerate, but seeing it aimed at Galukar made the entire thing rather amusing to behold. Silenos smiled as he saw the King¡¯s face tighten. He expected to hear an argument, but did not. Instead they just kept moving.


    Kaltan Castle was as creatively named as so many other features of the New World, and Silenos found himself so inured to the awful monikers that he barely even winced upon hearing it. It was a thing to stand in opposition to the constructions around it. Tall, thin at parts, sprawling out in networks of spires and additional wings resting upon great stony pillars.


    Impressive, he supposed, for its scope. But it would make a poor position in defence, that much was clear at a glance.


    Baird spat. The gesture did not surprise Silenos, though it drew a questioning glance from Falls which prompted an explanation.


    ¡°Built by the old Lords.¡± The Ranger explained, with venom in his eyes and poison on his tongue. ¡°You can tell, because it¡¯s a gaudy, impractical sack of shit.¡±


    Silenos did loathe soldiers, for reasons too numerous to easily list. But even he found that one amusing.


    A portcullis lifted as they approached the castle, guarded by two men in more of the leather-clad steel and armed with coiled, steel-limbed arbalests. Once inside they were followed at all times by no less than three men in plate, polearms seeming perpetually ready to bite into flesh. By the looks of their wielders, they might even have managed to break the skin of Galukar. The outermost layer, at least.


    Silenos was more concerned with the surroundings than that, though, and he found much of note. Namely, he found absences.


    ¡°This is a portrait hall.¡± He observed. ¡°With walls bleached by light, save for in rectangular patches.¡±


    Baird smiled at that, seeming proud.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been selling off the old art, redistributing the funds. Actually putting them to use, you know.¡±


    ¡°A Godless use.¡± King Galukar piped up, clearly unamused. But not nearly as much so as Baird, who rounded on him quickly.


    ¡°Your God can eat my shit and hair.¡± He told the King, speaking so quickly and acidically that it actually stunned the giant monarch into silence. Silenos found himself wrestling back a cackle.


    Troubling how much harder that felt. But almost worth it for the joy of seeing Galukar¡¯s stunned expression.


    ¡°We¡¯re almost there.¡± Baird told them, as they came to a final corridor. ¡°Do you all know how to address the Governor?¡±


    Galukar spat at his feet, which seemed to Silenos as eloquent a reply as the King was likely to give. Falls frowned questioningly, and he himself shook his head.


    ¡°Different to a king, I would imagine.¡± He dared to guess.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t be more different. Don¡¯t bow, don¡¯t refer to him by any particular title, and don¡¯t scrape at the ground. Just treat him like a man with an army at his back.¡±


    That sounded rather similar to how Silenos tended to treat kings in general, but he supposed the boy couldn¡¯t be expected to know that. Nodding, he waited for them to enter the hall.


    It was true enough that the place differed from other throne rooms Silenos had been shown so far. Mainly in its total lack of a throne, but the decor in general was less extravagant and more mundane than seemed to be the preference of kings. He saw no gilded carpets or hung portraits, no marble statues or displayed weapons. Only a single plaque bearing a single item of note. A crown, dented and buckled, allowed to rust at the edges. He could imagine whose it had been.


    Beneath it a desk rested, not particularly modest, nor indulgent. Sitting behind that was a man Silenos guessed was Finlay Baird. He had a strong face, though tired, with matted hair and sharp eyes. His nose was hooked and his lips thin and tight.


    When the man got to his feet, Silenos saw two things. The first was a pair of long daggers hooked at his waist, and the second was his height. He seemed no larger than most of the peasants in other cities, smaller even than those of his own.


    ¡°Thank you for coming.¡± The man grunted, and Silenos realised his accent was more similar to the peasantry of Kaltan than the more common aristocratic pattern he¡¯d grown familiar with. Curious. ¡°I take it you are the men responsible for freeing my son, Collin, from the Dark Lord¡¯s prisons?¡±


    ¡°I am.¡± Silenos replied, before Galukar could speak, and thus convert their situation into a disaster. ¡°My companion here provided aid, however, and your son aided us in fighting our way out when enemy reinforcements arrived.¡±


    ¡°I wounded a Fomori.¡± The boy added, grinning broadly as if it were an accomplishment of some kind. Finlay Baird eyed him for a second, but quickly moved his gaze to other people and other matters.


    ¡°We need to talk about the attack on my people.¡± He said, after a moment. King Galukar moved to reply before Silenos could, and he did so with drawn iron.


    The Godblade practically flew upwards to rest an inch from the Governor¡¯s nose, not even quivering as it was held aloft. Its edge halted just shy of drawing blood, and Silenos felt the magic bunching in Galukar¡¯s muscles as he aimed it, saw the lightning in his eyes.


    ¡°It seems to me that I¡¯m standing before the one responsible.¡± He spat. ¡°Or do they not count as people when they¡¯re of noble birth?¡±


    To his credit, Finlay Baird did not flinch. Even while his son aimed his own bow at Galukar, and the present guards readied themselves to strike. The man might have been staring down a breadstick for all his worry.


    ¡°They count as people, they just needed to die.¡±


    His face was steady as ever, arms not even twitching towards the knives at his side. Baird either knew he would not get the chance to draw them, or knew they would do nothing to Galukar even if he did. The king growled.


    ¡°There were good people among the men and women you butchered.¡± He hissed. ¡°And-¡±


    ¡°-No there weren¡¯t.¡± Baird replied. ¡°Every single one of them was a parasitic animal. They couldn¡¯t be reasoned with, because you can¡¯t reason with people who think they¡¯re simply better than you. They couldn¡¯t be negotiated with, because people who already have everything stand only to lose from compromise. The only logical way to deal with them was to remove them from power, and kill the ones most likely to reclaim it. I don¡¯t regret anything I did, I¡¯m not sorry, and I¡¯ll do it to every other city in the continent if I ever have the chance.¡±

 Chapter 45

    Galukar¡¯s fury was best described through comparison to Shaiagrazni fission blasts, that rare, arcane power only a handful among them had learned to draw forth. To liken it to natural disasters was too small a testament. For one moment Silenos thought he might actually take the Governor¡¯s head off then and there, instead he only leaned forward a few centimetres, whispering his response.


    ¡°You can dress it up however you want.¡± He spat. ¡°You are a butcher, a savage, and a thug. People like you are the reason the world is the way it is, to protect it from the rest of you.¡±


    Baird flinched no more at this threat than he did at any others. Merely replied.


    ¡°If you think it¡¯s good to protect people from being made to provide warm housing and filling meals then you need to be killed too.¡±


    Silenos finally cut in, realising that the situation was only growing in danger, not shrivelling.


    ¡°This is getting us nowhere.¡± He declared. ¡°Both of us have bigger issues to attend to than the pair of you and your moronic politics, the Dark Lord will soon be responding to word of the Governors son¡¯s escape, time is limited.¡±


    That had, of course, been the additional reason for breaking Collin Baird out so overtly. By creating such a clear disruption in the Dark Lord¡¯s territory, it applied pressure to his enemies for swift action. Silenos had hoped it would curtail the very bickering and delaying he saw now.


    It seemed he had been right.


    Galukar¡¯s sword came down, and it did not detach any limbs on its way. The Governor remained as unflappable as ever.


    ¡°You got that out of your system?¡± He asked, tempting fate for seemingly no reason at all. Fortunately, fate appeared to be in a good mood, because King Galukar only remained bitterly silent.


    ¡°We rescued your son, and no small number of other prisoners.¡± Silenos prodded. ¡°I imagine you called us here to discuss a debt owed, yes?¡±


    Baird¡¯s eyes moved back to him, and his face shifted in some imperceptibly slight way that conveyed nothing save that the question had been heard.


    ¡°Of course.¡± He replied.


    The boy, Collin, stiffened slightly at his father¡¯s reaction, and Silenos made a note to find out why.


    ¡°You have something in mind already?¡± The Governor asked, expectantly. He was a sharp one, Silenos realised, but then those who began in a gutter and ended in a castle tended to be.


    ¡°I wish to make contact with the man known as Silhouette, and have been led to believe that you are capable of arranging that.¡± He told him. There seemed no reason to lie.


    ¡°I am.¡± The Governor told him, taking a half step back. ¡°But it will take time. More time, given the current threat to my city. I¡¯m afraid your breakout brought a lot of eyes onto this region, which is already rife with pockets of undead and orcish raiders, and I¡¯ve heard tell that General Venka is making his way with enough orcs to choke a dozen rivers and redirect a thirteenth. That takes precedence over everything else I might turn my attention to.¡±


    Silenos hadn¡¯t lied, but he realised, somehow, that the Governor was. A shift to his disposition, a sudden waver to his words. He¡¯d stared down a sword as heavy as his leg without blinking, and it was that steel of nerves that made it so obvious how uncertain he¡¯d become.


    He thought of how best to broach the topic. Thought to the guards he¡¯d passed, the general martial quality apparent around them, and the delightful abundance of organic tissue that lay ripe for the crafting. He did not think for long.


    ¡°You just lied to me.¡± Silenos informed the man. ¡°Stop it or I shall kill you.¡±


    The room went silent. It was all very amusing. Galukar and Falls were shocked, Baird instantly hard and weary, his son gaping with stunned, building fury. The guards were quick in closing in once more. It was the Governor¡¯s answering voice that reached Silenos before bared steel.


    ¡°I am not lying, as I told you-¡±


    ¡°You must think I¡¯m an idiot, so I will inform you that I am not native to your lands. People in my culture actually work for our positions, you were lying when you spoke of contacting and arranging a meeting with Silhouette, where was your lie and why was it told?¡±


    It was Collin Baird who spoke next, his voice twisted with rage.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you step outside so we can settle the matter of truth without breaking any furniture you woolly twat-¡±


    ¡°COLLIN.¡± The Governor snapped, affixing his son with a glare that might have hurried soldiers into line, and certainly sufficed at stilling the fury of a teenager. Collin Baird didn¡¯t meet his father¡¯s eye, pacified instantly. The Governor continued in the silence.


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    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± He confessed. There wasn¡¯t a scrap of regret, embarrassment or uncertainty in the words. Not an apology, not an explanation, just a statement of fact. Silenos was right, he had lied, and that was the end of it.


    Something strange and long-absent swelled in Silenos¡¯ chest at that, and he found himself almost gasping at the sensation. This man was doing something more dangerous than lying or manipulating him, more formidable than facing or contradicting him. He was impressing him.


    ¡°What was your lie?¡± Silenos asked him, almost as much out of curiosity to see how he¡¯d explain it as the necessity of learning where he¡¯d been misled.


    ¡°I cannot contact Silhouette.¡± Baird replied. ¡°Because he does not exist. He is a fabrication I invented to lure possible allies into Kaltan and gain audiences and leverage with them in my fight against the Dark Lord.¡±


    Silenos felt his jaw tighten, his eye twitch, his heart almost palpate with the molten fury now scraping past its arterial walls.


    ¡°So, to reiterate.¡± He said, slowly, carefully. Making sure to contain his incendiary emotions. ¡°We are stuck in your city, which is halfway between revolutionary reconstruction and a retaliatory civil war, while the Dark Lord¡¯s most sadistic General amasses an army of superhuman barbarians and marches them across the country to attack it.¡±


    The Governor nodded.


    ¡°Then I have no choice but to halt these issues and guarantee an exit.¡± Silenos sighed, resisting the urge to rub his eyes like some magic-blunt ape.


    ¡°You cannot be serious.¡± Growled Galukar, eyes flitting between them. ¡°This upstart has already betrayed you once, you think he won¡¯t do it again?¡±


    Silenos stifled his irritation.


    ¡°Governor, I will let you know now that if you mislead me again I will kill every tenth child in your city. Do you believe me?¡±


    The Governor studied him for a moment, then nodded.


    ¡°I do.¡± He said. Silenos believed that he had been believed.


    ¡°Good, then I can trust you not to do something as stupid as push me a second time. Satisfied?¡±


    His last question was addressed at Galukar, who did not look in the least bit satisfied, but neither seemed inclined to cause any issues due to the fact. That was as convenient a reaction as Silenos had learned the man would ever give him. With the issue settled, he turned back to the wider problem.


    ¡°In that case I will ask what means you will permit me to go about purging your land of the Dark Lord¡¯s forces.¡±


    The Governor hesitated a moment.


    ¡°My son saw you in the body of a great, flying beast.¡± He replied, slowly. ¡°Saw you transform back into a man before his eyes. I¡¯ve asked around a bit more about Silenos Shaiagrazni, too, and caught a few words of Necromancy along with Fleshcrafting. Are these rumours true?¡±


    There was little to gain from lying, and a great deal to lose, so Silenos made his reluctant compromise with reality and answered truthfully.


    ¡°They are.¡±


    The Governor studied him a moment more. It gave time for Silenos to control his boiling temper, to brace himself for what he knew was coming. The idiocy, the superstition. The snivelling, whinging, pathetic protests of an uncomprehending animal daring to complain at losing a game when others refused to follow rules it had invented on the spot.


    Magic was not to be sanctioned or condoned, it simply was. The only master a caster needed to obey was the master of possibility. And Silenos¡¯ power was more than possible, whatever the snivelling imbeciles of this world said.


    Baird¡¯s lips parted slowly, his eyes retaining their coherence as he spoke.


    ¡°Any means.¡± He said at last, and Silenos took a moment to eye him. Not wanting to let himself believe he¡¯d heard what he had. Baird saved him the trouble by elaborating. ¡°You have my permission to use any means at your disposal. Fleshcrafting, Necromancy. Summon a Demon if you think it necessary, just get these fucking invaders out of my nation.¡±


    Silenos smiled.


    Swick had found a marked improvement in his living station, and it had come rather quickly after his offer of cooperation.


    Granted, given that his previous living station had been a chained slave doing ten hours of labour each day and shitting in an open hole in the ground, it was not particularly hard to improve. Nor, indeed, did it say much about how things were now that they¡¯d become better. He¡¯d certainly had it worse, though.


    For one thing, he had his own chains. Linked to some large weight being carted around on a cargo haul. They were strong steel, all the same, and restricted his movements no less, but they at least meant he could walk around relatively independently. That was an immediate improvement, and not the only one.


    The wine had been of particular note. Swick was not a man of particularly refined taste, having burned half his tongue in a fight and lost one quarter of what remained drunkenly kissing a woman he had no business kissing, but the taste was vaguely similar to one of those posh kinds that everyone pretended were better. In more practical terms, he¡¯d been given access to some of the camp followers. Comely sort of women, with thick lips and big eyes, and who assured him they¡¯d spent precious little time being tossed around like dog toys by those orcs who the General had decided deserved rewarding. Swick decided to believe them, more for his own sake than anything else.


    But of course, all of these benefits had been nothing more than payment for services rendered. And the General Venka seemed to consider it payment enough for a great deal of services indeed. Swick was not surprised when he was called into the man¡¯s tent for the third day in a row, the General was more often to want him on any given night than not.


    A clever man, Venka. And as fond of information as any clever man was. Swick answered his summons. A greedy man, Swick. And as fond of wine and women as any greedy man was.


    The General¡¯s tent was as typical for the man¡¯s personality as anything could have been expected to be. Expansive, but not indulgent. Clean, but not pristine. Its space was economically distributed among maps, storage and equipment, with a portable desk used for correspondence via letter and a simple, portable bed tucked away in one corner. That bed was the sole excess to be found in the place, raised from the ground on legs and boasting a mattress rather than the meagre padding of rolls and sleep-sacks. The General apparently appreciated his night¡¯s sleep more than most.


    It was the desk that housed him now, though. Still dressed up in a crisply kept uniform, still scratching away with quill and parchment. He didn¡¯t even look up at Swick as he entered.

 Chapter 46

    Naturally, Swick considered killing him while his guard was down, but he decided against it. There was every chance he¡¯d reach him before the man realised what was happening, but none of killing him. He was a warrior of some kind, with a body hardened for battle, and though his raw strength and resilience didn¡¯t seem like much, it wasn¡¯t something Swick would be getting past with his bare hands. His own powers were even less centred on bodily strength than the General¡¯s.


    ¡°Sit.¡± Venka ordered, still not looking up. There was a chair opposite him, clearly prepared in advance, and Swick took it without replying. Eying him, thinking.


    ¡°You know I¡¯ve told you everything I know.¡± He iterated, testing the response of Venka¡¯s face as he said it. They were little, and scarce.


    ¡°So you say.¡± Venka replied. Interestingly, he did not look at Swick¡¯¡¯s face. Which meant it probably wasn¡¯t a test he¡¯d found himself in. One did not sit a man down for testing, and then look away from his expressions when prodding him with suspicion and worry.


    ¡°So what do you want me for then?¡± Swick asked. Venka looked up at that, his displeasure clear.


    ¡°What do you want me for then, General Venka.¡± Swick amended, forcing a smile. It seemed to have about as much effect on the good General as any other expression Swick might have mustered, which was to say somewhere between jackshit and fuck-all. A stony man, this one.


    ¡°I have been observing you.¡± Venka replied, finally putting the quill down. Swick was tempted to express the honour he felt at being deemed more important than a letter on latrine digging, but decided better.


    ¡°And I¡¯ve impressed, I should hope?¡± He grinned instead, still scraping the General¡¯s face for some betrayal of thought or emotion. Both were as irritatingly absent as ever.


    ¡°You have demonstrated a rare acclimation to the conditions of my camp.¡± Venka replied. ¡°You have, as far as I can gather, not shown any particular fear of orcs, nor distaste. You have proven steely and robust in your interactions with them and the¡­Society of this war party.¡±


    It was a serious observation, and Swick sensed his humour would not be appreciated. He straightened up a bit.


    ¡°Can I level with you General?¡± He didn¡¯t wait for a response. ¡°I¡¯ve been travelling this world a lot. I mean, a lot. You¡¯d be amazed how big it really is, and how much it shrinks when you have a skyship. I¡¯ve been north, south, east, west. I¡¯ve been as high as I could go before my spit started freezing, and more. Seen things you wouldn¡¯t believe. Lands where giants herd people like cattle, mountains built by colonies of horse-sized insects that eat entire ecosystems. Other things. Dark things, that we haven¡¯t invented the words to describe.¡± He let his smile drop, feeling the mood for it gone as he revisited memories long buried and sharply recalled. ¡°I¡¯m not scared of a few fucking morons, no matter how big they are.¡±


    Venka studied him. Then he smirked. The smirk turned into a proper smile, which in turn bled to a grin, then finally completed its evolution into a full-blown laugh. Head thrown back, shoulders heaving, the General cackled for a quarter-minute before finally mastering himself.


    ¡°Well said.¡± He sighed, at last. ¡°Truly, well said. So many seem awed by the orcs, daunted. I¡¯ve even heard some say we¡¯re doomed to fall against them before long. All hogwash.¡±


    His lip curled as he glanced over Swick¡¯s shoulder, doubtless to the pair of armoured orcs who stood guard at the tent¡¯s opening.


    ¡°Orcs are never going to take this land.¡± Venka continued. ¡°And it baffles me that people think otherwise. Elephants are bigger than them, horses faster, lions more vicious and many, many things stronger. Yet orcs wear clothes, and speak in their simple, grunting ways, and occasionally learn to smash rocks together until one is pointy enough to use as a knife, and so people mistakenly believe that they will one day build cities of their own. They will not, and they cannot.¡±


    Swick studied the man. As far as he could tell, Venka wasn¡¯t entirely wrong. Orcs were stupider than men, but in the same way that a few men were stupider than men, too. The average simpleton was duller than the average orc, and rather less focused when they set their mind to something.


    ¡°Orcs use metal in the wild.¡± He noted, curious how the General might react. Venka scoffed.


    ¡°Salvaged from ours, clearly, or made through simple mimicry of our tactics.I have some theories on how the Orcs managed to evolve what little they have¡­But that is a digression too far.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t the sort of conversation that tended to inspire a smile in Swick, but he replied with one all the same.


    ¡°So what are you digressing from?¡± He asked. ¡°Something big, I¡¯d guess. A job offer?¡±


    Most men disliked being seen through, General Venka was the exception. He outright loathed it. The man¡¯s good humour was vaporised by Swick¡¯s response, his eyes sharpening as a slight nod shook his head.


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    ¡°Your skills are considerable, and as of recently your previous career as a skypirate seems¡­Jeopardised. You could make good money from us fighting for our side, and if you agree to do so you will receive a skyship from the Dark Lord¡¯s own expenses as standard equipment, to be crewed by whatever undead, orcs or other units are available.¡± Venka leaned across the desk, eying him. ¡°You made yourself one of the most renowned criminals in history with a crew of gutter-scum and filth, what do you think you might manage commanding Dullahan, liches, Beladonnan Puppeteers¡­Even reanimated Heroes?¡±


    Swick swallowed. That crew had been gutter-scum and filth, all of them. But they¡¯d been his. A man had to have a code, else he was nothing more than an animal, and it stung Swick¡¯s to hear his men derided so casually and say nothing against it.


    But his code was a convenient and practical one too. He could speak out against indignities when doing so wouldn¡¯t dump him back in the fucking gutter himself.


    ¡°And I¡¯d be expected to¡­Scout.¡± He guessed. ¡°Raid particular targets, maybe disappear the occasional pesky General¡­Or Hero?¡±


    Venka¡¯s face moved about as much as ever.


    ¡°Of course.¡± He replied. ¡°I trust you don¡¯t consider such work to be beneath you?¡±


    It would have been awkward timing to decide as much after building a two-decade career off of it. Swick shook his head.


    ¡°Of course not General.¡± He smiled, smiled so convincingly it might have fooled a drunken idiot. Fortunately a rich clever man was the easier mark by far, and there was never any doubt about Venka buying it.


    ¡°Excellent.¡± The General replied, pausing, then continuing. ¡°If so, it means I can inform you about some rather important context to our current march towards the city of Kaltan. You told me my peer, Sphera, remained with your allies, yes?¡±


    Swick nodded, though the question was rhetorical.


    ¡°I am almost certain she is within the walls of Kaltan, there is simply no other place for her captors to have retreated, and the reports I¡¯ve heard of Ebonspine Fortress¡¯ destruction all but confirm the presence of that Silenos Shaiagrazni figure. This makes a large difference for our priorities.¡±


    For the life of him, Swick couldn¡¯t think what. They had to be less vicious in their assault for the risk of killing her? That couldn¡¯t be right, surely.


    Venka noted his confusion, speaking fast to rectify it.


    ¡°Good God man, think it through!¡± He snapped. ¡°Sphera is a Necromancer second only to our master, with her in the city, it means that our captured enemies can be resurrected once we¡¯ve taken it. Which I estimate will be tomorrow.¡±


    Swick ran cold.


    ¡°Which means the Paladin¡­¡±


    ¡°Can be executed the hour before.¡± General Venka replied. He did not look away from Swick as this question was asked, instead staring at his face with such focus as might be cast against a sheet of theorems by the mathematician they confounded. It was a fight for Swick not to show any of the dozen warring emotions Venka¡¯s words inspired, all while tucking away the confusion he felt at his own response. Lie now, think later. He got to the lying quickly.


    ¡°Why tell me?¡±


    It was a fucking pointless question, Swick had already worked out the answer. But it helped to seem stupider than you were. People watched clever men more sharply than dull ones, cautious ones more wearily than hasty ones. Venka seemed to buy the act as well as he¡¯d bought everything else Swick had handed him.


    ¡°Because you will be the one to kill her.¡± The General informed him, Lightly, casually, as if he were telling Swick to prove his loyalty by leading a few cows out to pasture. As if he were not suggesting the execution of the best person Swick had ever fucking met.


    He¡¯d been drinking more than his fill, could feel the laxing touch of alcohol ease the aches of his tortured mind even then, but somehow a headache manifested itself between Swick¡¯s ears. They always found him, whether he drank or not. The more he drank, the more they found him, and the more drink he needed to dull his nerves enough that they didn¡¯t register. They never weakened, once started. Not while he remained conscious. This one would be with him a day at least, and grow harsher by the minute.


    ¡°And here I thought you¡¯d suggest something hard as a test of loyalty.¡± Swick grinned, leaning back, putting his feet up, folding his hands behind his head. Even moving that much worsened the pricks of agony. He¡¯d seen a brain once, a human brain. Some far-Western surgeon had cut it out of a dead body. There¡¯d been folds all along the surface. Swick imagined that some invisible demon was grabbing those folds, now, and using them as grips to wring the whole mass of the organ out like a creased towel. It certainly fucking felt like it.


    Venka smiled, oblivious to his pain as people always seemed to be.


    ¡°Good, then you may take your leave. I have preparations to see to for tomorrow¡¯s siege, and you need not have any part in them.¡±


    Which was, of course, a very polite way of telling Swick to fuck off so Venka could begin work on things too important for a yet untested man who¡¯d already betrayed one side to be seeing. Fair enough, he supposed, and not the sort of request he was in any position to deny even if it hadn¡¯t been. Swick got to his feet and made for the door.


    Outside the tent, it was cold. Early morning. The sun was still far enough from its horizon that Swick couldn¡¯t see much of anything more than ten yards from him, let alone to any extreme of the world¡¯s edge. If they were any fraction of a day¡¯s march from Kaltan, he¡¯d not be granted visual confirmation for quite a few hours. Preparations were already underway to pack up and resume their march.


    Swick thought to that, and the notion of trudging along. It wouldn¡¯t be hard now that he¡¯d been unchained from the other prisoners. Certainly, the Paladin would have it worse. His head started to ache again.


    Moving back to his tent, Swick tried to think through the bleary, painful clouds of trouble wafting about his mind. It was one of the slow days, the days where every idea he had seemed just out of reach, and every problem just a hair too complicated for fixing.


    What Swick needed was wine. Beautiful, brain-settling wine. Wine to blunt his tortured nerves and settle his screaming thoughts. Wine to make the world quiet and easy again. Wine to help him get some fucking sleep before the time came for killing Paladins and sieging cities.


    Over the years, Swick had seen a lot of men and women killed. Scum, most of them, but a few had been his scum. In all that time, he¡¯d never once found himself turned against wine.


    Some friendships were just unbreakable.

 Chapter 47

    There had been a surprising number of enemies plaguing the Governor of Kaltan, Silenos found. Or perhaps not surprising. Social revolutions tended to inspire conflict.


    House Shaiagrazni had been founded in the Great Alignment, some two thousand years before his birth, and even in those primitive times they had suffered inconvenience enough. Their homelands of Gwalhi had been ruled by an Emperor at the time, whose armies numbered almost a million, and whose military casters over a thousand. Their established order of rule by birthright and noble supremacy had been so completely at odds with the alterations proposed by his forefathers that there was no surprise violent contradiction had come.


    That contradiction had been crushed, however, by the simple fact that one million drooling cows with pointy sticks, bolstered by one thousand semi-literate apes with half-remembered spellbooks, were no match for the supremacy of magic that had been the first Elders of House Shaiagrazni. Only numbering half a dozen had made no difference for Silenos¡¯ Master and her peers, they had simply unleashed magic until all who opposed them had either fled, surrendered or been reduced to a cloud of vaporised carbon wafting about molten craters pockmarking the landscape.


    Silenos had rather a similar approach planned to resolving Baird¡¯s little counter-revolution.


    A man screamed, that irritating way men tended to when they found their legs suddenly separated from their hips. He felt his lip curl at the sight.


    He had been a warrior, clad in plate and belonging to that caste these simple people called Knights. Trained from his youth to hone a recognised talent for violence, instilled with discipline and skill. By all metrics he ought to have been above such petty displays of cowardice as to scream. What in the world did this world teach its soldiers?


    Well, evidently, they did not teach them much in the way of preventing dismemberment. Silenos took a swift step to one side, avoiding the column of splashing ichor that cut through the space he¡¯d just been occupying, then watched as his flesh construct swung the man¡¯s torso down into the street with a single muscled tentacle. Steel and flesh both gave in more or less the same way, popping against the stone and leaving a gory painting. Its toy broken, his construct turned and lumbered off to find more pickings. There was no shortage of them.


    Only ten minutes had passed since the fighting began, three hours since the announcement given. A day since Silenos¡¯ help offered. Baird had been reluctant to accept Silenos¡¯ suggestion of posing warrants of arrest for a full fifth of his known enemies, but it had worked splendidly.


    Within half a day there was open rebellion, tens of thousands of men readied and marching to seize back the city, trained and armed on whatever funds were available to the aristocratic survivors and migrants.


    Gathering so many in the same place had made it near effortless to destroy them all at once.


    ¡°Back, you foul monster!¡± A man roared, holding a sword almost as big as the Godblade in one hand, and a great sphere of searing flame in the other. He cast his magic against a flesh construct, bathing it in stone-splitting heat, then thrust his sword. The keratin plates broke steel handily enough, and he was soon bowled over to be crushed.


    Silenos had worked rather carefully on the monsters he¡¯d sent out, given that he¡¯d had the biomass only for three of them. Each was a fine piece of artistry, even by his own post-genius standards. His Master might even have refrained from calling them failures.


    ¡°LUTHAR!¡± A woman screamed. ¡°YOU MONSTERS, MEN, FIRE!¡± Silenos¡¯ eyes flicked over just in time to see his creation pelted by a hail of crossbow bolts, each striking with force enough to skewer a man fully through. They bounced harmlessly from its armour. Flexible stuff, woven dense and durable with deposits of iron. He¡¯d not had time to make it as flawless as his own, but it would have turned away those primitive weapons that passed for artillery in this world. The creature opened its mouth, inhaled, then shredded the company of bowmen with a blast of its own projectiles. Slugs of calcic density propelled by a mechanism not dissimilar to his own weapon.


    He had to admit, all the dirty brawling he¡¯d been forced into had given Silenos some insight into what made for an effective armoury. His grotesqueries had certainly benefitted.


    One particularly impressive enemy evaded the long, tendinous lengths of musculature Silenos had shaped into limbs. He sidestepped the nacre barbs tipping them, twisted aside from the volleys of cannon-shot that smashed apart stone everywhere it hit, and danced around patches of burning fire that might otherwise have scorched him. His sword was an impressive, magical thing which would have carved through sheet metal, and managed to do a formidable job in scything through the centimetre of armour protecting Silenos¡¯ creations. Oxygen-bright blood frothed from the wounds, splashing across the man, who seemed to wear it with pride.


    Interesting. Silenos pondered the practicality of making his creations¡¯ ichor toxic or acidic, even while sending silent, Necromantic commands for another grotesquery to close in and aid its sibling.


    The man who might have contested Ensharia with even odds of winning did not last long against two of Silenos¡¯ creations, and his allies lasted less time still in his absence. It was less of a battle than a massacre, the mark of a properly engineered Shaiagrazni design.


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    ¡°How do they move like that?¡± Asked the Necromancer named Sphera. Silenos glanced at her as she questioned him, and decided to let her impudent demand of an answer slide. There were more productive things than plucking out a disrespectful tongue, for the time being at least.


    ¡°How should they move?¡± He asked, drawing an irritated frown from her.


    ¡°Sluggish as a geriatric cow.¡± She growled. ¡°You made them from corpses slain and buried years ago.¡±


    ¡°Decades.¡± Silenos corrected. ¡°Yes. It was the earliest source of human biomass that had not been cremated upon death, this war with your master has done rather a lot to shape Kaltan¡¯s burial practices.¡±


    She breezed past everything but the magic, an admirable sign.


    ¡°And undead get slower and duller the longer you wait to reanimate them. After a few hours even I can¡¯t bring something back with all its faculties, after a day my master can¡¯t manage it. But you did this with corpses decades old. How does your Fleshcrafting make it possible?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Silenos replied, honestly. ¡°Fleshcrafting is limited in its effects over cerebral-¡± He sighed. ¡°-Brain matter. Which is why I needed human corpses to begin with. There are simply better ways of reanimating something, your master is rather an amateur.¡±


    She stared at him with something that could not have been mistaken for anger, humiliation, irritation or hatred. It was not embarrassment, not fear, not awe. No, Silenos would have insulted the woman were he to misidentify her response for anything so pedestrian and worthless as those petty thoughts. What he saw in her was hunger, the very same that burned in any true Shaiagrazni.


    ¡°How?¡± She demanded, in such a way as to deserve instant and agonising destruction¡­Were it not for her anomalous talent.


    ¡°That is a secret of my House, I have no inclination to share it with you, and many reasons not to.¡±


    Her face was blank with carefully masked thought for all of a second, then she nodded and looked away. Silenos found himself slightly disappointed, but he supposed the truly intelligent could rarely be found making decisive judgements so hastily.


    Soon, he thought, this one might ask to become his student. If Silenos was confident she would not betray him, he would grant her request. More than mere cognitive or magical genius, she had a trait valued in House Shaiagrazni that even Falls lacked. A total and unbroken lack of empathy. It was marvellous.


    Wetness, hotness. They splashed against his face at once, a gooey, familiar sensation that curled Silenos lip. He raised his hand, grazing the squirt of blood with two fingers and absorbing it into his body. Curious how much less it bothered him to consume the stuff through touch and magic, than feel it resting against his skin. He supposed there had been no evolutionary advantage for his prehistoric ancestors to feel inclined towards avoiding the former. Disease did not spread well through a medium which had been disassembled into protoplasmic fluid.


    The sun was starting to set, sending long shadows to cut through the battlefield and making the pooling ichor dance in shades of orange and pink, complimenting their natural reds.


    His grotesqueries let out low, rattling moans as whatever remained of their enemies finally gave out. Silenos had structured the things to feel uncanny spikes of pleasure and fulfilment when they killed, so as to better motivate them into the murderous frenzy that best suited battle, and the consequence was that they practically thrashed in agony at running out of corpses to make. He smiled. It was rather enjoyable to see, all things considered. Silenos stepped down from the roof.


    Around him the cobbled streets had been crushed, fine multi-story houses obliterated into piles of crumbled mortar and splintered wood, or else scattered out dozens of metres in every direction. Fires burned where magic had struck timber, and there were mangled bodies as far as the eye could see. An army¡¯s worth.


    It had taken the city¡¯s aristocracy only a half day to muster their powers and stage their coup, a testament to their rage at Baird. It had taken Silenos slightly less time to destroy them, a testament to his genius.


    The grotesqueries moaned, stumbling over to kneel before their Master, as was proper, and expressing their agony to him through more rumbling vocalisations. Silenos felt his lip curling. Each of the constructs had been damaged, but few in any serious capacity. That notable soldier who¡¯d proven a match for one of them had, apparently, not been gifted the prowess of destruction to cut truly deep. Still, Silenos would need to turn his attentions to the things if they were to continue operating at full capacity.


    He did so, and considered the weaknesses he¡¯d seen exposed while he did.


    Silenos¡¯ first creations had each been made with six large, crushing limbs the width and length of oak trunks. Those had been excellent for destroying anything they struck, but rather poor in catching the quicker enemies. Given that his grotesqueries already towered over even an elephant, Silenos added some additional limbs. Smaller, longer. More akin to the branches of the tree than their thicker counterparts. He structured them with more numerous, flexible joints and imprinted the instinctual knowledge of how to wield them like whips to his monsters.


    Their armour had been excellent, though with their score or so new weapons, Silenos could afford to reduce mobility and thicken it. He did so. He re-tethered nerves for faster responses at those sites that most needed them, increased the sensitivity of pain receptors and added in a more social instinct to ensure it would not require his direct attention to have his creations cooperate. That last feature would be well needed, for Silenos had just granted himself rather a lot more biomass.


    He glanced across the battlefield, and did the calculations.


    Each grotesquery was some two hundred metric tons in total bodily mass, due to the density of certain super-materials, and Silenos had access to enough rarer elements from the city¡¯s warehouses and stores that he could be certain biological tissue would be the limiting factors. Estimating the average weight of a New Worlder at sixty four kilograms, and bearing in mind the estimate of fifty thousand or so for their army, that gave him¡­


    He smiled.


    Fifteen new grotesqueries? Sixteen? It really depended on how well he used the materials. Silenos glanced sidelong, checking the sun¡¯s position.


    Yes, fifteen new grotesqueries by noon seemed more than reasonable. A stronger force than anticipated. And Kaltan would make just the perfect stage from which to deploy it.

 Chapter 48

    They¡¯d had mean looks, the orcs that came for Ensharia.


    She¡¯d gotten good at recognising orcish expressions over her captivity. Garutan had spoken with her every day, and though he was far friendlier than most of his kind, Ensharia was beginning to learn that it was not at all uncommon for them to take a liking to her. Orcs seemed to like conversation, with humans above all else. They found her jokes hilarious, found her stories captivating, and she had grown to find them¡­Yes, companions. Almost friends. There was really no other way to describe it. Her old trainers would have wept.


    But there¡¯d not been a scrap of friendliness in the orcs that came for her. They weren¡¯t the chained ones, the ones driven to rebel against General Venka¡¯s cruel demands by empathy, decency or morals. They were his elites, which meant they possessed three terrible qualities. The first was their strength, the second their fearlessness, and the third their savage brutality.


    It was the size of them that struck her before anything else, however. Ensharia had grown quite accustomed to being towered over, surrounded by orcs as she was, but Venka¡¯s elites loomed a full head over their chained kin. They moved with the concentrated grace of lions, as if their dirt-compacting weights were slight enough to be balanced upon the tip of a toe. Their bodies were bound in great sheets of plate, but theirs was steel rather than the shoddier, easier iron, and she felt an uncanny power in their grip as the first of them seized her arm.


    Ensharia had to resist the urge to shake the hand off and strike its wielder, knowing that to do so would be unproductive. She stifled her indignity, watching as the orcs undid the lock about her, preparing to bind her to a new chain.


    And then she shook the hand off and struck its wielder.


    Hands still bound, Ensharia could not properly punch. Instead she simply bunched her fingers and caught the orc with a pair of horizontal hammer-fists. All her weight was behind the strike, and all her strength, but she knew at the moment of connection she¡¯d made a mistake.


    The orc was probably twice the average weight for its species, and far, far more than twice the average strength. Ensharia had hit trees less sturdy than its cheek. She sent it stumbling, but not to the ground, and caught movement in the corner of her eye before she could follow up the blow. She dove, rolling from the path of danger and bouncing back up to her feet, kicking out without thinking. Her heel connected with a sternum, knocked an orc over and her hopping yards in the opposite direction.


    Both the remaining elites closed, now wielding thick, iron cudgels which might have been excessively heavy even for beating down a castle gate.


    She flitted right, then darted left. Luring the orcs¡¯ guards one way so that her kick would land clean from the other, and it did well enough in sending another into the dirt. The opening was too wide for the last to miss, however, and fatigued as she was Ensharia didn¡¯t quite manage to escape the cudgel as it found her ribs and squeezed the air out of her.


    Lights, dancing, washing in her vision. Gravity, apparently taking a day off. Heels high and well over her head, head feeling like it was caught between four different times at once, not one of which contained the orcs responsible for beating her. Ensharia realised she was face down only in time to find the orcs pressing down on her again, their strength and weights all used to hold her in place now as she was shackled rather more forcibly than before.


    Ensharia was limp as a ragdoll as they dragged her up to her feet, head almost lolling on its shoulders. There¡¯d not been much fight in her, all things considered, not after so many days of labour and degradation. It wouldn''t have taken a hammer as big as she¡¯d caught to beat it all out.


    Pitifully, she didn¡¯t move against them a second time as they hauled her off across the camp. The orcs left bound together did more to resist with their hateful jeering, but that seemed of no consequence to her captors.


    The camp rumbled past her as Ensharia was forced ever onwards, her head clearing as she moved. By the time she¡¯d reached her destination, she¡¯d regained enough mental coherence to realise that it would be her final destination.


    General Venka stood nearby, watching. Around him were yet more Elites, each of them nearly half again as tall as the fencer. She was forced down to her knees, and stared one way and the other, quickly confirming her fears. That she was fully encircled by grey meat and hostility.


    Anger. Ensharia surprised herself with it, felt the tears brimming, and nursed the embers of her fury as a means of keeping them from spilling over. She forced her head back round to glare at the General, spitting at the ground.


    ¡°This it, then?¡± She snarled. ¡°This how I fucking die, hacked apart by your attack dogs? Or do you have the stones to do it yourself?¡±


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    General Venka looked at her as he might a map of some battlefield, eyes drilling through the emotion, the humanity, and perceiving only the practical facts beneath.


    ¡°It is unbecoming of a Paladin to swear.¡± He replied, calmly. ¡°You ought to take more pride in your order, unless you¡¯d sooner spend your last minute of life killing my respect for you.¡±


    It was utterly ridiculous that Ensharia found herself concerned most with the fact that he was right. Swearing was unbecoming of a Paladin, they¡¯d all been taught as much, and she¡¯d not even kept to that much of her order¡¯s tenets. Her face burned with humiliation as the circle parted, revealing a newcomer.


    Swick the Swift.


    He¡¯d done well for himself since they¡¯d last spoken, black skin mostly obscuring the flush of alcoholic indulgence, adrenaline sharpening his eyes into a focus that pierced the clouds amid them. He wasn¡¯t so much as two thirds the height of any orc there, yet each of them parted before him as he strode on. Evidently, they were clever and controlled enough to treat a Hero the way anyone else did.


    Perhaps a few weeks ago, Ensharia would have been as well.


    ¡°Traitor.¡± She snarled, knowing full well that a glare could not actually impale a man, but doing her best to manage it regardless. ¡°Oh, it had to be you, didn¡¯t it. A test of your loyalty, right? A showing of how trustworthy you are?¡±


    Swick said nothing, looking suddenly ill as he just turned away from Ensharia and held his hands out. The bonds were removed from them. Somehow it made things worse, to her, that he was so meek about it all. Better to be killed by a real man, better to be killed with a pair of eyes to glare the last of her hatred into before death came knocking.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± She continued, watching as his chains fell and a great, grizzly sword was handed to him. ¡°Got nothing to say, nothing at all? Oh, I suppose you aren¡¯t being paid to talk, are you? Just to kill.¡±


    He turned. Swick could have insulted Ensharia, laughed at her. He could have proclaimed the righteousness of the Dark Lord¡¯s cause or declared the Paladins an order of baby-eating Demons, said or done a thousand things, and none would have punched the breath from her half so fast as his expression.


    In his eyes, she saw regret. Weak, trembling, agonised regret. The sort felt so keenly as to turn itself into pain. The sort felt so keenly, indeed, as to turn itself into the very order of pain a man might be so inclined as to try drowning in wine. By the unsteady nausea upon Swick¡¯s face, he had failed.


    He closed in, one foot in front of the other, each stride made swiftly, dexterously. There wasn¡¯t anything of a drunkard about him, it seemed. As if the very role of an imminent murderer had sobered him. Ensharia supposed it rather had, if anything ought to have managed that feat, it was hardly an unfitting thing.


    Swick stopped only when he was within two yards of her, beyond the range of any lashing limb she might throw out, but so very within the reach of that sword. She could see its edge close from their new distance, make out the numerous tiny teeth along its blade. Almost as much a saw as a weapon. Made, no doubt, to remove limbs from a target of preternatural toughness. A target like her.


    ¡°Swick, please.¡±


    It was pathetic, revolting. It degraded her, achieving nothing and costing what little pride Ensharia had left, but she begged regardless. In her position, there was simply no way not to.


    ¡°Please, you can still turn around, you can still escape¡­You don¡¯t have to do this, please just¡­Don¡¯t kill me. Please, I don¡¯t want to die.¡±


    She didn¡¯t. There was nothing practical or selfless motivating her, Ensharia felt no great duty calling her or unfinished business preserving her. She just didn¡¯t want to die. Her tears fell openly now, with all the volume and weight of a dying stormcloud.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Swick whispered, seeming to take just as much humiliation in his own pathetic words as Ensharia had hers. He was sorry. Spectacular. She was dead.


    His sword came up high, glinting in the light, and it remained there for a moment, quivering. Ensharia¡¯s heart was in her throat, beating so hard she almost felt it rattle the teeth. A weapon that size, and an arm able to hold it so steadily so high, meant there¡¯d be little chance of her surviving the first stroke. Not with Swick¡¯s accuracy.


    Somehow that only made her more scared. Better to withstand the first blow and live a few more precious moments than be obliterated into the underworld all at once.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Swick repeated, arm tensing, sword shaking, weapon remaining in place. Ensharia couldn¡¯t take it any more.


    ¡°JUST DO IT!¡± She screamed, looking away as she did, just barely too slow to keep from catching the blade starting its descent.


    Ensharia was wincing and looking away for long, agonising moments before she finally realised that the blow was not going to fall. It felt like a remarkably long time, thanks to her enhanced reflexes, but could not have been far from a second. She looked back around at last, still expecting to see Swick¡¯s sword hovering in place. Instead she saw only empty air, a ring of gaping orcs, and a General with a face like wrathful lightning.


    ¡°AFTER HIM!¡± Venka roared, his composure truly shattered.


    It was rather humbling to see. Ensharia had swung a weapon at that face hard enough to send a head flying five hundred yards from the shoulders it sat on, and failed to so much as raise an eyebrow. Clearly Venka was not a man accustomed to surprises or betrayal, for his emotions were about as restrained as a kicked hornet¡¯s nest.


    ¡°HE CAN¡¯T HAVE GONE FAR, HIS TRANSLOCATION IS LIMITED TO A QUARTER-MILE IF EVEN THAT, NOW HUNT! HUNT, YOU DAMNED ANIMALS, HUNT HIM DOWN, AND I SHALL GIVE WHOEVER FINDS HIM FIRST A HUNDRED DAYS AND NIGHTS WITH WHATEVER WOMEN THEY CHOOSE!¡±


    The orcs were quick to obey their barbaric orders, taking off in a storm of grunting, whooping howls. Ensharia did not see animals, as Venka did, watching them take off across the camp. Through her shock-shattered wits and fear-clenched vision, she still recalled her long conversations with their smaller brethren.


    Chasing Swick, now, were men. Large men, grey of skin and with mouths split by tusks and fangs, but men nonetheless.


    It was something to inspire more pity for the pirate, not less. Ensharia touched her neck where the sword might have fallen and swallowed.


    Good luck, Captain. Good luck, and thank you.

 Chapter 49

    Collin liked to think himself a veteran. He probably wasn¡¯t, being fair, even his father¡¯s Rangers only ever accepted that denotion after their fifth battle, not their second. Still, two was two more than most men fought, and two more than a great deal of soldiers survived. If nothing else, Collin had considered himself a man inured to the shock and horror of seeing undead roam about a battlefield. He had, after all, fought them often enough.


    Silenos Shaiagrazni taught him differently.


    There wasn¡¯t really a way of describing Collin¡¯s contribution that made it even sound like he¡¯d fought, because he really hadn¡¯t. Oh he¡¯d gotten a few bastards early on, put arrows in Knights and nobles and such, but he¡¯d been made redundant around the first time one of those giant tentacled undead slammed into the enemy formations.


    Not easy to break a shield wall, certainly not one made by veterans with hours of training and a shade of Vigour in their muscles. Collin had seen trebuchet boulders break against those overlocking slabs of wood without wounding the men beneath.


    Shaiagrazni¡¯s monster hadn¡¯t even looked like it noticed them as it walked through the formation. Just lumbered over, broke it apart, then waddled off to find something more to kill. Collin had almost been too shocked to start headshotting officers before they reformed.


    Then things had really kicked off.


    Collin had heard tales from his father about his earliest battles, before he¡¯d spent the time needed to train his Vigour up to its natural potential and enter that wide realm between unnoticeable superhumanity and the power of a Hero. He¡¯d told of frantic, desperate, chaotic battles where every slight movement was a threat. Collin had never known one like that, he¡¯d gone into his first fight with the strength of twenty men and the speed of a mantis. The flesh monsters had shown him a new empathy.


    He ran around, screaming, swearing. Desperately changing directions wherever he saw a tendril about to impact or a building about to fall. At one point he gladly sprinted straight towards a ballista rather than face the rampage of a monster at his back, and barely survived the business.


    By the time he was done, Collin had found himself thrust into a rather profound state of ego death. A sort of zen state, his consciousness ascending past the trappings of humanity. He was unshackled by greed or loathing, ambition or rage. All that was left was the primal, simple instincts of a rat, scurrying around and mindlessly fleeing from whatever had made the loudest noise most recently.


    It kept him alive, if nothing else. That was a damn sight more than could be said for most of the enemy.


    All told, Collin beheld the final butchery of it all with rather a heightened perspective. Nothing would empty a man¡¯s mind- and his fucking bowels- quite as much as a fight he had no control over, and he¡¯d never controlled one less than this. He watched as the giant, reanimated mountains of flesh tore apart the remnants of noble forces, raining blood down on the cobbled ground around them and striking Collin dumb with the brutality of it all.


    Undead. He was fighting alongside undead. Collin waited for the disgust, the revulsion, the loathing. None of it came. He only smiled.


    About time we use the Dark Lord¡¯s tricks against him, here¡¯s hoping I can see one of these grab a hold of that cock Venka.


    For that matter, he was hoping he kept managing not to knife the things¡¯ eyes out on reflex whenever they came within range. Old habits died hard.


    Collin stepped in something, looked down, and realised it was someone. He couldn¡¯t tell which bit of the man it had been, one bodypart looked rather the same as any other when they¡¯d been squeezed into mulch. It made him feel plenty sick all the same. His gaze turned back to the battlefield, guts squirming with sickness, and Collin turned altogether. He started marching through the city.


    There was no particular destination in his mind, anywhere would have done. Even a street caked in sewage was one caked in mashed up people.


    Kaltan was growing used to revolutionary wars. It was a sorry state, but it was the state of Collin¡¯s city. Its people had all taken cover with an almost practised organisation, and its streets were empty. He studied them as he moved.


    Years ago, when his father first took power, the city had had much of its wealth redistributed, but the old trappings of aristocratic greed still remained. This close to the remaining noble¡¯s homes, everything was still pristine, smooth and fucking expensive. Dangerous, too, for Collin. That much occurred to him only once he¡¯d turned his first corner. Plenty of folks around this part of town would be all too happy to see his throat opened up.


    Then again, he¡¯d be even happier to open theirs. And if they were any good at killing, he reckoned they¡¯d already have been popped by one of Shaiagrazni¡¯s freaks. Collin kept walking.


    Unfortunately, he found battle damage present as he moved. Sometimes a roof or wall stoved in by stray siege stones, sometimes impacted instead by someone doubtless thrown by one of Shaiagrazni¡¯s monsters. In other places he saw sure signs that there had been deliberate looting and destruction, which tended to hit the wealthier areas whenever the city found itself washed by a great violence.


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    Criminality liked cover, after all, and there were few forms of cover more effective than a fucking war happening elsewhere. Collin only hoped none of the younger ones had been hurt, child aristocrats were about the only kind he¡¯d ever found himself caring for.


    The streets warped, degrading as Collin moved. Kaltan¡¯s class discrepancies were not so pronounced as they had been five years ago, and the differences of five years ago were shrivelled compared to what they¡¯d been the decade earlier than that, but there was still a palpable change as Collin transitioned from the area of the rich to that of the mode modest income wielders. It was, he supposed, not to be helped. Probably the city would remain plagued by its economic parasites for another ten years, even fifty. Perhaps he¡¯d still be fixing rather than maintaining it if he ever took over from his father.


    Now there was a daunting thought. Give Collin a lot of bastards to poke holes in and he was at home, but he¡¯d rather weather a few holes himself than run a bloody city.


    Somewhere along the way Collin ended up turning towards the centre, towards the second of Kaltan¡¯s noble districts. This one was rather more established, though now the crux of its military rather than its upper classes- it was for this reason that the site of his battle not thirty minutes earlier had been renovated so hastily and cobbled so lazily in the years since.


    There was always something in the air of the city¡¯s centre that soothed him. Something that promised a hard fight to any of the Dark Lord¡¯s underlings, whatever numbers they came in. Collin wasn¡¯t sure he could quite put his finger on it.


    Ah, no, he could actually. Pitch. They kept plenty of the stuff in half-buried stores all over the place, just in case they were ever attacked and needed some boiling sludge to help give a hard fight. It reeked even when not burning.


    Military life. It was simple, blunt. Easy. And every now and then it was a hot explosion of adrenaline, savagery and glory. Collin found his fingers twitching, despite the horror he¡¯d just scampered away from. He really could have done with a proper fight, and sooner rather than later. General Venka ought to hurry.


    In through the main gates of the castle, then along through its halls. Guards saluted and bowed, which Collin ignored, and his anticipation grew. The farther he grew physically from the carnage of Shaiagrazni¡¯s magic, the more he was able to let its implications settle.


    For decades the Dark Lord¡¯s armies had been unbeatable. Possible to inconvenience, even delay, but never truly stop. They grew stronger with each victory, and needed only to swarm along the countryside for a few days, weeks or months to bolster their ranks with ever more shambling undead. But now that advantage belonged to the side of good as well.


    The more he pondered it, the more Collin started to question the reluctance of using undead in the first place.


    It was distasteful perhaps, in the same way that fucking a man¡¯s corpse was distasteful, but if Collin could free a city by doing the latter he¡¯d have made the choice without hesitation. What was a bit of posthumous dignity to the lives of millions?


    Nothing at all.


    Finally he reached his father¡¯s office, not bothering to knock before he entered, and not surprised in the slightest by what he found within. King Galukar, it seemed, was in a particularly unpleasant mood. Perhaps one day Collin would discover such thing as an actually nice one in the man.


    ¡°-A murderous savage.¡± The King snarled, looming over Collin¡¯s father by well over a foot. His eyes were like chips of flint, his jaw like a boulder. Finlay Baird did not flinch before them any more than Collin had ever seen him flinch before anything. One did not cow his father.


    ¡°I am an avenger.¡± The Governor replied. ¡°The people I killed were all guilty of more murders than me, they simply used starvation as their weapon rather than knives and arrows.¡±


    Galukar stared at him.


    ¡°And what of me, then. Am I guilty of murder by starvation?¡± There was a dangerous note to his voice, the sort that might have deterred most men from continuing. Most men, Collin supposed, did not know themselves to be an irreplaceable cog in a world-shaping alliance.


    ¡°That really depends.¡± His father shrugged. ¡°I¡¯d need to look more closely into your legislation.¡± It wasn¡¯t lost on him, the rhetorical slant of Galukar¡¯s questioning. Apparently it was lost on the King that he was talking to a man who¡¯d act his past out all over again, and think nothing of it.


    ¡°And that¡¯s where it all leads.¡± Galukar snarled. He was victorious sounding, despite his fury, as if some great point had been proven. ¡°A way of doing things where any leader can be accused of murder, simply for making decisions about their nation.¡±


    Collin¡¯s father stared at him with every bit of the contempt his moronic answer called for.


    ¡°Yes.¡± He said, slowly, as if fearful the King would mishear. ¡°That¡¯s where it all leads. Leaders should be possible to accuse of murder. That¡¯s a good thing. It means there¡¯ll be a lot less murderous leaders in the world.¡±


    It was clear by the way Galukar reared up and puffed his chest out that he had no intention of letting the conversation end there. Things like total, abject moral wrongness or utter logical vacancy had never stopped a King before. Collin tuned the man out, finding his interest quickly slipping from the debate. It was embarrassing to find, as he perused the rest of the room, that he¡¯d entirely skipped over two additional presences.


    Both he¡¯d seen before, both in Silenos Shaiagrazni¡¯s accommodations when he¡¯d called on him. The first was a witty, pot-bellied young man of perhaps Collin¡¯s age or older. He had the look of one who¡¯d seen rather a lot more of the world than he¡¯d grown used to all at once, and appeared to be doing his best to sink into a wall. Beside him was a woman of darker skin even than Shaiagrazni himself, cyan eyes glowing with loathing as she studied the Governor and King.


    Neither one was a person Collin felt much kinship with, but the latter had his blood boiling. He¡¯d asked his father about her, who in turn had asked Shaiagrazni, and eventually managed to learn that she was one of the Dark Lord¡¯s most trusted lieutenants. Sphera, a Necromancer. Specialising in subterfuge and sabotage, she¡¯d probably killed as many people inadvertently as King Galukar had with a sword stroke. And not one actually deserving, he¡¯d wager.


    There were more productive things to do than walk across the room and headbutt her in the mouth, but God if it wasn¡¯t tempting. Collin noted it down on the ¡°maybe¡± list for later consideration, depending on how bored he got, and how quickly.


    ¡°You¡¯re both stupid.¡± A new voice rang out, and all eyes turned to behold the sight of Silenos Shaiagrazni himself as he stepped into the room. It felt wrong to see him so unchanged, after the devastation he¡¯d wrought.

 Chapter 50

    Collin felt he ought to have been wearing a different skin, because his presence had so thoroughly transformed in light of seeing what he could do. It didn¡¯t feel right that monsters as powerful as him could wear the body of a man. Even King Galukar seemed rather intimidated.


    Even his bloody father, and that was a first if anything was.


    ¡°Finished destroying my bloody city?¡± The Governor asked, glaring at Shaiagrazni, masking the fear well enough that it would probably have taken his own son to peer through it. If the caster was bothered, or even noticed the anger, he gave no hint.


    ¡°If I wanted to destroy your city, I assure you, there are far easier ways for me to go about doing so. I have finished destroying your enemies, and have made a start on preparing yet more grotesqueries- that is to say, monsters, to aid in further violence. I have five now, all fully repaired and patrolling around the military districts. I thought it wise to give your men some exposure to them before combat began, given the inevitable novelty of fighting alongside such things.¡±


    Collin¡¯s father considered that. If there was one thing, and one thing only, that could always be entrusted to smooth away his foul temper, it was being presented a good idea.


    ¡°That is wise.¡± He said after a pause. ¡°But we have other issues to concern ourselves with than morale. Venka is coming, my scouts claim he¡¯s been delayed, something about a prisoner escape- details are scarce, but that won¡¯t last him long.


    We have a day, at best. And if we have more than that it¡¯ll be because he¡¯s decided to take a few detours and link up with even more of the local forces. His army will already be with him by now, which means we¡¯re staring down somewhere north of one hundred thousand orcs, undead and casters. This city¡¯s walls were never built to hold that number back.¡±


    ¡°They can be rebuilt.¡± Shaiagrazni noted. ¡°It would mean cutting down on the number of grotesqueries available, but I could accomplish several things with the saved biomass. Defensive weapons, reinforcements to the walls, among other things.¡±


    ¡°More useful than your monsters?¡± Collin asked. Shaiagrazni eyed him in the way a man might a child who had just urinated upon his boots.


    ¡°Situationally, yes. I would not suggest them otherwise.¡±


    Collin¡¯s face flushed, and he let the room¡¯s attention move to King Galukar as he spoke.


    ¡°If there is to be no dissuading you from using these abominations,¡± He grunted, ¡°Then¡­We may as well do so well. I imagine that even now General Venka could be delayed on the roads, given our resources. We have the advantage of Heroes, and near-Heroes, and a great knowledge of the land to boot. A small group consisting of our strongest could cause a great inconvenience for his marching armies, then disappear far faster than a mass of men the size of Venka¡¯s can follow.¡±


    Guerilla warfare, he was describing. More or less. It was essentially the modus operandi of Kaltan¡¯s armed forces, and had been since before Collin was old enough to even consider joining them. One did not fight the Dark Lord directly.


    ¡°Could you send undead to aid this?¡± The Governor asked, thoughtful now. Silenos Shaiagrazni¡¯s face twitched with irritation.


    ¡°I can send my apprentice.¡± He replied, making the younger man twitch uneasily. ¡°And I can perhaps make a few undead more specialised in mobility and subtler attacks.¡±


    Collin¡¯s father thought it through.


    ¡°You¡¯d be volunteering to help, Galukar?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± The King replied, not remarking upon the lack of mention for his title.


    ¡°Then it could work, with a few Rangers to make sure you can all find your feet in the terrain.¡± The Governor nodded, settled in the matter. ¡°Alright, we¡¯ll see how much time we can buy.¡±


    ¡°We.¡± Silenos Shaiagrazni echoed, sounding neither amused, not derisive. A silence followed his words, which Collin hastily filled.


    ¡°I want to help.¡± He blurted out, glancing across the wider room, but mostly keeping his gaze on the Governor. ¡°Let me go with them father, you know I¡¯m good for it. You-¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Finlay Baird replied, speaking as if he¡¯d just given the order to see a man court-martialed. ¡°Out of the question.¡±


    Collin¡¯s temper frayed.


    ¡°You know full fucking well I¡¯m the hardest bastard you have.¡± He growled, feeling his accent slip, feeling his long lessons on hiding it fade. ¡°And I can scout rings around any of your Rangers, what reason could you possibly have not to-¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re my fucking son.¡± His father interrupted. His father, not his commander. Glaring at him not with the icy cold of command, but the molten heat of family. Collin would rather have had the former. Easier to resist by far. ¡°You¡¯re my son.¡± His father continued, strained. ¡°And I¡¯ve only just gotten you back.¡±


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    There was no arguing with that, not in any way that wouldn¡¯t make him a complete bastard.


    It was fortunate, then, that Shaiagrazni was present.


    ¡°That is an utterly inane excuse.¡± The caster noted, seeming oblivious to the maelstrom of fury spasming its way across the Governor¡¯s face. ¡°If we do not succeed in defending this city your son¡¯s lifespan will be measured in days regardless. You are being laughably irrational.¡±


    All at once the room went quiet. Collin had only ever seen such a thing happen once. It had been a few years ago, spanning a scarce few moments between his father hearing some derisive remark about his mother and breaking a champagne bottle across the offending party¡¯s face. There were no bottles within reach now, though. Only edged steel.


    ¡°And what benefit do I gain by risking those last few days of his life?¡± Collin¡¯s father asked. He had not headbutted the caster, which was a good sign, but there was still an air of hungry violence around them. Silenos Shaiagrazni marched through it as if it were a pleasant misting of rain.


    ¡°For one thing, a trusted leader to bolster cohesion between your men and my undead.¡± He explained. ¡°The battle today was not a disaster, but it might have been. Your soldiers spent more time scrambling away from my creations than aiding them.¡±


    Collin rather thought he¡¯d barely been better, but decided to hold his tongue about the fact.


    ¡°And you think this will make a difference?¡± His father asked, wavering. Shaiagrazni met his eye.


    ¡°Do I need to tell you why having your men make proper use of the kinds of creatures I can make would grant them an advantage? Treat my undead as an equivalent to siege towers or trebuchets if it will put things into perspective. Such things tend to have an effect on men¡±


    Clearly, this Shaiagrazni had never seen just how orcs differed from normal soldiers in their response to danger. The decision was still not long in being made after he spoke however. Collin¡¯s father nodded.


    ¡°Fine.¡± He hissed, sounding about as happy about his own decision as Collin had been about his last one. ¡°But you keep my son alive, alright? You keep my fucking son alive, or we¡¯re done.¡±


    Collin felt a flush of shame as Shaiagrazni nodded, and the caster was leaving soon. Their meeting didn¡¯t take long to break up after that. He didn¡¯t say his goodbyes to the Governor, finding himself in no mood. All Collin wanted was to prepare himself.


    He headed to his quarters, packing food, donning armour. Testing the steel-threaded string of his steel-limbed bow. It was tense enough that a normal man might have taken his fingers off in the effort of drawing it, and that pierced Collin¡¯s foul mood with a smile.


    Soon enough, that string would be putting bolts through skulls. He¡¯d need to take a few hours for practice before leaving. Wouldn¡¯t want to waste the iron.


    <hr>


    Swick really wasn¡¯t sure what had possessed him to throw the rock, he¡¯d just sort of done it. An instinct, a reflex. A deeply ingrained, mindless urge to leave himself some means of escape. His blood would serve as a marker for a good few hours, depending on weather, and the few drops he¡¯d sprinkled along the stone had been more than enough. His throw had even been excessive for the distance.


    A quarter mile was Swick¡¯s limit, on a good day. It hadn¡¯t been a good day and he¡¯d gotten maybe three quarters that distance, even at the expense of dropping to his knees in a sweating heap. A thousand foot head start was nothing to scoff at, however. Nor was a camp full of rabid orcs led by the angriest man this side of the continent. He¡¯d gotten running.


    His hands were still bound, and still bound thickly. A warrior might have broken free. King Galukar, he had no doubt, would be past holding with such restraints, but Swick would have to get clever. And first he¡¯d have to get far from the damned orcs.


    Ensharia wasn¡¯t, he knew. His first thought had been to free her, but Swick had chosen not to. Doing so would only have made her a threat, quite possibly made her a dead woman. That wasn¡¯t why he¡¯d made his decision however.


    The sword was heavy in his hands, threatening his balance with every stride, and reminding him of his failure. Swick could surely have carved her free of her bonds with it, if he¡¯d chosen. He hadn¡¯t.


    Better to leave her bound and imprisoned than himself a mere two hundred yards from danger instead of four hundred. He felt his headache re-emerge.


    Swick slipped on something, shifting ground. He cursed. The land here was only half-transformed by the Dark Lord¡¯s touch, not held and frequented by enough undead that it had fully degraded into ashen deserts. There was enough vegetation to leave the terrain uncertain beneath him, and he found his feet an unreliable pair of allies.


    He scaled a dune, reached the top and tripped, falling, rolling, landing in a heap at the bottom. It didn¡¯t hurt, half-caster or not very few falls could hurt a Hero, but it scraped his pride well enough.


    Of course, Ensharia might well be killed anyway. Her death had been ordered, he knew, and the General Venka was certainly not a man to hesitate before ending a person. Swick wasn¡¯t sure though. His escape had made him an active enemy, and one who the General couldn¡¯t be sure hadn¡¯t conspired with the Paladin. With a bit of luck, he¡¯d want to keep her around and alive for questioning.


    With a bit of luck. Luck was in such short supply these days. Unless one happened to be Swick the Swift, of course.


    He scampered along a lengthy patch of land, then pounced behind the shadow of one taller mound as he heard scraping footsteps behind him. Swick cursed his haste, climbing to a grunting stand and continuing. Orcs moved in many ways, but scraping was not among them. If he heard lumbering or crushing movement, he knew he¡¯d be in real trouble.


    In real trouble. That wouldn¡¯t be a first, precious things were for Swick. He¡¯d been in real trouble at Grimsquoi, at real trouble in the Snarling Forest. He¡¯d been in real trouble when that curmudgeonly old fuck Walriq had almost snatched his ship clean out of the skies after he stole his staff. And, of course, Swick had been in real trouble when he¡¯d flown that same ship into the side of the Flying Fortress.


    Real trouble, it seemed, was something that followed Swick, but killed only those around him. He supposed that was to be expected of a man who habitually threw them into its path.


    Lumbering movement, sharp in his ears, ferocious in pursuit. Swick knew that if the orcs were close enough for him to hear, he was close enough for them to smell. With luck he¡¯d be faster.


    Was it his fault his men were dead, Ensharia still bound? Perhaps. Did he regret it?


    There was the real question. Did he regret it?


    No, he didn¡¯t. Swick risked a glance over his shoulder, and found a pair of towering orcs glaring down at him from on high. They were perched atop a dune, peering at him from some two hundred yards back. Gained, or gaining? He had no easy way of finding out.


    Swick turned back and hastened his flight.

 Chapter 51

    They were elites in more than just name, these orcs. Swick might have expected as much. General Venka did not like inaccurate titles within his army.


    He¡¯d managed to keep ahead of them for just a few more minutes and a few more miles, then the things had gotten him surrounded. They were four in all, big and mean, bodies covered with bolted-on steel that rattled as bulging musculature flexed. He saw pure hatred flashing behind their eyes slits, and it wasn¡¯t hard to imagine why.


    Slaves got that look when they saw a runaway. They hated them for a number of reasons, but none more than for having the courage to do what they themselves had not. No slave would ever fight so viciously as when they were fighting a runaway. Just his bloody luck.


    There was something clotted and sludgy in the back of Swick¡¯s throat, spit and phlegm. He always felt the need to spit in a fight, particularly a tough one. He decided to use it this time, hacking out the stuff at the nearest orc even as he whirled around, sword held tight.


    His guess had been right. They were quick, these elites. Quick enough that one had already pounced and come within range by the time he finished his turn, letting the heavy blade cleave down hard into the fucker¡¯s shoulder. It was a solid connection, and the half-inch of steel gave way with a satisfying crunch as bright blood spurted out from the gash. Swick felt the sword bounce back, and followed its momentum as he jumped away just in time to evade the third orc¡¯s hammer swing.


    Then the first, the one he¡¯d blinded with spit, smashed something into his back.


    Probably it was a hammer, given how efficiently it emptied the strength out of him. Swick¡¯s feet left the ground and he flew five, ten, twenty feet before landing hard and rolling farther. He was barely up in time to see the orcs closing in.


    A change of strategy was called for.


    Swick¡¯s mouth was full of blood, perhaps he¡¯d bitten his tongue. He put it to use, subtly spitting down, then again onto his hands. He spat a third time at his feet- aware of how much utility the deed was getting in this fight- before he hurled a final spray out at the charging orcs and lunged.


    Predictably, his target raised an arm and blocked the projectile rather than lose momentum by dodging. Swick translocated just as the blood settled on their bracer, waiting until the height of his sword thrust before suddenly appearing before his enemy. Charging orc met stabbing man blade first. The tip pierced steel even better than its edge. It was, after all, a sword made to cleanly fell a bound Paladin of near-Heroic power.


    Orcs were big, broad and ever so slightly magical, but very few living things could survive their heart being skewered.


    Swick made sure to tug his sword a moment, shifting it around in the wound and hastening the bleeding, then he released his grip and translocated back to the dirt he¡¯d spat blood into just before more hammer blows could find him. He watched from those twenty feet back as the stabbed orc wavered, fell, and died. One down.


    Trading a weapon for a dead enemy was not the best deal he could have made, however. The remaining orcs closed quickly, fury in their gaits.


    Swick almost let himself feel a stab of hope before one of the beasts halted, sticking beside its slain ally, eyes keenly drifting to the body.


    Elites. Fucking of course they¡¯d realised the trick to his magic, orcs weren¡¯t half as stupid as most thought. Swick backed off, cursing as he realised his plan of translocating to retrieve his sword was foiled by the one elite¡¯s proximity to it, and then cursing again as he saw the second give the marked patch of sand a wide berth. There¡¯d be no slipping behind it, little tripping the thing with his magic at all. Swick steeled himself, and closed in with his shackles readied.


    The axe that came for him might have been better used decapitating elephants than men, but Swick was sure to avoid it regardless. He made to move in, a feint which succeeded in drawing the orc¡¯s next swing out prematurely. Swick went under it, raising his arms and controlling the slack of chains between them just so as to leave it in the path of the metal blade. Steel screamed against steel, and he was sent flying.


    He landed, rolled, sprung to his feet and tested his bonds. The chain remained in place, but a quick glance showed Swick a great chunk bitten out from one of the links. He squared his shoulders, yanking the shackles in two ways with both arms at once, feeling a moment of resistance before the damage worsened and the chain snapped entirely.


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    His arms were free, more or less, and just in time. The orc was on him again.


    Swick planted his feet, threw a punch with all his strength¡­And translocated at the moment before it snapped out. His fist thudded hard into the jaw of the other orc, knocking the giant clean from his feet and buying Swick a few precious moments to go for the sword still sticking out of its friend.


    By the time the orc was up, his blade was out, and Swick started his swing. He glanced to one side, saw the other orc charging in past his previous location, waited a moment, then translocated again so that the very tip of his weapon¡¯s arc scraped along the approaching enemy¡¯s gorget. It dislodged the piece of armour, nearly cutting it in two, and drew a squirt of blood that Swick noted was too little in volume to be arterial. His enemy rounded on him, then started backing off. The orcs were together again shortly, and weary.


    Wise. Swick had to fight not to grow cocky himself.


    Knives were his weapon of choice, but against armour that thick Swick was happy for the greatsword. He¡¯d have been happier with a halberd though. The orcs came at once, both spaced just enough to watch one another¡¯s backs, both ready for an assault from any direction. Swick ran his finger over the edge of his sword, flicking his hand upwards and rushing in.


    His first swing was dodged, but he quickly twisted it into a second just in time to meet the axe that would otherwise have taken his arm. Both weapons rattled, shards of steel exploding outwards from the clash. A common fate to mundane weapons in Heroic hands.


    The other orc¡¯s hammer came down to within inches of Swick¡¯s spine before he translocated to the drop of ichor now falling, twisting in mid-air to turn his descent into a stab clean through the damaged shoulder of the first orc he¡¯d struck.


    Blood, steam. Death. The air filled with all three as the dirt filled with orc flesh, then Swick hit the ground and rolled. He came up swinging, almost blinding the last orc as it tried its luck with a lunge, then started backing away. He chased it, snarling and slashing, making himself as big a terror as was possible to drive his panicking enemy farther away.


    Swick¡¯s final translocation, and the subsequent sword running into his enemy¡¯s back, came just moments before the orc realised it was being shepherded to one of the previously marked locations. It convulsed, swinging in a vain attempt to kill Swick even as it hung on the end of his weapon. Then died. He let it fall, cleaning the blood-soggy steel in black dirt, panting.


    There wasn¡¯t time to waste, so Swick didn¡¯t. He looked around, located the orc¡¯s tracks, and followed them back until he found a trio of horses. Big things, dark of mane and rippling with almost as much muscle as their riders. One couldn¡¯t use a normal mount to haul around a rider the weight of a horse itself, after all, and the magical beasts used by Venka¡¯s elites were well known.


    Going through the saddle bags, Swick found food enough for a day or two. Or a few months if one happened to be a twelve stone human rather than a number of hundred stone barbarians.


    The mounts themselves were aggressive, but not impossible to reason with. Swick took one and sent the other two sprinting off in different directions, with luck they¡¯d delay the enemy finding his trail.


    But once that was done, he was left with a question. Swick hated those, they were the one form of struggle he never quite grew used to. His head ached at it.


    Swick could go back for Ensharia, but he wouldn¡¯t. A rescue now would be the most likely to succeed, Venka¡¯s men would be diffused, and Swick had given enough impression of his true self that he doubted the man expected him to come charging back. One Hero, with speed and surprise and plenty of stolen knives from a trio of dead orcs, might well make it to the slaves and free them fast enough to turn the hunt into a real fight.


    That would be best for the Paladin, but not for Swick. He urged the horse on away from the camp, head throbbing as he did.


    Swick had to look out for number one, had to do what was best for himself. God knew nobody else would.


    ***


    Magi were socially stunted, selfish, half-mad egotists prone to fits of volcanic tantrum followed by long periods of arctic sulks. Collin had heard as much, and heard it well. It was quite another thing, however, to see it himself.


    What he¡¯d heard of Arion Falls spoke of a man possessing singular intellect and power, destined to claim the seat of greatest magus alive, and quite possible in history to boot. What he was met with, instead, was a whinging, petty, narcissistic twat. Even his voice was annoying. All nasally, all sneering, as if he felt slighted that each word- and the punctuation between them for that matter- were not met with a round of applause.


    A day. That was all Collin had spent pinched beside him, tucked away in their dugout, kept shielded from sight more than from the elements as rain drizzled and winds bristled and the magus whinged. By the halfway point Collin was about ready to behead him, and by the end he was halfway to beheading himself. It was all only worsened by the damned King.


    Kings were socially vacant, self-full, completely mad egotists prone to fits of apocalyptic tantrum followed by periods of actual war. Collin had heard as much, and heard it well. It was quite another thing, however, to see it himself.


    Galukar seemed more willing to weather the elements, that much had to be handed to him. If only because nothing else could. He groaned, frequently, and snarled even more so. Constantly hissing out some whispered, bitchy demand for the enemy to show themselves, as a force of thousands might be hurried on their path by the anticipation of men primed to jump them.


    Between the two of them, Collin sincerely wasn¡¯t sure which was more annoying. The King, perhaps, if only because his age left him no excuse at all for the childishness. It was a relief when a flash of cloud-buried sunlight bounced off a rain-wet sheet of metal ahead. The sign of naked steel. Armour.

 Chapter 52

    ¡°They¡¯re coming.¡± Collin whispered, shifting and feeling his locked muscles work themselves. They didn¡¯t numb with motionless the way others did, not even warriors were as limber as his kind. Easier to get muscle cramps as a cat than a Ranger. By the discontented groans of his allies, they apparently were no exceptions to the general rule.


    ¡°What sort of enemies are we looking at?¡± Galukar asked, remaining hunched, ready to pounce like some coiled snake. Collin could appreciate the sense for an ambush, at least.


    ¡°We have a minute or three before they¡¯re on us.¡± He whispered. ¡°And the column looks to be about¡­Yes, one thousand.¡± He counted swiftly. ¡°No orcs, just undead, I¡¯d guess this isn¡¯t one of Venka¡¯s originally. He¡¯s probably calling them in to link with his forces before the attack¡­Which means that we know whichever way they¡¯re marching now, he lies there.¡±


    Galukar nodded.


    ¡°Their strength?¡± He asked, absorbing the information quickly. Collin peered back.


    ¡°Twenty Dullahan, three Fomori. Otherwise¡­Skeletons, I think.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t good, but it could be worse. Skeletons were old reanimates, old enough for their flesh to rot away and the magic keeping them active to settle and mature. They were invariably stronger, faster and tougher than when first created, and usually by a lot. Collin would rather take one than a Dullahan, rather take four or five in fact, but even veteran soldiers would be disadvantaged against them without Vigour. He¡¯d heard of skeletons cutting apart ten or twenty men before dying, or Knights being killed by a scant few.


    ¡°Skeletons.¡± King Galukar grunted, then smiled. His face was ghoulish in the dim light, raindrops following the curve of his grin like blood running off a scythe blade. ¡°Good to work the knots out of my muscles, at least.¡±


    It took a few minutes before the enemy was within range, at the foot of the hill upon which Collin and his allies perched. That was quite fine by him, because it took just barely less time to send the order through his side¡¯s ranks and ready them for an attack.


    They numbered one hundred, their enemies one thousand. It wasn¡¯t a ratio most men would feel confident in, but Collin had more than a few reasons to let the steel lace his spine. Rangers were one thing, Shaiagrazni¡¯s undead another, and the star pupil of Windmage Walriq quite possibly another order of combatant still. King Galukar, though¡­Well, he was the sort of man who defied description for his powers. Most of the contemporary words for deadliness and strength were referencing his own famous feats to begin with.


    At last the enemy were in position, and Collin gave the order. King Galukar moved before anyone else by simply hurling himself from the hilltop.


    He flew as if he were a stone tossed by a catapult, coming down in a great arc, hitting the ground from a hundred yards high and barely even bothering to bend his knees. He swung once, lopping an entire row of skeletons in half with the motion, then undead were falling in behind him and rangers were letting bolts fly. Collin made sure he wasn¡¯t the last to fire, having half expected the abrupt beginning anyway.


    The enemy, it seemed, had not.


    Undead ripped skeletons fully in half, lithe, efficient things almost like skeletons themselves. They seemed suits of bone-textured armour puppeted by economically placed weaves of musculature within, and moved like sacks of vipers. Appearing wherever an enemy¡¯s strike wasn¡¯t, striking wherever an enemy¡¯s spine was. Thirteen was all they¡¯d been given, and thirteen seemed almost excessive.


    Arion Falls fought at the middle range, turning away volleys of arrows, unbalancing particularly troublesome enemies, wounding or killing others by advantageously hurling dropped weapons with subtle gestures. He seemed a conductor giving commands to an orchestra, and the song he was playing rang much the same as any other battle. Death, mayhem. Fun. Collin let himself get lost in it as he loosed one arrow after another, picking his marks as carefully as ever, grinning his bloodlust as carelessly as always.


    Nine hundred or so skeletons had made up the bulk of the enemy¡¯s force, and they moved predictably. Undead always did.


    A man, when suddenly peppered with arrows like ballista bolts and hacked away at by a screaming lunatic bigger than most bears, might have felt themselves influenced by such thoughts as staying alive.


    Oh, that huge horrible man is about to hit me with a block of rusty iron so hard my guts are squeezed out of my arse. They might have thought. I reckon I ought to stop that from happening, seeing as I enjoy living and all, running away seems like a good idea.


    Not an undead. They didn¡¯t much care for living, on account of not living to begin with, and would much rather kill an enemy than keep from being killed. It made them fucking awful to fight in some situations, but trivial enemies for a prepared ambush.


    Because they always moved the same way.


    The undead made two main bodies; one charging for Galukar, the nearest living thing, and the other turning to head uphill and carve into the Rangers, the most numerous living things. Both were doomed, for different reasons.


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    At Collin¡¯s signal, Arion Falls hurried back up to the crest of the hill and splayed his arms. The ground rumbled as wind shook it, then a mountain of black dirt fell, made into heavy sludge by the rain, and rolled down to bowl them over. The arrows came shortly after, smashing open whatever skulls or limbs first emerged from the avalanche. Collin¡¯s were the most carefully aimed by far.


    The other group of undead, the ones charging King Galukar, died for a rather different reason. They were fighting King Galukar. Collin had gone most of his life assuming the phrase ¡°one man army¡± was merely hyperbolic, but what the King did to stave off his own assault proved otherwise. He suddenly found the bastard¡¯s whiney arrogance just a shade more tolerable.


    As his quiver ran empty, however, and his victory close, Collin realised something about their enemies. There hadn¡¯t been two groups, there had been three.


    ¡°REGROUP!¡± He ordered, smelling a danger in the unexpected change. All the deadliest enemies were bunched up among that third pack, Dullahan, Fomori, and a few other, smaller things that were dressed in fancier armour than either. King Galukar heeded his order with a swift decisiveness, hacking one last line of skeletons to bits before rushing uphill.


    Arrows, arrows, more arrows. Always more fucking arrows, and always less enemies after they were fired. Soon enough Collin was out, all of his quivers emptied, and as he looked down the row of Rangers he saw his was a common situation. The undead below remained where they were. They¡¯d been the subject of the most recent shots of course, but they¡¯d hung back, kept their distance. Sidestepped the streaking iron and managed to avoid even a single hit.


    Stronger undead did tend to be smarter, too, in Collin¡¯s experience. He¡¯d never fought something more powerful than a Fomori, but he knew they were out there. Evidently these mysterious new ones were examples of that most esteemed order of might. He turned to King Galukar, keeping them in the corner of his eye as he whispered a question.


    ¡°What do you recommend we do with these ones?¡±


    Still, they simply waited. If an undead could afford to do one thing, it was wait. Fucking immortal bastards.


    The King studied them, brow furrowing as he thought.


    ¡°We should attack as one, have your best shots gather up all the remaining arrows, have everyone else switch to close combat weapons. Charge in a single group with me heading it and Falls protecting the masses with air, with luck we¡¯ll be able to break them apart and overwhelm them. We have the numbers now, with the skeletons dead.


    ¡°We have the numbers, not necessarily the strength.¡± Collin breathed. ¡°One Dullahan is worth five or more Rangers in close combat. There¡¯s twenty there, plus Fomori, and those others.¡±


    Galukar growled.


    ¡°Shaiagrazni is scum, scum of the lowliest kind, but he can make potent servitors. I¡¯d wager the undead in our forces against any of theirs individually, mix them in among your men and you¡¯ll have units able to bear the brunt of enemy violence while the Rangers strike from sidelong.¡±


    Collin thought, then nodded. It made sense. He sighed.


    ¡°Give the orders.¡±


    Their enemies waited patiently as they reorganised, apparently confident in winning the charge provided they could hold their ground. All told Collin ended with some seventy Rangers wielding blades and shields, merely twenty left with bows. He almost felt the doubt seep in, so buried it with fury.


    ¡°ALRIGHT LADS!¡± He roared, forcing himself to project a non-existent certainty. ¡°LET¡¯S GO AND FUCKING DO ¡®EM!¡±


    Cheers erupted around him as they started downhill, King Galukar bounding ahead. Within moments the sound of screaming bowstrings rang out, and the volley of arrows raced down just ahead.


    Their enemies had no shields, and thus their options were limited. Try to slap near-sonic projectiles from the air, which was not an option. Move rapidly to avoid them, which was, but would break their balance and formation immediately before the charge hit them. They instead chose the third, simply weathering the blows of thrown iron as a means of retaining cohesion. Collin¡¯s men hit them like a battering ram, and the violence started.


    He was among them of course, however good he was with a bow Collin had no intention of sitting out of the most dangerous of the fighting. He wielded a pair of long daggers like his father, magus-wrought steel far stronger than any non-magical metal, and doing a fine job of prying open Dullahan plate or scraping along Fomorian tendons. King Galukar was less a man than a fate, befalling whatever tried to stand in his path, and everyone else just washed over their enemies as a tide of jagged, swearing soldiers. Collin had rarely felt so proud of the angry bastards.


    One Dullahan fell, another, then half were gone. Collin headbutted one, saw stars as his helmet dented against theirs, then headbutted again to knock the thing down before knifing its brain to mulch through the eye holes.


    Men fell and carved around him, a Fomori stumbled as one of Shaiagrazni¡¯s undead latched onto its head and started chewing through its skull. Another volley of arrows hit the back of the enemy line, which had not yet been engaged but were still close enough that any men but Rangers would doubtless have hit their allies in trying the shot. Then, suddenly, the path was clear.


    Undead lay in bits at their feet, some still active enough to crawl and bite at ankles, most still and destroyed. All that remained was one Fomori and a quartet of the unidentified ones.


    King Galukar strode forwards, intercepted by the Fomori as it lunged, lithe limbs lashing out. He took both off in one swing, then the legs beneath. His third strike fell before the creature even hit solid earth, turning its head into a gory mess. Then he rounded on the last four.


    Collin stepped in to cover the King¡¯s back as he approached their final enemies, ten paces away, cast in shades of darkness by the cloudy sky. Eight paces, Galukar faltered. Six and he stopped. Collin stopped too, taking only another stride to glance at the man¡¯s face, suddenly fearing he¡¯d been struck by some spell.


    It wasn¡¯t magic that held the King, however. Mind-clouding spells left a man senseless or dazed, and Galukar¡¯s face could not be more sharp with emotional thought. His features were twisted by agony, regret, guilt. Sorrow. The Godblade fell from his suddenly limp fingers, and a shiver took him. When he spoke, his voice was quiet enough that Collin knew only his ears were sensitive enough to catch the words.


    ¡°No.¡± He breathed.


    Collin saw he was staring at the undead, and followed his gaze. They were men, clearly reanimated soon after death for the lack of rot, clearly potent for the quality of their arms and armour. He saw nothing more in them than that however.


    Not until King Galukar spoke .


    ¡°My boys¡­¡± The King sobbed, tears falling freely, voice as stable as a collapsing cliff. ¡°My sons¡­What has he done to you?¡±


    The undead came on without a word.

 Chapter 53

    Two major things were needed in the defence of a city. In fact, many were, the act of holding a fortified position was fiendishly complex and composed of an uncountable multitude of contrivances. They all, however, influenced the same two fundamental aspects in one way or another. Holding the enemy attack at bay for as long as could be managed, and thinning the enemy¡¯s numbers during that time.


    At the end of the day, when outnumbered, the defenders of a settlement would find their best hope laid within the prospect of achieving numerical equilibrium, or as close to it as was possible. And that of course meant remaining safe behind the walls, and killing them before they got in.


    Silenos decided to tackle the matter of prolonging the siege, first, imagining that it would prove the larger challenge. Kaltan was not a large city by Shaiagrazni standards, but a scant few days was not a long span to be worked in either. They were stony structures measuring perhaps one metre at their thickest, and half that for much of their span. Not the sort of structure which would withstand even a single volley of modern cannon fire, but perhaps sufficient to turn away Venka¡¯s weapons.


    For a while. Venka had powerful casters within his armies, Silenos had heard, and they were the real concern. A breech wouldn¡¯t take long to find itself carved across so thin a structure of rock, when it was Beladonnan Puppeteers or liches turning their powers to making it. The walls had to be strengthened, somehow.


    He studied them, walking along their span, considering the options.


    Keratin of course was the universal first-choice of House Shaiagrazni, infinitely versatile and eternally potent. It could be hardened, made springy, spongey, near-elastic and terribly, terribly tough. With molecules of ferrous compounds Silenos might make a material like his own armour, able to turn aside any weapons this world could muster. But he hadn¡¯t the time.


    The truly potent weaves of keratinous material required a great precision and care, such that even he was tested to apply it quickly. Silenos might make cubic metres of the stuff, might make dozens of cubic metres, but when dealing with a wall measuring ten or so kilometres in circumference and five metres in height, that was simply insufficient.


    He could cover it all in less than a millimetre within that time frame, and even his own Fleshcrafting genius could not make a material potent enough to turn aside siege engines whilst measuring on the micro-scale. Silenos considered other possibilities.


    Nacre was out of the question for similar reasons, as were many of the harder forms of organic tissue. Silenos had studied sea snails with shells of dark grey and iron-strength, once, but the substance of their bodies had required large volumes of iron ore that the city simply could not supply. Not in the amounts needed to coat an entire outer wall with sufficient sums.


    Chitin was more homogenous and simple than the more exotic keratinous weaves, but he feared it was too weak. Silenos considered exotic mucus, arthropod teeth, protective mineral enamel. He flitted through a hundred possibilities before the obvious struck him like a catapult stone.


    He would simply use bone.


    Carbon, phosphorus, calcium and oxygen. A few trace elements aside from those four, and he would have all the materials needed for animal bone mineral. Most of which were found in the very soils or air around him.


    Bone was not as intricately structured as many other substances, depending on the kind. It required no careful shaping or weaving, simply the creation of its chemical substance and the shaping of its volume. There was, after all, a reason it was so common in the works of less skilled Fleshcrafters. Silenos allowed himself a moment of embarrassment. His Master had often warned him not to overlook the basics, if she¡¯d seen him now she would surely have arched a smug eyebrow and whipped his pride with some steel-tipped remark. He got to work.


    Silenos got to work quickly, demanding he be brought the corpse piles, and feeling his mild annoyance reborn at the reminder that he was expending yet more resources which might otherwise have been used to create more servitors for himself. He was soon remoulding meat into osseous matter, deciding to graft it onto the wall in larger sections.


    At first, he tried to attach the bone mechanically. Using Fleshcrafted talons and grip strength to dig furrows into the stonework, then hooking the slabs of bone on. It was a losing proposition. Silenos found himself spending five minutes affixing the stuff for every minute he made it, and at such a rate he¡¯d be fortunate to have finished the entire wall within the week. There was need to improve his method, or else hope that General Venka was delayed beyond their most hopeful estimates. Silenos chose the former option.


    He did it by first placing his raw materials against the stone, then beginning the process of transforming their molecules into bone from the bottom out. In doing so, he increased their density, thus reducing their volume and leaving pockets of near-empty space which he then sectioned off with further strips of bone. These pockets, vacuums, yearned to be filled, thus dragging air against them and exerting pressure from the atmosphere beyond the bone, holding it in place.


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    By keeping them separated in many dozens of smaller compartments Silenos removed the risk of having a wall breach let his entire protective coating of bone fall away, and guaranteed it would remain where it was.


    A clever design, even by his standards. It quartered the time spent affixing bone, and left Silenos¡¯ week of work reduced to barely two days. He still found himself uncertain of finishing in time, however.


    It took too long to move and walk, to reach every section of the walls. So Silenos improved his system further.


    He Fleshcrafted a great thing of locomotive musculature and supporting vertebra, then mounted it atop the wall. From its outstretched limbs Silenos let himself dangle, and, his thoughts tethered to it, he commanded the construct to move sidelong or raise and lower his body, handing down organic tissue for him to work with while lesser constructs kept it supplied from the piled corpses in the city streets. Within half an hour he had a means of removing practically all his work save from the deed of actually producing his materials in the first place.


    Silenos did so hastily.


    It was growing dark by the time he finally finished encasing the walls of Kaltan in osseous protection, and Silenos found his legs unsteady from the long hours spent dangling high as he finally took his place back down upon the dirt. He gazed up at his work, a wave of pride punctuating its visage.


    He had not made a few dozen cubic metres of bone, as he would have keratin. He had made several thousand. Enough to encase the rock¡¯s front and back in five centimetre shells, flexible and yielding, yet tough and sturdy. He doubted they would have fared well against a blast of cannonfire, but such protection would be more than sufficient for the kinds of wars waged in this world.


    Silenos took a step back to the wall, meaning now to mount it and begin work on the second stage of his tasks. He was surprised to feel the limb give out beneath him, his knee suddenly digging into dirty ground, his palms hitting the floor a moment later for stability. Every scrap of his body was heavy, aching and raw.


    For a moment Silenos actually thought he had been attacked, that some force of the New World had possessed both the power to enfeeble him and the subtlety to apply it without his notice. Then the true reason made itself known.


    He had exhausted himself. Silenos found a dry, cracking, jagged smile splitting his face. He¡¯d become exhausted. It could hardly be considered surprising, six million kilograms of processed meat, dirt and air, of slaughtered cattle and shovelled shit, was a great sum to apply himself to. He¡¯d grown so used to economically using what little resources he had that Silenos had almost forgotten he even had limits of magic rather than material or time.


    Slowly, carefully, he got back to his feet. His enhanced musculature made little difference with a mana-deprived body, the simple mental exhaustion was what interfered with him now. Silenos sent out a command to call on one of his other undead, leaning against them until he¡¯d felt some of his strength return.


    By the time he was confident he could continue to work, the sun had fully disappeared over its horizon.


    Silenos was left to rest only hours after the dark had consumed the city, his work having taken a considerable length. Shortly after, he was called back to the city¡¯s walls. This time Finlay Baird waited atop them, eyes hard as they peered out, face tight. Silenos came to stand beside the man and saw what had him concerned instantly.


    The enemy had arrived.


    General Venka¡¯s army moved much more like a modern one than the primitive hordes of the other New Worlders. Silenos might have been impressed, were he not a stupid savage pathetically labouring to serve a bumbling buffoon of a ruler. As things were, he only found himself irked by the inconvenience of a formidable enemy.


    ¡°You can see in the dark?¡± Baird asked, sounding surprised as he glanced at Silenos. Silenos didn¡¯t see any reason in lying, just nodded.


    ¡°My eyesight is enhanced,¡± He replied, ¡°What are your thoughts on the enemy?¡±


    ¡°Looks like we were right about what to expect, most are absorbed from nearby forces. A lot, though, are orcs.¡±


    Silenos could see as much, feeling his lip curl at the sight. Repugnant creatures, they reminded him of the primitive hominids his species had evolved from. As similar to apes as modern man, by the low ridge of their brow and pronounced occipital sockets.


    ¡°You said they have the strength of six or seven men?¡± Silenos asked Baird.


    ¡°On average.¡± The man confirmed. ¡°Venka¡¯s are better fed and trained than tribals, though. I¡¯d guess they¡¯re closer to nine or ten. They¡¯ve been known to snap the necks of bears, farther east, as I¡¯ve heard it.¡±


    Silenos could believe it, studying the beasts. There was a spasm of magic running through their bodies, and a great quality of musculature.


    ¡°They are not the main threat however.¡± He noted, peering now at a row of undead. They were of no blanket kind, all more identifiably individualistic by the different flairs and schemes of their armour. Each burned with a considerable magic, enough that any two of them might have bested even a Hero.


    He recognised that magic from the things that had pursued Falls from that town, and very nearly caught him.


    ¡°How confident are you in our defences?¡± Baird asked, as the army began its deployment.


    ¡°Very.¡± Silenos shrugged. ¡°But I¡¯ve been wrong before, I¡¯ll be tested in my certainty soon enough regardless of how strongly it burns.¡±


    ¡°You could surrender.¡± Came the voice of Sphera, and Silenos glanced at the bound woman sidelong. She had been accompanying him everywhere he went, of course, as he was simply the only creature trustworthy with holding her prisoner. Now, she didn¡¯t look eager to flee. More concerned. ¡°If you surrender, present the city to the Dark Lord, he will give you a high position. Higher than any of his lieutenants I daresay.¡±


    Silenos snorted.


    ¡°Why would I wish to be second to a rat?¡± He looked back at the army, considering it. Yes, a formidable force indeed. Kaltan must have been a great thorn in the Dark Lord¡¯s side. Perhaps it was inspiring rebellion elsewhere, that was worth considering after the siege.


    ¡°They¡¯re waiting for something.¡± Baird snarled, sounding rather bestial as he did. ¡°Look.¡± He nodded ahead, gesturing to the army. ¡°That¡¯s not an offensive formation, they¡¯re making camp.¡±


    So the delaying tactics had worked, then. Somewhat at least. Silenos found himself less surprised by that than the Governor¡¯s apparent eagerness to fight.


    ¡°That is good, it gives you more time to drill the men with my new defensive equipment.¡± Silenos replied. ¡°And me more time to do other things.¡±

 Chapter 54

    Silenos turned, heading back down the steps and dragging the Necromancer Sphera along behind him. He¡¯d kept her bound and collared, more for his own amusement than anything else, with a strip of keratinous material measured carefully to be the equal of her strength, then tripled for good measure. The two of them were alone soon enough, and her temper was as hot and hissing as he had hoped.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to lose, you know.¡± She snapped, venomously. Silenos had found the woman rather enjoyed taunting her enemies. He could appreciate that particular pleasure, but not as much as he appreciated her inevitable fury whenever he demonstrated that he was beyond her petty attempts at enjoying it with him.


    ¡°You can think that if you¡¯d like.¡± Silenos replied. He rather imagined that was the sort of vague response most likely to truly needle the woman, and as was so often the case he proved himself right a moment later. Her fury was like hearing a bowstring released.


    ¡°I know that, you fucking imbecile. Why are you so insistent on fighting this battle when it¡¯s so clearly hopeless?¡±


    Silenos turned to her, taking a moment to examine her before he replied. No, she wasn¡¯t angry, she wasn¡¯t blind with her emotion. She was testing him, trying to wheedle some hint of his plans, or else confirm a theory. He considered how best to reply.


    All other things being equal, it was invariably best to keep others knowing less, rather than more, about oneself. He pursued that ideal in his answer.


    ¡°It is not my way to surrender.¡± Silenos replied, calmly, letting her think he was acting more out of stubbornness than he was. Her eyes narrowed.


    ¡°So that¡¯s it? You¡¯d rather die than give in? Fucking men.¡±


    She was annoyed, infuriated. No, more than that, disappointed and even¡­Yes, worried. Intriguing.


    ¡°You have something more to say, I notice.¡± Silenos guessed. ¡°Might you just save us both a wealth of time and simply say it? I have far better things to do than stand here in anticipation of your drivel.¡±


    Her eyes were sharp again, considering, but her hesitation did not last long. Of this woman¡¯s numerous qualities, good and bad, quick wittedness was certainly among the most notable.


    ¡°Your Necromancy.¡± She answered, at last. ¡°It¡¯s superior to the Dark Lord¡¯s.¡±


    The woman said it as if it were in some way notable, as if Silenos ought to have felt flattered or surprised. He only snorted.


    ¡°And it¡¯s better than a babbling infant¡¯s, too, are you going somewhere with this?¡±


    She seemed more amused than irritated at that.


    ¡°I want to join you.¡± The woman pressed. ¡°To study under you, I want to learn from the greatest Necromancer I can, and I think you¡¯re greater by far than my current master.¡±


    He hadn¡¯t failed to notice the signs of course, and Silenos was not such a fool as to be surprised.


    ¡°No.¡± Silenos replied. ¡°Was that all?¡±


    Her face turned to surprise, first, of course. Truly gifted magic casters were invariably prideful and egotistical, and any slight against them, be it insult or rejection, tended to come as a shock. They tended also to draw out the Necromancer¡¯s second response, fury. Her eyes narrowed, brow creased, fists curled as the rage came on. Silenos found himself probing his mana reserves, noting that even after his rest they were still nine-tenths empty.


    Enough to stave off this one, now that there was no great wealth of preparation to help her gain the advantage. Even without any power at all he¡¯d have surely won given the days spent skewing things in his own favour. Still, Silenos did not care for the novelty of weakness.


    ¡°You¡¯re turning down the most gifted Necromancer alive?¡± She demanded. It was one of the funniest things Silenos had ever seen, her anger as fierce as a tyrant¡¯s, her gesticulations as impotent as a child¡¯s. This one knew exactly what the disparity of strength was in this conversation, and it was torturing her with every word. He almost couldn¡¯t bring himself to interrupt the woman¡¯s thoughts by answering.


    ¡°No.¡± Silenos corrected. ¡°I am turning down the second most gifted Necromancer alive, or third. Depending on Falls¡¯ aptitude.¡±


    Her eyes could have been replaced with blobs of molten iron and not glared as hotly or brightly as they did. Silenos had not, in the end, been able to resist twisting the knife. It really was a bad habit of his.


    ¡°Might I ask why, or am I unworthy of such elaboration?¡± Sphera hissed, clearly struggling to reign in her temper.


    Silenos almost sighed. The fun was over, he¡¯d have to enjoy her misery another time.


    ¡°Because this situation is highly volatile.¡± He replied, skewering her rage with the simple facts of it all. ¡°I have no guarantee your offer is genuine, nor that it will hold true. If you are telling the truth in this conversation then you have only proven to me that you are one who will not hesitate to switch sides when your current allies seem to be the worse ones, which means that you may well turn against me a second time should this city¡¯s defence seem to be in jeopardy. Allowing you freedom on the promise of receiving help is a large risk and I have no reason to take it now. Ask me again later, when you do not have such a fine opportunity for betrayal, and I may answer differently.¡±


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    She thought only for a moment at that before replying.


    ¡°So you have reason to be confident of winning after all, then?¡± She noted.


    He paused, studied her, considered the conversation. Then just nodded. She¡¯d scored a fair point on getting that from him, Silenos supposed. It was his own fault for playing with his food.


    ¡°And no more reason to continue this discussion.¡± He told her, moving away. ¡°Now come, I didn¡¯t spend half an hour building a strong enough cell to hold you just so you could not use it.¡±


    She followed, though they got only two strides before interruption.


    ¡°Lord Shaiagrazni!¡± A messenger yelped, using the local, primitive title for feudal aristocracy to refer to Silenos, and almost being eviscerated in a reflexive punishment for the disrespect. Silenos instead mastered himself, recognising the messenger¡¯s uniform and terror at once.


    ¡°What is it?¡± He demanded, sharply. The boy was hasty in answering.


    ¡°The enemy is attacking!¡± He gasped. ¡°They¡¯re charging the walls already, your power- your attention- is needed!¡±


    Silenos froze for a single, morbid moment. Then he started away, sending out a silent command for undead to escort the Necromancer to her cell and for yet more to bolster the city¡¯s walls. He stalked towards the outer perimeter, seeking a direct look at the events being so desperately described.


    It did not take him long to reach the wall, Silenos was able to send himself to it by simply shaping wings and throwing himself in its general direction using a shot of blasting oil. By the time he came down the situation had barely progressed, but it was grim enough already.


    Orcs, he saw. Numbering in the thousands at least and coming on as a great carpet of grey flesh and greyer iron. They were already within two, maybe three miles of the walls, and their formation, if one were generous enough to call it that, was closing faster than any humans could on foot. He estimated perhaps ten or fifteen minutes before they reached the city.


    Baird was easily found at one end of the wall, barking out orders, and Silenos heard one given in particular.


    ¡°TO STATIONS!¡± The Governor shouted. ¡°BUT KEEP THE CYLINDERS HIDDEN!¡±


    So he was eager to avoid tipping their hands and letting the enemy know of Silenos¡¯ more offence-oriented modifications, that told him that the incoming force was not such a threat, at least.


    But several thousand superhumans were, in fact, several thousand superhumans. Silenos hurried in making his way to Baird so that they might coordinate their response.


    <hr>


    Raiar struck with the very lunge Galukar had taught him as a boy, executing it with just as much dexterity as ever, and Ohm was right behind his brother to let it drive their father into his own cleaving deathblow. Galukar avoided the former and let the latter catch on his shoulder, feeling skin and muscle part as the edged steel sank an inch or so into his flesh. His wound wept as he tore the weapon free and backed off farther.


    More of his sons followed, however. They were well wise to Galukar¡¯s tactics, having learned to counter them in his own training halls under his own tutelage. Kanai and Kuroi came from two sides at once with two lance thrusts. Neither one missed, and Galukar could parry only the right, feeling the left bite him just over the spine.


    Not one of his boys had ever been a Hero, not one had ever been close, but they were all strong, deadly men who¡¯d have shamed ninety nine Knights out of a hundred even without the armament of Princes. Now, somehow, they were stronger. Made mightier and deadlier, faster and more vicious, but the dark magics that had denied them a clean death. Galukar felt his rage burn to howling intensity at the thought.


    But it sputtered out as Ohm closed in from up high. How could he sustain such rage? It had been his arrogance that did this, not the Dark Lord.


    An arrow came for Kuroi, striking his helm and scraping off in a grinding, tearing, spark-spitting ricochet that sent flecks of mangled metal flying out in every direction and forced the boy- the undead- one step sidelong. Galukar made to seize the chance brought by its opening, but faltered. Another lance thrust caught him before he could make up his mind, and he was fighting a retreat once more.


    He roared as his rage only grew, body taking a half dozen more wounds. None were deep, none were even substantial, but all of them together racked him with a dangerous pain and wetted him with a dangerous vascular spill. Galukar caught Ohm in the visored face with the Godblade¡¯s pommel, then kicked his son into two more before swiping for Kanai. The last of them ducked back, as he knew he- it- would, and Galukar took his chance to break from the fighting.


    ¡°RETREAT!¡± He heard a voice ring out. Collin Baird¡¯s, the murderer¡¯s son, speaking with such command as to almost sound noble. Galukar saw plenty of men obeying plenty fast, and the battlefield was soon being emptied of Rangers. He pulled ahead of them, then paused, slowing himself to ensure he was between the fleeing men and the undead.


    And his sons. If anyone was to die by them, today, it would be him. Galukar readied to stave off their assaults.


    Fighting retreats were difficult things to manage, and it was damned good Galukar found himself among men as well trained as the Rangers. Shaiagrazni¡¯s undead helped, of course, fearlessly throwing themselves at his sons the way they did, and Galukar did what he could to further draw violence away from the Rangers and onto himself. All the same, it could easily have turned into a disaster.


    They reached the top of the hill without incident, and then things started to go sour. They were fast, Galukar¡¯s boys, as fast as these damned Rangers even living, and faster now.


    It was inevitable that they¡¯d break past the defences, shrugging aside arrow hits and splintering apart shields. Soon enough they were threatening to leap among the half-formation of men, and Galukar knew that much would be death. Every one of these Rangers was deadlier than a Knight and many times longer in the training, a single loss among them was felt. They stood to lose dozens.


    No disaster came, however. Not to the men. Galukar whirled as he saw Kanai barge two men aside and round on the backs of those he¡¯d slipped behind, sword ready, death held tight to be rationed out. Then he saw Collin Baird slam into his reanimated son.


    A stupid thing to do, Galukar knew. Baird was no warrior, and his strength was at best the equal of a Dullahan, at worst a Knight. He practically bounced off his enemy, swiping both ways with those long daggers of his and ripping small notches from the edges of plate armour. Kanai barely even reacted at all, simply turned, paused, then ran his weapon clean through Baird¡¯s guts.


    He landed hard in the muddy, sludgy ground. Disappearing from Galukar¡¯s sight.

 Chapter 55

    It was a hollow comfort to hear about the assault on Venka¡¯s reinforcements. Ensharia¡¯s captivity was stretching more by the day, and as of her near-execution it had finally taken the last scrap of dignity from her. She¡¯d always liked to imagine she¡¯d be brave, faced with death. Stoic, unflinching. Weeping as she had, crying and begging, was not the behaviour of a Paladin. It was the behaviour of a damned woman.


    She¡¯d been surprised and relieved to not find herself instantly killed by Venka upon Swick¡¯s escape, and rather confused at being kept near the outer perimeter of the camp from that point on. Probably the General was planning to use her as bait and lure the pirate back in, probably there were more of his undead staring at her even then.


    Well, they could stare away for all she cared. It wasn¡¯t as if she was in a position to do anything about it one way or the other.


    ¡°I hear Venka¡¯s men were attacked.¡± Garutan whispered, beside her. They were working, this time at the deed of hammering in palisade posts to set up the pickets of the General¡¯s siege camp. It was difficult work, the kind where Ensharia¡¯s strength left room for an increased rate of productivity, and so she was not permitted to simply rest by exerting a fraction of her might.


    The first of each hammer blow she struck a post with sent them digging close to a foot deep into the dirt, and every subsequent one managed only inches. On average she took close to a dozen hits to fully impale the ground before moving onto the next. Her current quota was five hundred posts a day. Most of the others were only being told to manage thirty.


    Distracting work, tedious work, painful work. It left hands blistered rather than calloused, eyes almost blinded by sweat. Ensharia hadn¡¯t strained herself so hard since she¡¯d been in training, wielding the heavy, lead-made practice blades to shape Vigour and build strength. It was almost impressive Venka had managed to find labour able to exhaust even her current self in such a way.


    ¡°Venka¡¯s men are attacked a lot.¡± She whispered back, between grunting swings. The trick was not to use all her strength, Ensharia knew, because that would only bear the risk of snapping the post. They were thick things, made to let barded warhorses gut themselves without breaking, but her strength had become something new since meeting the Saviour. And if she destroyed one, it¡¯d be her job to dig its remnants out of the ground. Ensharia paced her power.


    ¡°Not like this.¡± The orc insisted, hastily, driving his own post almost as deep as she did.


    He might¡¯ve been an elite, Garutan, a towering, strong figure who doubtless enjoyed no small measure of Vigour in his bulging musculature. He just didn¡¯t have the heart for it. The poor dear was too nice, sweeter than sugar and more likely to start crying and apologise to a wounded enemy than finish them off.


    Fortunately, he did not need to apologise to the fence posts.


    ¡°You always say it¡¯s different from the last bouts.¡± Shargon huffed, to the other side of Ensharia. He was smaller than Galukar, but cleverer than most humans, let alone orcs. His grey skin was barely even moistened by sweat, muscles working shortly and economically. Stamina was his great boon, and it seemed at times he boasted more of it than any dozen other workers combined.


    ¡°This one is though.¡± Garutan pressed. His language had much improved in the last few weeks, as had all the orcs¡¯. ¡°I hear they were all most wiped out before they arrived, and yesterday I saw four undead heading to the camp. The Generl was promised a full fousand. They¡¯ll probby arrive today or tomow, then you¡¯ll see.¡±


    Much improved, but still not great. Ensharia found her focus slipping from their conversation, considering the implications.


    She¡¯d seen the walls, of course, now surrounding Kaltan. They¡¯d been the great point of discussion for much of the day, while everyone readied the camps. Everyone had marched expecting stone, because stone was simply what was used to build city walls. Those crafted by great magics might use rarer, denser, stronger kinds, but still invariably stone. And sometimes not even that.


    It had taken quite some time for Venka¡¯s scouts to properly confirm exactly what Kaltan¡¯s outer defences and battlements really were made from, but it had been clear from even the horizon that it was no kind of rock any present was aware of. The reports came back eventually however. Ensharia had already worked it out herself before they did.


    Bone. Bone. She almost laughed at the realisation, for more than one reason. Silenos had told her of bone¡¯s remarkable strength once, how it dwarfed the strength of stone, and even exceeded steel if one measured by weight rather than volume. To find the city defended by that of all things was a very promising sign.


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    The second aspect to her reaction had been more personal, however. Because Ensharia knew only one man who might have the knowledge, inclination and raw, shaking power required to clad so many miles of a structure in such a sheathe. Silenos Shaiagrazni was within Kaltan, then. Her joy at the fact had only been slightly diminished by Venka¡¯s latest torturing session, which had boasted a new enthusiasm in light of her knowledge.


    Apparently it was known she¡¯d defended Elkatin alongside a Fleshcrafter, and the General had put two and two together. He got nothing from her, of course. Sometimes Ensharia wondered whether he even expected to, perhaps he simply tortured her out of habit.


    Ensharia paused, letting the hammer hover for a moment. She drove it down quickly, not wanting to attract a workmaster¡¯s ire, but found herself thinking a shade more jaggedly.


    What was happening to her? She was acting like some cow, penned in and mindless to the fact. She¡¯d just seen confirmation not a day ago that her ally was within viewing distance, and she was simply sitting around, working on the defences of the people who¡¯d try and kill him?


    I really am a coward. A beggar, a whiner.


    She drove the thoughts aside, more for practicality than anything else, and made herself focus. Silenos Shaiagrazni was within the city of Kaltan, that much Ensharia was sure of. Even for him it would have been a great undertaking to work such a feat as she saw now, if his claimed mana reserves were accurate at least, and she didn¡¯t see him doing that for a city he didn¡¯t plan to stay in.


    The Saviour was in Kaltan. Ensharia was staring at it. How many miles away? Less than ten, surely. Perhaps as few as five.


    If she tried to run that far outright she¡¯d likely be caught before making it, even if she wasn¡¯t mistaken for a spy or enemy and shot dead by the city¡¯s guards, but it was nonetheless a tantalising proximity. An invigorating one.


    Ensharia would escape, and she¡¯d help Silenos stave the bastard Venka off from taking that city. She swung her hammer, picturing now that it was the General her strength was aimed at rather than one of his posts.


    The wood split in half, splinters and pulp blasting out in all directions, some even spraying into her mouth. The workmasters were screaming within moments.


    Bugger.


    Finlay had been more than a little paranoid when Silenos Shaiagrazni offered to strengthen his body and quicken his limbs. It seemed the sort of archetypal Fleshcrafter¡¯s deal told about in the stories, inevitably turned against him as he found himself transmuted to a toad or rat, left to roam the world as a lessened thing and serve as a reminder to all the good little girls and boys about the dangers of evil magic and trying to rise above one¡¯s proper place.


    Funnily enough, the proper place of the people writing those stories seemed always to be within the ruling aristocracy. They had less appeal for the poor sods tilling fields and getting their brains cudgelled out in battle.


    He¡¯d accepted the offer shortly.


    An orc closed in at him, quickly. Finlay fought on the walls, with his Rangers, but even with the new coating of bone the city had proven easily scaled for its new attackers. Orcs had hurled dark iron grappling hooks over it, hauling their bodies up while men tried in vain to cleave through the carefully wrought metal links chaining their equipment up. Within moments dozens had poured onto the walls, within minutes more, hundreds.


    Finlay had not expected that, but he should have. It would have been the first thing he¡¯d experiment with in a non-human unit, and yet his mind had slipped and he¡¯d overlooked the possibility that his enemy had done likewise. Age, getting to him, dulling his wits, proving his best years of command already in the past? Perhaps he was just having an off day. He fought no less hard either way.


    The orc was a big bastard, with an even bigger bastard of an axe. It towered a yard over Finlay, bigger than the elites he¡¯d heard Venka used, and lumbering close and snarling. It brought its weapon down in a big, predictable swing which left the haft lined up just perfect for Finlay¡¯s longknife to eat, letting splintered shaft and severed blade fall in separate directions. The other knife was no less precise, introducing itself to the orc¡¯s brain by entering uninvited through the eye.


    He twisted, blood and optic fluid steaming over his hand as a sticky, stinking mess. Bubbles of air formed and popped in the flowing leak, and the orc fell as a thrashing slab of meat at Finlay¡¯s feet. He was already turning before its death finished, picking out another target from the chaotic melee.


    A Ranger had fallen, slipped on blood by the posture of him, and a pair of orcs were readying to turn him into mincemeat. Finlay came flying at them without even thinking, surprising even himself with the strength of resisting wind against his face, and certainly surprising them as he took off meaty limbs. A bigger one lunged, and he caught their axe¡¯s blade with that of his knife, expecting for a moment to be shunted back. Instead he held, then overpowered the thing.


    Still, strength was not his specialty. There were easier ways to kill a creature five times his weight, and Finlay picked the simplest by abruptly sidestepping and opening its neck up down to the spine.


    Rangers were scarce in this fight, now, having mostly been retreated from the melee to focus on poking holes in the orcs still trying to climb up and meet it. That meant normal men at Finlay¡¯s shoulders. Normal, Vigourless, courageous bastards of no talent, standard training and fifty-ton balls of steel.


    They were formed into lines, shields up and spears pointed out like the bristles of a porcupine, held steady while orcs tried to barrel past and stumbled back snarling and spitting from their weeping gashes. It was an immutable law of battle that men in a formation could and would hack apart many times their strength in unformed enemies, but orcs were not human. They had a physical weight and speed that jeopardised the cohesion of Finlay¡¯s men, sending shockwaves rippling through their ranks each time one slammed into a shield. They¡¯d break soon.


    He moved in to stop that.


    ¡°BACKSTEP!¡± Finlay roared, giving his men a stride more slack in the tension of their defence, then falling upon their enemies from behind.


    He was a hurricane, a pointy one. Wherever Finlay went, blood hurried after, painting limbs, faces, floors and battlement walls. He jabbed knives into the gaps of armour and the slits of visors, even smashing an orc¡¯s eye socket in with his own forehead at one stage and taking another¡¯s head fully off. He¡¯d heard tell of the glory of battle, and it was just as bullshit an idea now as it ever had been, but for the first time he felt some measure of where the delusion came from.


    How easy to make yourself think war was a hero¡¯s business, when it felt like this. How easy to make yourself great when the choice of such carnage laid solely with you. Finlay¡¯s musings were interrupted sharply as a pain lanced down at his side, and he peered at the source.


    A spear, long, steely from tip to body. A carefully made Fomorian weapon, the sort that would go through both sides of a Knight¡¯s armour and kill a second behind him. It was jabbed clean between Finlay¡¯s ribs.


    Clean through his heart.

 Chapter 56

    There had never really been much doubt of how the fight would go, Silenos had known that from the moment he saw the incoming forces. The only question was how much damage the charging idiots might manage.


    Apparently, not very much.


    Finlay Baird was a primitive, like all in the New World, but he had actually managed to impress Silenos. In martial terms, at least. He ran Kaltan¡¯s army in much the same way House Shaiagrazni ran its own, keeping a soldier class to be consistently trained, equipped and fed. Each man standing atop the battlements was moving guided by hundreds of hours of training, and every squad had at least a handful of combat veterans to further galvanise them.


    Swap their quilted armour with poly-alloy scale, and their spears with bayoneted bolt-actions, and they might well have resembled his own people¡¯s foot soldiers. They certainly fought like them, a credit to the not-so-delicate art of violence.


    Of course such pinnacles of soldiering were still mere men, regardless, and Silenos could see the battle would not be an easy one, as he¡¯d suspected. Orcs threatened human formation through simply bodily mass alone, and there were a handful of undead among them, no doubt giving aid due to flaws in their orders.


    It was always a risk, having reanimates obey officers instead of the General. They¡¯d be faster to respond to tactical changes, but susceptible to getting whisked along by an over-eager commander. Wasted.


    Finlay Baird found out about Fomorian presence the hard way, seizing up as one caught him by surprise and skewered him with a spear. Silenos noted the stab did not go as deep as it might have earlier, judging by the length of steel disappearing into flesh it would barely have even reached his heart. Enough to kill the organ dead, in any case.


    Baird hacked the offending arm off, then lunged forwards. Within moments he¡¯d dragged his knives, now edged with nacre as a secondary aid by Silenos, along his enemy¡¯s body scores of times, leaving it to fall as tendons were cut and tissues impaled. For a moment the Ranger stood, panting, then he moved on to continue killing.


    Silenos¡¯ lip curled at the man¡¯s surprise. Had he really thought he wouldn¡¯t have added a redundancy for his heart of all things? It was bad enough that natural selection had made such a moronic design as to only have one, a Senior of House Shaiagrazni wouldn¡¯t be caught dead making such an error.


    Baird continued hacking and slashing, his men continued thrusting and backstepping. There were documented accounts of Shaiagrazni Seniors turning the tide of such skirmishes single-handedly, crushing enemies by the thousands, even tens of thousands. Silenos¡¯ own Master had, he had heard at least, once slain a million men by herself. But the New World¡¯s phenoms were not so potent as that.


    Fortunately, they had a sufficient substitute. Silenos reasoned he¡¯d waited enough, and gave the command for his undead to pounce. Waiting hidden by the wall, they came on in moments, crashing into the swarm of scaling orcs just in the nick of time. All according to plan of course.


    Silenos had made a few more smaller creations specifically for fighting on the battlements, and he took his chance to test them. Sending only two to flank the orcs pinning down Baird¡¯s men, and leaving the rest to crash into the tide itself at the grapples. His enhanced vision showed the combat progressing nicely. Limbs gave way and tore free of torsos, skulls erupted like crushed eggs, and axes and clubs bounced from keratin armour like common human-wielded cudgels against rocks. Within moments a score of orcs were dead, within moments more their corpses outnumbered those still fighting upon the battlements.


    Grapples were soon cut, climbers soon dropped, and Silenos made his way over to the wall, landing just as he saw the enemy horde below start to convulse and surge as half fought to continue climbing while the other tried to flee. He settled the debate quickly.


    Silenos¡¯ newer undead were possessing of considerable ranged abilities, using pneumatic designs within their bodies to hurl pre-made javelins- taken from Baird¡¯s supplies- at appreciable fractions of mach speed. Orcs were durable, but they still died to exploding shafts and sprays of splinters as sheer velocity tore target and projectile both to pieces. Baird¡¯s Rangers threw their own abilities into the mix, skewering orcs with their deadly arrows, and soon enough ordinary arches were helping too.


    All of that clearly had the orcs wavering more, but it was Silenos who tipped the scales. He started with his cannon, letting the blunderbuss configuration rip bloody chunks out of the swarm of bodies, seeing little effect. Then he changed to his flamethrower.


    Incendiary weapons were a growing controversy, geopolitically. Or at least they had been in Silenos¡¯ world, before he¡¯d left. Fire was an inhumane way of killing, causing undue suffering and anguish to its victims, or so the arguments went. House Shaiagrazni had no business with such trifling concerns. They would burn whatever they damned well liked, and if their enemies thought themselves above such things, they were welcome not to retaliate.


    That moment, seeing the flames fall so closely upon enemy heads, he understood where the opposing sentiments derived their weight. It was a cruel, grim thing to see done to any creatures at all. The effects on his enemies were immediately felt and remarkably strong.


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    Orcs screamed, as burning things tended to do, and the crowd surged back. The smell of burning oil and carbonising matter mingled with cooking meat, almost disturbing for how similar it was to any other kind. Bodies fell crackling to the floor, skin splitting and hot fat dripping free to boil and pop upon the flames, dozens, then hundreds turned into their own funeral pyres. Silenos had plenty of material to work with, converting the slain enemies into more fuel for his weapon even as he emptied it out onto the rest, cleaning up the battlements one processed corpse at a time. Cleaning up the ground beyond the walls one score of blackened soldiers at a time.


    It did not take very long, in the end, for the enemy¡¯s impromptu attack to falter, then crumble. Orcs practically scrambled over one another to flee, scurrying back along the landscape, heading towards their half-finished siege camps like a pile of dust blown away in sudden winds.


    Smiling, Silenos surveyed the sight. Individual combat was rather a barbaric thing, he maintained, but there was a certain satisfaction in claiming such a crushing victory with it. He could see why so many of House Shaiagrazni¡¯s Named chose to direct their magic into more direct and immediate powers than his own.


    For an hour or so, all focus was on recovering from the attack. It had been unexpected, though not unforeseen by the wall¡¯s scouts, and though fighting had proven fierce only a scant fourteen men had died, none of which were Rangers. Silenos watched Baird go about his business of ordering ammunition stockpiles refilled, guard shifts rotated to account for the injured, weapons replaced and maintained.


    His own undead helped somewhat, whilst others did their work of hauling off slain orcs and- with Baird¡¯s permission- humans to process into further weaponry and constructs. All in all, Silenos considered the incident rather an effective stroke of luck. It had bolstered their power considerably to gain so many new undead, even if the city¡¯s iron ores had long since been exhausted past the demands of Silenos¡¯ more exotic materials.


    By the time Baird finally came to speak with him, demonstrating the sense to make his way over to Silenos rather than inappropriately requesting that he go to him, the sun was rather near to the horizon once again. The Governor was a vision of health, even by the standards of men who had not been stabbed through the heart. His body seemed more animated than it had been when they first met, and his eyes were alert as ever.


    Silenos¡¯ Fleshcrafting had invigorated the man. Now he would see what that physical vivaciousness would do for his wits.


    ¡°A word.¡± He asked, without asking. Silenos could respect the courage there at least.


    ¡°You wish to ask about the battle?¡± He guessed, and Baird did not bother confirming.


    ¡°Your undead took their sweet time in joining it, why is that?¡±


    Silenos had decided before the conversation even began that he¡¯d be open with Baird, simply because gaining his cooperation- which he believed was more than possible- would make the fruits of his plan far quicker in ripening.


    ¡°I decided to delay them deliberately, until such time as it became clear your defence was starting to lose ground. Not waiting for casualties to mount, but sending them to arrive precisely during a momentary loss of momentum to give the illusion of being saved by your soldiers. My plan was that this would improve trust and cohesion in my undead among them.¡±


    Baird was not surprised, not even in the slightest. He looked like a man who¡¯d just heard several of his own deductions confirmed, in fact, subtly satisfied and already prepared with an answer for what he was hearing.


    ¡°Good, I¡¯ve been telling my men that your monsters were busy preparing other fortifications to explain their early absence. Next time don¡¯t leave details like that for me to hammer out.¡±


    Silenos was rather surprised to find himself without even the slightest urge to behead Baird, after being spoken to like that. It was, he realised, proper. This was a man more experienced in the martialing of soldiers than he, whose knowledge of military matters came far more from hands-on practice than Silenos¡¯ largely book-borne understanding. It was quite appropriate he be chided for falling short of such a man¡¯s standards.


    ¡°I apologise.¡± He replied, amused by the sheer novelty of finding himself exceeded by a primitive of all things. Baird seemed quite mollified, and extremely surprised, but said nothing of either fact.


    ¡°That your first time fighting orcs?¡± He asked. Silenos nodded, surprised once more by the man¡¯s guess. Baird just grunted. ¡°Yeah, looked as much. I guessed you were experimenting with how they reacted to fear, switching from that bloody dart gun to the fire spell you used.¡±


    Dart gun? It made sense, Silenos supposed, that a primitive would compare elongated bullets to those of all projectiles.


    ¡°I know now where their threshold for panic is.¡± Silenos replied. ¡°It is¡­Surprisingly far from human.¡±


    ¡°Orcs tend to go wild when they fight, it¡¯s what makes them so dangerous. They don¡¯t use formations as well, barely even possible to teach a proper shield wall, but most of the time you can consider their morale infinite. It¡¯s almost as much of a factor in their effectiveness as the sheer strength they have.¡±


    Almost. Silenos could imagine that, though their prowess was hard to compare with.


    ¡°The information has been noted.¡± He replied, finding himself rather stung to have erred so completely in the first place.


    ¡°Good. Good.¡± Baird grunted, seeming suddenly tired. Something was gnawing at him, Silenos saw, and he imagined no good could come of anything severe enough to draw such disquiet from Finlay Baird. By all he¡¯d seen the man was remarkably resilient.


    ¡°What is bothering you?¡± He prodded, then found himself surprised as the Governor simply shook his head.


    ¡°Nothing.¡± He grunted. ¡°Just¡­Men, I lost men today. Always find myself in a foul mood when I lose anyone at all, even in a winning battle with few casualties.¡±


    Silenos was almost completely sure he was being lied to, but he could think of no way in which he might draw the truth from Baird without starting an incredibly inconvenient war. Instead he just nodded, began to move elsewhere, then paused as a messenger hurtled towards Baird, face sheet-pale with fear and voice tight with haste.


    ¡°Governor!¡± The man gasped, his words escaping as hot things, made bitter and sharp by lactic acid. ¡°It¡¯s- your son, Governor, your son has returned. He¡¯s wounded.¡±


    Baird was instantaneous in heading off to the place gestured by the messenger, and Silenos wasn¡¯t long after him.

 Chapter 57

    It was a nasty wound, and one given no small measure of time to worsen itself. Silenos saw Collin Baird¡¯s blood had mostly stopped flowing, perhaps only due to already being so drained, and his guts were escaping the boy¡¯s belly like a sack of writhing worms eating through the fabric. Without him, left alone, he¡¯d have been dead within a day, two at most. Transhuman physicality was all that had sustained his life even this long, and such things had their limits when their wielder found themselves so thoroughly disembowelled.


    But Silenos had seen worse injuries himself, much worse. It was remarkable the things a person might find done to themselves in a battle of magic.


    ¡°Back.¡± He instructed, watching as all but one of the crowding soldiers obeyed. He took the offending man by one shoulder and hurled him aside, barely exerting himself to separate the man from the floor, not even looking as he knelt down in his place and heard him land hard out of sight.


    Collin Baird did not seem to even know he was there, his face was soaked with clammy sweat, pale with exsanguination. Both of the boy¡¯s eyes were open, but they were unfocused, staring out into the empty air as his lips and tongue worked silently.


    A message, perhaps? One he was desperate to see heard before he died? Silenos hoped so, it would offend him to be in the presence of something so unforgivably stupid as a prayer.


    ¡°Can you save him?¡± Asked the Governor, having the sense to remain yards back as he threw his question at Silenos like a javelin. Silenos took a moment to examine his patient further before replying.


    ¡°Yes.¡± He said. ¡°But ensure everyone is silent, working with distractions is horribly tedious.¡± He got to work extending his magic out without another thought.


    The difficult part about magical healing was nothing about the physicality of it. Rather, it was the magic one had to work against. All magic was intent made manifest, reality shifted and shaped by the exertions of human will, and such acts left their mark. When a suicidally stupid boy found himself disembowelled by Necromantic limb and Necromantic strength, the arcane forces powering such an attack dwelled in the wound and resisted their closing. It was these Silenos contested, and he found the act of doing so rather an enlightening experience.


    He eased aside magical residue around the shredded tissues, studying it even as he isolated and purged it with his own power.


    Such things were made easier by his arcane sight, which allowed for more fine control and targeting. Without it Silenos would have had no choice but to mindlessly exert will until he pushed the opposing magic aside rather than targeting it directly.


    Even still, it was a surprisingly testing endeavour. Whatever had done this was powerful, more powerful than the Dark Lord¡¯s Necromancy had yet managed to prove itself. A deadly, formidable creature in life, then, further given power in excess of their own through the process of reanimation. They must have died recently for the effects to be so pronounced.


    Silenos almost grew distracted from the actual work of restoring Baird, so trivial was it. But he considered the matter a moment before starting the efforts of doing so. Instead of merely fixing flesh, he started to strengthen it just as he had his father¡¯s.


    He altered muscle fibres, breaking them down and reshaping them into compact, tightly coiled bundles able to multiply or divide their length exponentially with a single twitch. He shaped the minerals of his bones, weaving in natural carbon fibres and encasing it all with yet more made for hardness and scratch resistance. Soft tissues were woven into armoured fabrics able to turn aside blade thrusts, vital organs were duplicated in body cavities, circulatory channels shortened and made more efficient.


    Silenos even took the time to reshape the boy¡¯s lungs entirely, converting them to a circular, looping channel that left air running a circuit through his chest cavity the way a bird¡¯s would. Far more efficient, able to sustain respiration in far more scarcely oxygenated environments.


    By the time he was finished, Collin Baird¡¯s healing was the least of his changes. The entire procedure had been more difficult than was necessary, made harder by the irksome resistance of natural magic, but Silenos managed it all the same. Ensharia had been harder by far, her own durability exceeding this one¡¯s by a factor of double or more.


    ¡°It¡¯s done.¡± Silenos informed the group, sitting back as he finished his work. Half an hour had passed, far less time than he was used to spending on such changes, far more than he would have on mundane flesh alone. Finlay Baird stared at him, expectant. ¡°Your son will live, and he will have no long-term after effects. But he was close to death, you are lucky gut wounds take so long to kill.¡±


    The Governor did not look like a man who considered himself lucky, but then so few lucky men did. He only nodded, relieved by a hair but still tense by a scalp.


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    ¡°Good.¡± He sighed. ¡°Thank you, caster, once again it seems you have done me a service.¡±


    Silenos saw the men around him relaxing similarly to their Governor, smiles growing and muttered prayers of thanks flitting around. Evidently Collin Baird was popular among his soldiers. Silenos himself stood, having little time for the sentiments. He had gotten only fifteen paces from the group when he heard more footsteps behind him, and turned to see Finlay Baird closing in, moving past the Necromancer as she trailed behind Silenos and eying him with unbroken focus.


    ¡°A word.¡± He said, somehow making the phrase neither a question or a demand.


    With a nod, and a quick detour to somewhere more private, Silenos indulged him. Baird did not waste time or mince words once the two of them- save the Necromancer- were alone.


    ¡°I thank you for what you¡¯ve done in fortifying my city.¡± The Governor said. ¡°I really do, you¡¯ve made it a defensive position worth two or three of its previous self. Defied my expectations and understanding both, and quite possibly revolutionised warfare as a whole. The things you¡¯ve done here were beyond expectation and are too great for me to fully do justice. Thank you.¡±


    No man gave so much flattery in such a concentrated stream without a ¡°but¡± on its way, and Silenos remained entirely quiet as he awaited it. Sure enough, Baird continued a moment later, seeming more hesitant.


    ¡°...But I can¡¯t continue this siege.¡±


    The words hung between them like a lynched man, kicking and jerking, fouling Silenos¡¯ mood. He took a moment in gathering his thoughts before replying, wanting to ensure he did not bisect the Governor.


    ¡°You are giving up?¡±


    ¡°I am.¡± Baird confirmed, still meeting his eye, still unapologetic about every word. ¡°There¡¯s no choice about it, I¡¯ve seen the quality of these orcs, I¡¯ve seen the quality of these undead, and I¡¯ve almost lost my son just from a skirmish. The only thing I can do now is give up.¡±


    ¡°You have numerous options.¡± Silenos replied, speaking with patience, knowing that a show of contempt only tended to make lesser men dig in their heels. ¡°For one thing, your forces will be made stronger by the undead I reanimate from this latest attack, and you have yet to bring out my secret weapons. I also took the time to enhance your son as I did you, making him considerably more potent, and now that Venka is drawing so close to beginning an offensive we ought to hold all of our forces behind the walls. Which means you have King Galukar to bolster your forces too.¡±


    Baird¡¯s fury grew despite Silenos¡¯ best exertions of rhetoric and rationality.


    ¡°There¡¯s easily a hundred thousand out there, and the least of them are orcs. Now we have these new undead able to draw sweat from a Hero, not to mention Venka himself, who actually is a Hero!¡±


    Ah, so he had discussed the particulars of his son¡¯s failed read. With Galukar, perhaps. That was inconvenient, it would make the act of convincing him to continue resisting only harder.


    ¡°And you have me.¡± Silenos pressed. ¡°I¡¯ve not shown my own power yet, only my creations, and let me tell you when I do battle in earnest I am more than a match for even Galukar. More by far.¡±


    Baird must have believed him, because he actually looked halfway uncertain. For a moment. His eyes hardened with resolve after another.


    ¡°No.¡± He sighed. ¡°I can¡¯t, I can¡¯t risk this, I can¡¯t put my people in this position. Have you ever seen a city taken after a siege?¡±


    Silenos said nothing, just nodding.


    ¡°Then you know it is the most barbaric fucking thing man is capable of doing. A siege is the most awful, deadly kind of fighting there is for the attackers. I know, because I came up from the ranks of conscripted scum whose job it is to die in them. You¡¯ll have siege towers if you¡¯re lucky, hot and clammy, smelling of the sweat wafting off the hundred other men you share them with, dark and rumbling. All the while you ride them, you do so knowing that most don¡¯t make it to the walls, that the enemy will need only a few catapult shots to tear enough chunks from the structure that it leaves you screaming and falling amid a hail of jagged wood and dropped weapons. If you¡¯re lucky enough to even make contact with the target, you come out finding the walls already flooded with men ready and waiting for you. Only a few of the tower¡¯s occupants can come out at once, see, five, maybe six if it¡¯s a big one.


    The enemy are equipped with long spears that let them jab you from over one another¡¯s shoulders, so you have more than a few bits of steel coming for each man charging. The only thing you can do is fight and try to widen a hole in the defence so that your men can get a foothold on the walls, and if you¡¯re very, very fortunate, you might even live in doing so.¡±


    Silenos opened his mouth to reply, but Baird was far from done.


    ¡°And that¡¯s assuming you have siege towers, of course. If you just have ladders then you¡¯re forced to climb pelted by arrows from all sides, dying in droves until enough men get to the top at once that the fire is disrupted. If you have a breach in the walls to enter through, you can guarantee it¡¯ll be doused with burning oil and archery, then defended by the toughest bastards your enemy has. You understand what I¡¯m saying? No matter how you attack or where, the enemy has all the chances to concentrate their forces and enough cover and space to hit you with weapons bigger than any man can carry. It¡¯s a slaughterhouse.¡±


    It seemed to Silenos that he was hearing reasons for why they had a chance, after all, but Baird¡¯s face tightened.


    ¡°And attacking soldiers blame the city for putting them through that. If you survive a thing like that, if you¡¯re fast, tough and fucking lucky enough to come stumbling out the other side of it, you¡¯re driven half-mad. Not believing you even lived, still remembering the deaths of your comrades and the near-deaths of yourself, covered in the blood of men you called friends. Men like that vent their fury on the city, they take revenge. Rape, pillage, but also burning, lynchings. I¡¯ve seen men take turns trying to cut people in half with one swing, or march people up to the highest tower they found just to watch them thrown off the side and break on the ground below. They¡¯re less than animals, like that, and they remain less than animals for hours.¡±


    His face turned jagged as a spear.


    ¡°And orcs will be fucking worse.¡±

 Chapter 58

    Arion had never really known what it was like to hate someone. He¡¯d thought he hated Walriq, sometimes, but that grumpy old bastard had never been more than a grumpy old bastard. Annoying, inconvenient, endlessly jealous of his apprentice''s talent, but nothing truly worthy of being despised. The Dark Lord might have been, but magi weren¡¯t taught to really care about matters as pedestrian as human suffering or world destruction, and even if they had been he was always such a distant figure that truly mustering any sort of emotion for him in the first place had been difficult.


    But the Necromancer Sphera taught Arion what the feeling of hatred was. She opened his eyes to that wide, burning spectrum of human emotion and truly made him realise how such a thing felt. And how easy it was, feeling it now, to believe those stories about crossed lovers taking their own lives, or spurned brothers waging wars of vengeance.


    How difficult, even, to imagine restraining oneself from acting on such a thing when it flowed with such volcanic horror through every vein of their body.


    Arion did not kill Sphera, he did not hit her, he didn¡¯t rip any of her limbs free with his magic or fall upon her with teeth and nails in some altogether bestial surrender. But he wanted to. God, how he fucking wanted to.


    Evidently, she knew how much he wanted to. It seemed to amuse her.


    ¡°Something on your mind?¡± She asked, venomously. Arion ignored her, and she spoke again. ¡°Oh, Galukar¡¯s children, right? I heard the Governor talking about them, must have been interesting to see the old fool react to their corpses. Was he surprised? I wouldn¡¯t put it past him, he did seem slow.¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡± Arion snarled, mind surging quickly to the King and his new reclusiveness. He¡¯d not spoken to anyone since returning, not even left his quarters, and Arion¡¯s fury was sincere and solar in potence. But Sphera moved past his words as if he were some clawless kitten, and not the pinnacle of wind magic.


    Where are you, Master? What are you doing at such an ungodly hour to leave me alone with this vicious, taunting whore?


    ¡°I do wish I¡¯d been there, I¡¯ll bet the face he made was to die for. Of course you¡¯ll be reanimated too, you understand, yes? Just like your Master did. You¡¯re simply too powerful not to bring back. Mind you we might hold you captive for a few years instead, you¡¯re still young enough to grow stronger quite quickly. Twenty, right? So you¡¯ll be half again as powerful by thirty. Not a bad long-term investment.¡±


    It was pure cruelty, every word of it. He could even see it in her eyes, the same look a cat got while toying with mice. But that didn¡¯t make it any easier to ignore.


    Arion couldn¡¯t hit her while she was bound, some things just weren¡¯t done. He certainly wasn¡¯t stupid enough to untie her just for a beating, either, and so he decided to fight fire with fire. He smiled.


    It must have been a convincing expression, because a sliver of cold doubt made its way across the woman¡¯s face. Her brow furrowed fractionally.


    ¡°Something funny I¡¯m not seeing?¡± She prodded, clearly hoping to turn things back against him. Arion let her curiosity stew for a moment, shaking his head slowly.


    ¡°No, not really, it¡¯s just¡­Well, a woman¡¯s still a woman, I guess. Give a monkey magic and it¡¯ll turn everything into bananas, and things aren¡¯t really much different when power finds its way into the hands of someone whose brain is mostly used for controlling the spread of legs.¡±


    The words bounced off her, as he might have guessed. One did not become a potent caster without dealing with one¡¯s fair share of magi.


    ¡°Ah, the typical insult.¡± She sighed. ¡°And here I was-¡±


    ¡°-But you really haven¡¯t figured out that you¡¯ll die long before I do, have you?¡± Arion pressed, choosing that exact moment as the best time to unbalance her. Evidently it was well picked.


    Her eyes narrowed, but with caution now rather than contempt.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Arion smiled, the way she did, he hoped, and leaned back.


    ¡°God, even with a hint that obvious-¡±


    ¡°-What do you fucking mean.¡± The Necromancer growled. He decided the time to let her stew was expired.


    ¡°I mean that my Master is a practical man, and he doesn¡¯t quite trust you. That, and undead he creates are a great deal stronger than others. What exactly do you think he¡¯ll do if this city starts to lose its defensive certainty? Sit around, hope he has the resources to win anyway? Oh, or were you actually hoping he¡¯d ask for your help? Come on. Easier for everyone, except you I guess, if he just kills you and reanimates you. There¡¯s a certain guarantee of loyalty there.¡±


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    The Necromancer¡¯s skin was darker even than Master Silenos¡¯, but Arion still saw some subtle discoloration as the blood rushed out of her face. Her lips parted, eyes widened, shock congealed to a positively stony composition. She was a long time in speaking, and more than a little hesitant as she did.


    ¡°Any reanimation can damage the memories.¡± She tried. ¡°I have information on the Dark Lord which would be useful.¡±


    Arion nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯d guessed as much, based on you still being alive. How long do you think that will hold weight? It might be fun to wager on it actually. I think the moment part of the outer wall is taken, and my Master needs a construct for spearheading some counter-offensive, he¡¯ll just cut your throat and use you. What about you? Before then, after, around the same time?¡±


    There was a certain joy to just being a bastard, he realised. It had been so long since Arion had been the most important person in any room, so long since the other magi had betrayed him, that he¡¯d almost forgotten. In particular, it was bloody fun aiming such behaviour at someone who actually deserved it.


    ¡°That won¡¯t help you though.¡± She said at last, clearly trying to move back onto the offensive. ¡°And it won¡¯t stop the same from being done to you when the city falls.¡±


    Arion forced a smile.


    ¡°Who cares?¡± He asked, shrugging. ¡°I certainly won¡¯t, I¡¯ll be dead by then.¡±


    <hr>


    Governor Baird¡¯s quarters had been surprisingly easy to sneak into, all things considered. At least they were once his guarding Rangers had fallen to the floor with temporary seizures. Silenos was careful not to cause any long-term harm or disorientation in the deed, well aware that such potent soldiers were in rare supply.


    Finlay Baird himself was at his desk, smoking and drinking. He looked to be wrung out, hollowed. Beaten and eroded by circumstance, pulled in so many different directions with so much strength that he¡¯d merely come apart rather than fly into any single one. Silenos gazed at him as he entered, and noted a lack of surprise in the man¡¯s eyes. Did he know? Perhaps. He was that sort of man.


    ¡°Shaiagrazni.¡± The Governor grunted, gesturing to a bottle of drink on his desk. ¡°You¡¯re walking in on my rare indulgence. Care to join me?¡±


    ¡°I am not fond of recreational brain damage.¡± Silenos replied, making his way to the desk. ¡°But thank you.¡± Baird deserved manners and courtesy at least.


    ¡°Here to try and persuade me again?¡± Baird asked.


    ¡°In a way.¡± Silenos shrugged.


    Baird sighed.


    ¡°You can¡¯t.¡±


    Silenos studied him for a second.


    ¡°All you said about the savagery of a siege¡¯s attackers, that was a smokescreen, wasn¡¯t it? This isn¡¯t about the city. You¡¯d sooner fight for the slightest chance of keeping it independent than hand it over to some sorcerer-king.¡±


    There was no denial in Baird¡¯s eyes, only a reluctant concession.


    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± He groaned. ¡°Of course, it was a thin pretence to begin with.¡±


    ¡°This is about your son.¡± Silenos guessed, and could see he¡¯d struck the mark a second time.


    ¡°It is.¡± Baird nodded. ¡°Seeing him like that, it¡­Well, made me realise that youth doesn¡¯t guarantee he¡¯ll outlive me. That things are more dangerous for him than they ever were for me at his age. He¡¯ll be better than me one day, he¡¯s close to being better already, but not if he gets gutted to death by some bastard General in the Darklands.¡±


    Baird had grown talkative of late, Silenos saw. The sure mark of a man who knew his own convictions were half empty. That was unfortunate, there would be no reasoning with someone who already understood reason, and simply denied it.


    ¡°Kaltan doesn¡¯t have a chance though.¡± Baird noted, eying Silenos coolly. ¡°I maintain that much. We can fight, maybe we can even fight well. I¡¯m sure the Dark Lord will bleed legions of soldiers and undead trying to take us. But he has legions more. How many, really, do you think we¡¯ll stave off before the city falls? Ten thousand? Doable. Twenty even isn¡¯t a problem. Thirty, though? I¡¯d be surprised if we managed to kill that many before we were taken, and forty is practically impossible. What you¡¯re asking is that I allow Kaltan to be crushed and made an example of, all without even halving the strength of the single army responsible. And you know that, don¡¯t you? We¡¯re not a people to you, just a means to do particularly great damage to your enemy. Am I right?¡±


    There wasn¡¯t a scrap of accusation in his tone, perhaps Baird was incapable of such a thought. He was entirely right of course, and Silenos found himself deciding that this man, of all, decided his honesty. He nodded.


    ¡°You are right. I am quite sure I could escape this city before its destruction, and my main priority is ensuring that as large a fraction of the Dark Lord¡¯s forces die here as is possible.¡±


    Baird grunted.


    ¡°Fifty thousand orcs.¡± He sighed. ¡°Thirty thousand skeletons, ten thousand Dullahan, four thousand Fomori. Hundreds of Beladonnan Puppeteers, dozens of liches, Venka himself, of course. And a few thousand other elites, mercenaries or giants, other such things.¡±


    He listed it all mechanically, without fear. ¡°I¡¯d wager this hundred thousand or so could get the better of a conventional army numbering one million. What do you say to that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d say my own estimate is closer to twelve or thirteen million, speaking as a Necromancer.¡±


    Baird smiled.


    ¡°A sizable fraction of the Dark Lord¡¯s military power, indeed. I completely understand your desire to break them here, while you have surprise and potent defensive options to aid you. I only hope you can forgive my selfishness in denying you the chance. Kaltan is my city, its people are my people. I can¡¯t use them as ammunition to cast against the Dark Lord¡¯s Empire.¡±


    Silenos nodded, stepping forwards and, with only a moment of hesitation, placing his hand down upon Baird¡¯s shoulder. He did not do it out of any sense of social propriety, such things were well beyond significance now. He simply wanted to. It felt right.


    ¡°I do understand.¡± He murmured. ¡°And I would do much the same thing in your position. You are a great man, Finlay Baird, wasted, I think, in your station and region of birth. I would have liked to see you study Shaiagraznian magic in another life.¡±


    They locked eyes for a moment, and Baird was not surprised in the slightest when Silenos ran his blade of keratin and nacre through the Governor¡¯s chest. He was very precise, passing it between ribs and clean into the hearts.


    Both of them, each skewered by another of the knife¡¯s twin prongs.


    Finlay Baird died as any other man might have, gasping and spasming in bodily reflex to the sudden, terrible injury. His death took only moments. Silenos had been careful about that much.


    He deserved dignity, at least.

 Chapter 59

    Collin woke up to a body in open rebellion, and not for the first time. He was used to the residual agonies of a fight, having spent years being subjected to them, but the pain assailing him now was different somehow. Stronger, angrier, and sustaining itself no matter how or where he moved. It was like a thing of magic, and his mind screamed at it futilely.


    When he lay on his back, lances of misery ran along his spine. On his side it was his ribs and guts that threatened to come apart with the sensation. His stomach was no choice at all, in that position his shoulders and neck somehow twisted and writhed like nothing else. Rivers of magma, rains of acid, mists of deadly, choking toxin to leave a man thrashing as his tongue swelled and jutted dumbly from his lips. It was beyond description, his pain, and it took minutes to finally diminish itself.


    Minutes didn¡¯t sound like much, Collin had tolerated minutes of agony more times than he could count. Minutes of this, though, made him want to die. Minutes of this were enough to leave him fearing ever experiencing a single second of it again.


    ¡°It is phantom pain.¡± A voice rang out, cold and clinical, as if Collin¡¯s convulsive torment were merely an interesting fact to be observed, explained and then put aside with no relevance beyond understanding the mechanics behind it. Collin glanced up, half-wincing in anticipation of more pain, and saw Silenos Shaiagrazni seated at one wall.


    He frowned at that, realising this was not his bedroom, and looked around further. High ceiling, thick walls, everything smooth and clean, everything easily maintained and functional. This was a medical room, a private one originally built to hold the wounded aristocracy without training their sores with working class pain.


    ¡°I was hurt.¡± Collin mumbled, finding the memories coming back, now, as a steady stream. It was remarkable how much easier thought became when one¡¯s body didn¡¯t feel as if the blood was trying to escape.


    ¡°You were.¡± Shaiagrazni confirmed. ¡°Physically you are fine, though you may experience some whispers of phantom torment for a day or two, and I would recommend you spend a while training to adjust. I had to strengthen your body to help you survive your injuries, and that strength, that speed, will have affected the timing of your movements. Best to re-master that when not swinging your weapons in anger.¡±


    It was a lot, to be told that his own limbs were now lacking in control, but Collin found it hard to be moved. He remembered the feeling of steel through his guts, now, and after suffering a wound like that even having control of his limbs left at all was good news. He nodded.


    Shaiagrazni eyed him, quiet, seemingly waiting for something.


    It was the most disconcerting stare Collin had ever been on the receiving end of, not human, and somehow not even an animal¡¯s either. He imagined it was how a jar of mercury found itself studied by the alchemist planning on using it. Purely cerebral, purely cognitive, without a trace of room made for emotion or any of the other little irrationalities that made people people. He shivered, starting, with a grunt, as he tried to emerge from his bed.


    ¡°Would¡¯ve expected my father to be waiting for me.¡± He grinned. ¡°But I suppose that grumpy old bastard will be bogged down and busy, right? What¡¯s the state of the city?¡±


    Shaiagrazni was not grim, exactly, but there was a definitively dark twist to his scientist¡¯s stare as Collin said that. It gave him pause, had him staring in silent question, mouth suddenly dry.


    ¡°Your father is dead.¡± The caster said, describing the impossible as if it were some ordinary affair.


    Collin blinked, made stupid by his surprise, slow by his disbelief.


    ¡°That¡¯s not funny.¡± He growled, confusion turning to anger as hot water did mist.


    ¡°It is not a joke.¡± The caster replied. His eyes still didn¡¯t change, his face still didn¡¯t move. He might have been explaining the loss of family to a chicken, for all his apparent cares for the matter. ¡°Your father died in his sleep, while you were unconscious. A magical complication from a wound he took defending the city.¡± He explained. ¡°I am sorry for your loss.¡±


    That last phrase almost sounded comical. How could a man with eyes as empty as that claim to be sorry for anything? It made Collin angry, furious. Made his hands curl into bunched fists, made his blood run hot, his lips pull back in a feral snarl. He wanted to kill something, and not cleanly. To fall on it with flailing fists and thrashing teeth, ripping out chunks and spitting them back into gaping eyes. He wanted to fucking vent his fury out with a war cry.


    A tear came down his cheek, and then more followed. In the end, Collin vented his fury out with a long period of crying, instead.


    Most men were awkward when they saw such a display, unsure of how to respond, what to say- whether anything ought to be said at all. Not Silenos Shaiagrazni. He simply looked on with a face so consistently unmoving as to make a statue seem dynamic. He could not, Collin thought, have physically cared less about the matter of his grief. Collin broke the silence himself after taking a minute to master himself.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°How did he fight?¡± He croaked, not quite sure why he even asked himself.


    ¡°Well.¡± Shaiagrazni explained. ¡°He cut down perhaps fifty orcs himself, and a Fomori. Had he not been present on the walls they¡¯d have fallen without question before reinforcements arrived, it was like watching some heroic myth acted out.¡±


    Collin nodded, and felt nothing. His father hated fighting, hated it. He hated the dying, the killing, hated what it turned men into .Animals, he said. Less than animals even. There was a monster living in the heart of every man, and it came out to play when he found himself in battle.


    ¡°Not to be insensitive,¡± Shaiagrazni pressed, sounding about as sensitive as a boulder, ¡°But there is the matter of your father¡¯s duties. As Governor of Kaltan, as leader of its defence. I am not aware of what succession he had-¡±


    -¡±My father had no succession.¡± Collin snarled. ¡°We were going to turn this city into one led by its people, with leaders decided on by popular vote. Like some village community, scaled up and legislated to hold it together.¡±


    Why did he speak with such fire? Perhaps Collin simply didn¡¯t want his father to be remembered for his killing, rather than his building. Shaiagrazni didn¡¯t appear to care one way or the other.


    ¡°That being the case, I imagine you realise why your father remained in power himself during this particular time.¡±


    Collin hesitated, then swore. Of course he did. More voices being heard meant slower decision-making, which could be fatal when one was fighting the Dark fucking Lord of all people.


    ¡°What are you getting at?¡± He growled, finding himself overcome by an unspeakable weariness. He just wanted the conversation to be over. Just wanted everything to be over.


    ¡°I am speaking of you, Collin Baird. I believe you would be the rather obvious choice as successor to your father, no?¡±


    He stared at the caster.


    ¡°What gave you that idea?¡± Collin asked, feeling as if he¡¯d just been punched in the head.


    ¡°You were trained from your earliest years to exceed him in every way, and have much of his talent, no?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Collin snapped. ¡°He¡¯s been fighting and warring for decades, ruling for almost as long, I have a few years as an officer and I¡¯ve never commanded more than a thousand men. Put me in charge of an army, let alone a city, and it¡¯ll be a bloody disaster.¡±


    Shaiagrazni shrugged.


    ¡°I disagree, I have seen stupider commanders perform passable jobs with less relevant experience. Do not underestimate yourself, it is immoral.¡±


    Collin was still blinking and reeling from that fucking bizarre response when Shaiagrazni continued.


    ¡°Years of battle experience, knowledge of units as large as a thousand men, and a youthful, malleable intellect of considerable magnitude. I have examined the history of other potential choices, and not one has struck me as being half so practical or you. Unless you know of some veteran Rangers or generals who may have slipped my notice?¡±


    The walls were getting closer together, Collin thought, and the ceiling lower down. He wanted to vomit, wanted to roll around screaming and kicking and crying about how unfair everything was. Wanted to ask his father for advice, except he couldn¡¯t do that. Could never do that again.


    His father was dead. It sunk in, then, finally, truly and properly. His father was dead, and he would never again be anything but dead. The world would keep moving, its people keep living, but they¡¯d be down one grimy, grumpy, clever old bastard with a soul made of tough boot leather and a heart made of gold.


    Collin felt the tears coming back, but they were different now. Cold instead of hot, terribly, terrible cold. He felt himself sharpening, his wits growing quick and cruel like the barbed tips of arrows. His father was fucking dead, and the Dark Lord¡¯s bastards had killed him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡± Collin croaked, hearing his own voice as a distant, disconnected thing. ¡°I¡¯ll take the mantle, if they¡¯ll have me.¡±


    Silenos Shaiagrazni studied him, taking a moment, then asking a calm, simple question.


    ¡°What will your first acts be, Governor Baird?¡±


    Collin looked up at him with a start. What sort of question was that? The answer was so obvious.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to kill every single fucking one of them.¡± He breathed, fighting a smile that threatened to spread at the very suggestion.


    There was a monster living in the heart of every man, and Collin needed his to come out.


    <hr>


    Sphera the Necromancer was happy. Not just smiling, not just smug, but happy. That was a dangerous sight, Arion knew. The last time she¡¯d been at all happy, Ensharia had gotten captured.


    His Master was still yet to return, in the wake of the Governor¡¯s death he¡¯d taken it upon himself to speak with Collin Baird. Probably he was finding out some way to get what he wanted from the boy, push him up into his father¡¯s position and use him as a tool for controlling the city¡¯s defence. Probably he¡¯d manage it, Silenos Shaiagrazni rarely permitted failure in his endeavours.


    It was all to be expected, all mundane, uneventful. And so why was it, then, that the Necromancer sat smiling with such sincerity? What did she know that Arion didn¡¯t?


    Perhaps he was being manipulated, perhaps this was simply some new elaborate torture, or a trick to gain freedom. Perhaps. Or perhaps there was more to things than he¡¯d caught on.


    Arion didn¡¯t take long to make his decision, it was rather an easy one to be made. Magi did not sit idle and roll around in their ignorance, if there was something they didn¡¯t know, they fixed the fact.


    He mastered himself, and spoke.


    ¡°What are you grinning at?¡± He growled, affixing the Necromancer with what he hoped was, if not intimidating, a stare that conveyed he was not to be pushed around.


    ¡°Oh, nothing much. Just pleased to find out that I was right. And that I¡¯m less likely to be killed and reanimated, though being honest that¡¯s not really more fearsome a thought for me than simple death.¡±


    Arion frowned.


    ¡°Right about what?¡±


    She¡¯d dropped that hint deliberately, to lure him into asking, to keep herself ahead of the conversation and ensure he continued following after her for crumbs of information. But that was just the way of it, right now she knew something he didn¡¯t, and that gave her all the power. Better to focus on getting what he could rather than futilely try to turn around a hopeless imbalance.


    ¡°About your Master.¡± She beamed, sweetly. ¡°Good thinking, on his part, with Finlay. Damned good thinking.¡±


    Arion froze. She hadn¡¯t said Baird.

 Chapter 60

    ¡°What are you implying?¡± Arion growled, and she looked at him in much the way he might expect a woman to look at some barking puppy.


    ¡°What exactly do you think I might be implying?¡± She asked, dryly. ¡°Have a think, a good hard one, and try to recall the things of note our late Governor has done since we last spoke. The list isn¡¯t very long, being honest. I¡¯ll even give you a hint, the main attraction begins with the letter D.¡±


    Arion had caught her meaning before she¡¯d even gotten a tenth of the way into her condescension, and he didn¡¯t like it one bit.


    ¡°You think my Master killed the Governor.¡± He hissed, keeping his voice low for fear of being heard. She grinned wider.


    ¡°Finally, yes, I do. Do you not?¡±


    ¡°He can¡¯t have.¡± Arion replied, his defence seeming a pathetic thing even to him.


    ¡°Why? Would he have been impeded by his strong moral character, or his glaring empathy? Perhaps his scrupulous, squeamish attitude towards violence and final measures?¡±


    She was enjoying herself, he saw, and she was making one good point after another. It felt very much like being on the receiving end of a beating, sent stumbling so hard and far with each blow that he could do nothing but blink and maintain his balance before receiving the next.


    It was, he knew, because she was right. Arion never had a chance at beating her out in this rhetorical game of cards, because he¡¯d been holding a losing hand to begin with. And she was not a woman to miss it.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got you convinced, I can see.¡± She noted. ¡°You realise, yes? You¡¯re just a pawn to him, you and everyone else. Just pieces on a board to be moved, taken and sacrificed as he sees fit. Your only value to him is what you can do.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡± Arion stabbed back. ¡°He¡¯s fought with us, he¡¯s protected us.¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re useful.¡± She countered. ¡°Because keeping you alive at his own risk in the short term is a worthwhile investment in the long term. That¡¯s why he was so unmoved by your Paladin being captured, that¡¯s why he¡¯s not even paid the good King Galukar a visit. Really, it¡¯s impressive. I¡¯d say he thinks like me but I think that would be giving myself undue credit.¡±


    It was disgusting, the amount of sincere admiration there appeared to be in this one¡¯s voice. As if everything she thought good was bad, and everything she thought bad was good. How did one even reason with a person like that?


    ¡°You¡¯re working too hard on this to just be fucking with me.¡± Arion noted, eyes narrowing. ¡°And you¡¯re not stupid enough to give information away for free either way. What are you planning, what are¡­What are you about to suggest?¡±


    She seemed surprised, almost amazed, but he was in no mood to derive any measure of satisfaction from the state. Arion just watched and waited for her reply.


    It wasn¡¯t long in the making.


    ¡°What do you suppose your Master will do to you when this city¡¯s defences start to crumble?¡± She asked. ¡°I¡¯ll spare you the effort of thinking, it¡¯s the same as he¡¯ll do to me, and any other Heroes or near-Heroes. Because undead are more powerful than the living.¡±


    Arion found himself once more unable to answer.


    ¡°Venka could find use for a windmage of your power.¡± The Necromancer continued. ¡°As could the Dark Lord himself. If nothing else, you would be spared a painful death-¡±


    ¡°-Don¡¯t treat me like an idiot.¡± Arion snarled. ¡°If I try to leave instead of fighting alongside you all, I¡¯ll just be killed and reanimated like the Toxicologist.¡±


    She blinked, hesitated, then shrugged.


    ¡°Fair enough, yes, you would be. But fighting alongside us is a much safer bet than fighting under your Master. I mean, he is powerful, don¡¯t get me wrong, but do you honestly see him overcoming the Dark Lord? He¡¯s not even doing well against Venka here. How long do you think Kaltan will hold? How many more futile attempts at disrupting my Master¡¯s plans do you think yours will be permitted before he¡¯s hunted, caught and¡­Well, turned into the most powerful soldier in our army.¡±


    It was all so sickeningly logical, and Arion hated himself as he got to his feet and stepped towards her. He concentrated on her shackles, applying sharp pressure down in on the locking mechanisms and doing what he could to wrench them apart. The great steel cuffs binding her hands and fingers fell away at once, and the Necromancer flexed her freed digits, grunting.


    ¡°Ah, cramping, they¡¯re cramping. God, you have no idea how good this feels.¡±


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Arion didn¡¯t let his guard down, however much she may or may not have been cramping.


    ¡°You¡¯ll introduce me to General Venka.¡± He pressed. ¡°Like you said, yes?¡±


    Her eyes flickered up to him, and she smiled.


    ¡°Of course I will.¡± The woman sighed, as if he were being horribly foolish. ¡°Really, what sort of madwoman do you think I am? Everything I said was true, you know, I have just as much-¡±


    Arion did not see her punch coming, and only really deduced that it was a punch at all by the particular place and way in which it connected. She was stronger than she looked, this one, perhaps augmented a shade by some Vigour along with her magic. Strong enough to send him stumbling with the surprise blow in any case, Arion growled, glared back at her, readying his power and conjuring forth more wind. Then the stone ceiling crumbled, and a block of debris caught him clean in the back of the head.


    He was pinned, face mashed into the floor, vision blurring with the concussion as he gasped and groaned. Above him, Sphera looked down, grinning still.


    ¡°I had a feeling you¡¯d be too durable to knock unconscious with brute force.¡± She noted, as if it were a mere interesting tidbit, and not a fact which had very nearly left her trapped. ¡°So I improvised, glad to see my guess was right. Your Master enhanced your body, yes? I¡¯d have done the same.¡±


    Shadestuff, she must have splashed the ceiling with shadestuff as she hit him, letting it weaken and fall. Arion should have seen it coming, it was such an obvious use, he¡¯d been stupid. Stupid in more ways than one.


    ¡°...Stop¡­You.¡± Arion grunted, but he could scarcely even summon the focus to speak, let alone wield magic. His vision was growing less focused by the moment, but he could still hear the Necromancer¡¯s smile in her voice.


    ¡°Unlikely, but don¡¯t worry. You don¡¯t need to, and you won¡¯t be dying here.¡±


    Arion remained pinned as she took her leave, gasping, spitting, feeling the salty blood fill his mouth ever more.


    <hr>


    Crucifixion, it was called. General Venka was fond of it.


    His orcs, the renegade orcs, had returned as a tattered mess from their attempted assault, and Ensharia almost felt sorry for them. Many were missing limbs, or else limb-sized chunks torn from their bodies. Most had some measure of soot or scorch marks darkening their pale grey skin and slowing their movements. Exhaustion was present in every step they took, both the physical kind borne from running miles in heavy armour, and the mental kind. The kind held by beaten men, and fearful ones.


    It was wise to be fearful, because General Venka¡¯s fury had been indescribable.


    He had ordered much of the camp gathered up to witness as he passed judgement on the survivors, just a thousand from the three or so who had attacked the walls.


    Venka did not waste time in his address, always a man to value economics in his doing of anything. He simply stood high, gazed out at the watching army, and spoke.


    ¡°The orcs you see now,¡± He began, gesturing to the rows and rows of arrested renegades, ¡°Disobeyed my orders. They thought to charge ahead, without my command. To try and take Kaltan themselves, perhaps earn a reward in the seizing of glory, I really couldn¡¯t say. They disobeyed me, that is what matters. Had they succeeded, they would be punished just as they are now, because what I value in all of you is your obedience.¡±


    He paused, then screamed the word again, his fury coming on in an instant.


    ¡°OBEDIENCE!¡± Venka howled. ¡°Is that understood? You are scarcely more than animals, and I would not have my hounds of war making their own decisions. Such things lead to the disaster we experienced today, our hand tipped for the enemy, their men¡¯s morale bolstered by a petty victory. Such things lead to punishment.¡±


    Venka turned his gaze to the orcs, as did all others present, and Ensharia watched with horror as the work was done. Great wooden crosses pressed down into the dirt, high enough to leave a man- or an orc- dangling as their arms were bound to the crossbar near its top. But they were not simply bound, instead each orc was nailed to them, driven into the wood with crude iron hammered brutally through the wrists or palms. They screamed, moaned, howled their apologies and pleas.


    The General heeded none of it, merely watched with a stony face until the work was done. Ensharia watched too, feeling bile threatening to rise in her throat.


    ¡°Sharganh.¡± Garutan whispered, beside her. Ensharia turned to see him staring ahead at the display, his face tight, his eyes wet and wavering. ¡°That¡­Sharganh.¡±


    His friend. Ensharia¡¯s heart broke as she saw the grief on his face, and she found herself placing a gentle hand down on Garutan¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Come on.¡± She breathed. ¡°We don¡¯t need to see this, we-¡±


    A tear rolled down his cheek as he interrupted her, voice a mess of confusion and misery.


    ¡°Why¡­Why does he do this?¡± Garutan turned, staring at her, lips trembling. ¡°Humans¡­You build so much, so many wond full thing¡­Why do things like this? Why¡­Why are you cruel? What did we do to make you so cruel?¡±


    Ensharia thought about it, and couldn¡¯t tell him. Years of education seemed somehow useless, seeing the orcs for herself. They weren¡¯t snarling animals, and yet her order still treated them as if they were. How could she fall back on the old justifications of raids and barbarity after seeing what she¡¯d seen and learning what she¡¯d learned?


    ¡°Because we are cruel.¡± She said at last, finding herself speaking from the heart.


    Ensharia¡¯s mind drifted back to earlier days, spent coughing in a gutter, starving on the streets. To a little sister who failed to wake one morning, to a little brother who failed to smile.


    ¡°Even to our own, we¡¯re cruel.¡± She continued. ¡°And we always have been. But¡­We can learn.¡± Ensharia felt the tears building, the guilt growing. ¡°I think, at least, we can learn. And a lot of us try to do better.¡±


    Garutan eyed her, silent. Ensharia could bear the sight of his sadness no more and spoke again, more fiercely.


    ¡°Garutan, I¡¯m going to get you out of here. I¡¯m going to get you all out of here, if it¡¯s the last thing I do, I promise.¡±


    It was a ridiculous thing to say, an impossible promise to make, but somehow Garutan¡¯s face lit up with hope all the same. Ensharia felt a curious feeling in her gut, an impossible strength in her spine, and found herself repeating the words.


    She was a coward, a weakling, an idiot. But by God, she was a Paladin. Her vows might not have meant much, seeing now the things they deemed monsters, but the promise she¡¯d made to herself¡­That still did.


    Ensharia got to her feet, tightening her hands to fists. She was a Paladin, and whether the Order agreed or not, there were people around her in need of protection.

 Chapter 61

    Orcs were not something Silenos had ever taken the time to study, and he found the practice quite a refreshing one. It had once been the spine of his work, dissection. That and all the other intellectual tools he now employed to the work. It was crucial, after all, for a Fleshcrafted to possess a keen understanding of what exactly he could work with. Nature provided material in bottomless variety, with some of the most formidable weaves of organic tissue coming in the strangest places.


    Had he not taken trips to the deep ocean, he¡¯d never have found the blends of keratin that made for the sturdiest armour. Had he not thought to examine the semi-crystalline stones within the body of a clam, he¡¯d never have discovered nacre, or how it might be tweaked into a diamond-hard substance of limitless sharpness.


    Knowledge was to a caster as arrows were to an archer, and Silenos¡¯ quiver was deep indeed. He had carefully filled it for half a century of independent research, and near to a full century of apprenticing before that. To repeat the measures he¡¯d used in doing so was¡­Refreshing.


    A return to his roots, and rather enjoyable for it. Silenos had almost forgotten the joy of carving apart flesh, of shaving bone, of scrutinising tissue for its magic and carefully unravelling it to gaze at the merits of its physical biology alone.


    He felt a flash of irritation as he indulged himself. Were it not for the idiot calling himself a Dark Lord, he¡¯d have spent the past months doing precious little else, and be doing it now with a brain still optimised for such work. An unacceptable delay that he would simply have to punish.


    But later, for now he needed knowledge.


    Orcs seemed to be of simian descent, much like humans, for Silenos found several telltale signs. Their brains were the most notable, neuronal size and structure a near-identical match to other great apes. He noted that they had a mere nine or so billion within their cerebral cortex, though did not appear to have any neurological structures which might be expected to emphasise aggression or violence. Could he have been misled in stories of their savagery by a cultural bias on behalf of the New World¡¯s humans? Or, perhaps, orc culture itself was what encouraged such behaviour rather than any natural inclination. He made a note to study further.


    Their musculature was considerable, making up some two-thirds of their body mass, which itself was already several times greater than the norm among humans. The individual fibres were nothing particularly special, though Silenos noted far more fast twitch strands, which explained their explosive physical potency. Bone tissue was denser than in humans or apes, but mostly it seemed to derive strength simply from its thickness.


    It was the orc¡¯s organs that truly interested Silenos, for he had rarely seen anything like that. They seemed far too small to truly sustain the creatures, far too feeble to power such hulking masses of meat and bone. He soon discovered how they functioned regardless.


    Magic, of course, considerable volumes. Less than even a journeyman caster, but enough that it made a marked difference upon their biology. It seemed that arcane forces worked to compensate for the lack of truly developed sustaining organ tissues just as they worked to increase the potency of muscular strength. Silenos pondered that, examining further.


    Yes, as he¡¯d suspected. The orcs¡¯ very cellular structures were augmented on such a scale, kept safe and sustained as magic destroyed whatever pathogens threatened their equilibrium and subtly aided the biological processes they carried out. An entire structure of mismade, patchwork tissue sustained only by the supernatural.


    No natural cause was behind this, something had made them. He would find out what.


    Silenos worked, and worked, and worked some more. Feeling himself slip into the fugue of intellectual dedication, his awareness seeming to leave the body in which it resided to more tightly wrap itself around the task at hand. It was a familiar feeling, a good feeling, and, in the absence of all his preventative measures and self-preservative magics, a dangerous one.


    It left Silenos quite unaware of the footsteps behind him until they¡¯d already come to within half a stride of his back. Left him quite slow to act against the sound of scraping steel until its edge had already come down to kiss his neck.


    Arms closed around him, hot breath hit the base of his skull. The voice followed but a moment later.


    ¡°Your apprentice was quite easy to fool, all things considered. Underestimated a woman, I think. Typical magus stupidity.¡±


    It was the Necromancer, Sphera, but there was no magic to her danger now. Just a simple physical force, concentrated along a few millimetres of steel.


    ¡°Then I had to sneak through the keep, but that was barely hard either. Shadows, you know, useful for us Necromancers, aren¡¯t they? Good for hiding. It was smart of you to keep me from knowing what time it was, but I got lucky and picked the evening. After that I just followed the scent of your magic, which wasn¡¯t hard. Like searching for a bonfire in an eclipse.¡±


    She sounded proud of it all, and Silenos supposed she had done an adequate job.


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    ¡°Now, if I wanted to, I could kill you. I¡¯m not a warrior, or even a Ranger, but I¡¯m powerful, holding a knife and a damn sight stronger than any normal person you¡¯ll ever meet. I could drag this pretty little edge across so hard and fast that it¡¯d scrape through a gambeson and still open up a normal man¡¯s neck. How do you think it¡¯ll do against you?¡±


    Silenos wasn¡¯t certain. He tried to calculate the most likely eventuality, using what he knew of textile mechanical properties. His skin was resilient, his body too, but in his standard form, and with the blade held so carefully between his armoured plates, there was every chance he¡¯d still be killed. He could feel the strength in her arm as she grabbed him, and it was just as impressive as she¡¯d claimed. Slicing him would ruin the knife, but that meant nothing to Silenos if he died in the ordeal.


    The knife¡¯s pressure vanished before he could complete his calculation, weapon drawn back away from him, grip released as the Necromancer stepped away. Silenos turned to her, eying the woman, reassessing her.


    ¡°You want to negotiate.¡± He guessed, and she nodded.


    ¡°I needed you to know that I was serious, and in my experience the only way to truly see a person¡¯s intentions is to be left completely under their power. I do hope you¡¯ll forgive the impoliteness, but it was really the only practical choice I had.¡±


    Silenos could appreciate that, and so he decided not to melt her. Breezing past onto more important issues.


    ¡°Very well then.¡± He replied. ¡°I accept you as my apprentice. Bow.¡±


    The woman seemed surprised for a moment, blinking. Silenos wondered whether she¡¯d expected more, whether she¡¯d truly been stupid enough to think she might get anything else from him, that he might forget the dynamic of power that existed between them both simply because his life had been endangered for a few measly moments. Then she lowered herself to both knees, a smile flicking across her features as she did.


    ¡°Thank you, Master Silenos.¡± She breathed, and Silenos eyed her as she knelt, taking a moment before he replied.


    ¡°Call me Master Silenos, esteemed Fleshcrafter of House Shaiagrazni, keeper of the Auburn Flame, Conductor of Arts most Ancient and Lord of Hara''lguanta.¡± He instructed.


    Unlike Falls, she did not hesitate before repeating him.


    ¡°You¡¯ll want to learn more about Necromancy before anything else.¡± Silenos guessed. She looked up at him, sharply, considering.


    ¡°You imply I could¡­Learn more?¡±


    Silenos allowed himself a smile.


    ¡°I imagine you can. It will take a while, perhaps a century, before your magic has matured enough, but you will one day be capable of learning a second discipline just as I myself did.¡±


    He might have told the woman she would live forever and not received a grin so wide or hungry as that.


    ¡°I will begin with whatever kind of magic you think to be best, Master.¡± The woman answered, her natural deference making rather a pleasant change.


    ¡°You will begin by obeying me.¡± Deciding to first strike at that expectation of receiving anything at all from him without earning it. ¡°And my first order is for you to bring my other apprentice here, I would have words with him.¡±


    She seemed downright eager at the idea, nodding and grinning.


    ¡°Of course Master Silenos, esteemed Fleshcrafter of House Shaiagrazni, keeper of the Auburn Flame, Conductor of Arts most Ancient and Lord of Hara''lguanta.¡±


    Silenos smiled.


    As far as sieges went, Collin was not the most experienced boy. But he was fairly sure this one was going about as well as a plague.


    They had enough food stores for maybe two months, three if he got nice and mean with the rationing. Their walls wouldn¡¯t be an issue, in all likelihood, but the incident with the orcs had proven that even intact they wouldn¡¯t be too difficult to scale. And to top it all off, he saw siege towers ahead.


    Orcs were dull things, he¡¯d always been told, but here in Kaltan a bit more was known about them. They¡¯d been dealing with orcs before he was even born, before the Dark Lord¡¯s bastards started showing up, and one of the most dangerous and overlooked abilities they had was their knack for metallurgy.


    Perhaps it was just strength, sheer muscular power letting them work the stuff harder and easier than humans. Perhaps it was instinctual, perhaps it was something to do with their habitats, because orcs tended to enjoy dark, low places rich in iron veins. Whatever the cause, orcs were better at actually working metal than even humans were. He saw the proof of that poking out at the siege camps now.


    Siege towers, big ones. And not just wood. The great structures were all clad in wide sheets of bolted iron almost like armour themselves, glinting dull and grey, nasty and cold in the evening light. Such a weight of metal would be untenable for human-driven structures, that much he knew, but orcs were different. Any of them could do more work to move a thing than most draft horses, Collin reckoned, and they had far more than just a few for each tower.


    Footsteps caught his ear to the left, and he turned just in time to see Gyvain hurrying over. He was a tall man, like most Rangers, and as light on his feet as a cat, moving with the same innate grace that all of their training managed. His scarred face was not a pretty sight, more categorically resembling a well-used shield than a normal visage, but Collin only felt a stab of relief at it.


    He was among the most veteran from among the Rangers, and the most powerful to boot. Among them only Collin and his father were deadlier in a fight.


    Just Collin, now, of course. His mood darkened.


    ¡°What have you seen?¡± He asked the Ranger.


    ¡°It¡¯s thick.¡± Gyvain replied, speaking in that grunting, clipped tone he always did. Hard to make this one string more than five words together, a life of getting stabbed and shot at tended to have that effect. ¡°Half-inch thick, at least. Not sure where they got all the iron but orcs have always been better at finding and refining it than us.¡±


    Collin racked his brains. A half-inch of iron wasn¡¯t as strong as the same thickness of steel, but it was doubtless still plenty tougher than plate armour. Maybe even four layers of it at once. That, and the wooden frame beneath, would make the towers difficult to destroy.


    ¡°Shall we sabotage them, Governor?¡±


    He thought about it, then shook his head.


    ¡°No, there¡¯s enough men in this city that we won¡¯t be losing to the first wave no matter what. This siege is going to end only when they¡¯ve exhausted our fighting bodies. We¡¯ll test the new weapons on the towers¡¯ approach, if they stop them then it¡¯ll make sabotage pointless, and save us the risk. If they don¡¯t then we¡¯ll weather the first attack and be able to send Rangers out to dismantle the towers in the night, after making sure we have to.¡±


    Gyvain nodded, heading off to give the word. It felt strange to hand such a man orders. Collin looked back out at the siege engines. They, at least, he could understand. They were familiar. An enemy at his front, allies at his back.


    Collin couldn¡¯t wait to get his hands on them.

 Chapter 62

    Arion had woken up to a lot of things, and for the most part they tended to be rather pleasant. Nice furniture, nicer women within squeezing range. The smell of cooked breakfast, sunny weather or even the rare day off from his studies. All in all, waking up was a typically enjoyable experience when one was the most gifted magus alive.


    In recent weeks, the experiences had soured somewhat. Hard ground instead of soft beds, dry rations rather than fresh meals, and no women at all save for a steel-clad scowling Paladin who seemed to regard him rather like something she¡¯d just scraped off her heel.


    Nothing, though, had yet compared to the sight of his Master¡¯s fury. Silenos Shaiagrazni demonstrated his displeasure subtly for the most part. A stiffened jaw, a curled lip, the very occasional arching of an eyebrow. His glare was like burning magnesium now, though, and his anger crushed in around Arion like the great weight of stone.


    He still felt that on his back, and it was a testament to his Master¡¯s sheer presence that he had taken so long to even notice it hadn¡¯t been removed.


    ¡°You allowed her to escape.¡± Shaiagrazni noted, speaking as if to some drooling child who might be inclined to misunderstand if he did not temper his rage with a careful clarity.


    Arion did not need to ask who, that much he was sure of. He didn¡¯t really need to ask anything at all in fact, his head suddenly clear, body suddenly refreshed. Obviously his Master¡¯s work, which would only enrage him further.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He hurried, ¡°She-¡±


    Silenos Shaiagrazni kicked Arion hard, his heel slamming into his nose and flattening it. The cartilage caved so quickly it barely even felt solid, as if it were a snail¡¯s shell being stomped on rather than the body part of a grown man. Blood filled his nostrils, tears filled his eyes, and Arion felt suddenly strangled by the weight crushing down on his back.


    ¡°Apologies are for simpletons.¡± His Master snarled, punctuating the words with another stomp, further mangling the crushed meat of Arion¡¯s face. ¡°An apology comes after a failure, and only simpletons fail. Are you a simpleton, Falls? Have I accepted a simpleton as my apprentice?¡±


    The stomping finally stopped, leaving Arion to gasp in air and huff the thick blood out from his crushed nose. Everything hurt, suddenly, face, jaw, neck, and the rest of his body, somehow, to boot. His head was clear as anything, though. As coherent as the flight of a Ranger¡¯s arrow. That clarity gave way, slowly, to anger.


    ¡°You don¡¯t give a shit about me, do you?¡± He snapped back, forcing himself to meet his Master¡¯s eye. ¡°You don¡¯t care about any of us. I know you haven¡¯t visited Galukar even once since what happened with his sons, and¡­¡± He hesitated. Arion saw a fury in Silenos Shaiagrazni still burning, a dangerous one. If what he was about to say turned out to be wrong he might well pay for it. But he had to say it, some things just needed confirming. Some truths just needed speaking.


    ¡°You killed Finlay.¡± He accused, finding his mouth and throat suddenly terribly dry. The words hung between them like a dead weight, dangling there in silent anticipation of a nudge to send it tumbling one way or the other.


    His Master provided it first.


    ¡°You accuse me?¡± He asked, slowly, calmly. ¡°Me, the greatest Fleshcrafter- the greatest caster- this world has ever seen? You demand truths of Me? You complain to ME?!¡± His fury remained quiet, as always, but the molten heat of it was enough to blister Arion¡¯s wits even regardless. He saw his Master raise a hand, flinching, expecting a blow, but it never came. Instead magic wrapped around the man¡¯s fingers, and a new sensation swept over him.


    Arion knew pain, somewhat at least. He¡¯d felt blows strike him, felt cold iron chafe against his skin, felt the Toxicologist¡¯s venom eat him alive from the inside out. Nothing could have prepared him for the agony unleashed by Silenos Shaiagrazni.


    It was like fire, running through his veins along with the blood. Like ice pricking every nerve he had. He¡¯d read about flayings, a form of torture so horrendous that men had been known to die from the simple shock upon experiencing it, but even that hardly seemed a comparable thing to what he felt now. How could the mere mundane mangling of flesh measure up against this? How could any physical sensation at all?


    His mouth opened, silently, and his lungs tried desperately to form something, anything to project their torment outwards. A moan, a groan, even a whisper to tell of his torture. But nothing escaped him, it was all held tight and compressed by the bottomless torture. Arion was crying, he realised, and by the wetness around his groin he knew he must have pissed himself. Humiliation was no more significant than the physical agonies of his past might have been. He didn¡¯t care for how he looked or how he¡¯d been embarrassed, he just wanted the torture to stop.


    Finally, finally, it did. Pulling away all at once, like a rug dragged out from under him. The shock of it was so abrupt and jarring that Arion almost started laughing, sure he must be imagining his lull.


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    A gasp escaped him, then, followed by a groan. Long, low and scraping his raw throat even more. He looked at Silenos Shaiagrazni through eyes flooded with tears.


    ¡°I did kill Finlay Baird.¡± His Master told him, with a voice so casual he might have been admitting to eating the last slice of beef. ¡°And I did it intentionally. I skewered him through both his hearts, then healed the damage away after he died and twisted his innards to resemble a death by Necromantic poison or magical influence. I did it intentionally, and I do not regret its doing. It was for the greater good, serving a higher purpose, necessary.¡±


    Arion was torn between barely focusing enough to hear, and desperately clinging to every word for fear of being plunged back into the depths of his agony if they stopped. If his Master noticed, he didn¡¯t communicate the fact.


    ¡°You, however, served nobody and nothing in your betrayal. The Necromancer you released might have killed me, or else left me seriously wounded, in her ambush. And had we been forced to leave we would have done so without making half so large a dent in the Dark Lord¡¯s forces. Every possible eventuality to come of what you did was a poor one, save for your own self preservation. You are a petty, stupid, selfish rat of a man unworthy of the name Shaiagrazni, and perhaps unworthy of even my tutelage.¡±


    The bile was rising, sickness made solid. Arion could scarcely believe what he was hearing, could scarcely believe it was all real. Surely he was in some nightmare, surely the world was not this cruel. His Master, though, showed no hint of stopping.


    ¡°I had an apprentice like you once.¡± Silenos Shaiagrazni murmured, seeming distracted suddenly.


    His eyes were incoherent, unfocused, his words soft and distant. It was as if his thoughts were on another place, another time, as if Arion were some spectre ephemerally drifting before him.


    ¡°He rebelled, constantly. Complained about everything, a great, gushing heart of sentiment and idiocy. He complained about how I treated our servitors, about how I conducted my research, about how House Shaiagrazni itself operated. And that was a transgression too far. I twisted his spine, leaving it just an inch from breaking, then left it to naturally fix into that shape. The look of a cripple, I thought, suited him rather more given his crippled intellect. What do you think, Falls?¡± His hand raised, his magic built. ¡°How might it suit you?¡±


    Arion felt the tears running down his cheeks, tried to speak, but found his words leaving him as a blubbering, clumsy wave of inexplicable sobs and half-formed syllables.


    ¡°Please.¡± He croaked. ¡°Master, please, I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry I¡¯ll never do it again, I¡¯ll never act against you again, I¡¯m a fool, an idiot, but I¡¯ll do better. Please let me do better.¡±


    His Master hesitated, hand remaining aloft, eyes remaining sharp and grim. He stared at Arion for a few more moments, some subtle shift running under the skin of his face. Then he nodded shortly.


    ¡°You are more useful to everyone alive, for now.¡± He replied, then, with a gesture, the stone at Arion¡¯s back was pulled off. Some undead, he saw, hefting the boulder aside without any visible exertion at all. His Master was leaving by the time he looked back to him.


    Shaiagrazni was almost at the door when Arion next spoke, and he found himself unable to meet the caster¡¯s eye.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do better.¡± He breathed, repeating the promise, not certain even why. A silence followed, and Arion looked up only when it had persisted a few seconds more to see his Master¡¯s staring, cold face.


    ¡°It would have been better if you had died, instead of Ensharia.¡± He replied.


    <hr>


    There was a lot of work to be done in holding an army together, particularly an army who had just recently lost the man responsible for leading them across a decade. Particularly when that recently decapitated army was staring down a force ten times its size and a hundred times its strength from behind fortress walls they¡¯d long since been trapped in.


    One surprisingly notable issue, he found, was in keeping them behind the walls. Collin would have thought that men might go placid over something like a giant, snarling army threatening them. Apparently not.


    Some men, it seemed, went fucking insane under such conditions. Fear displaced from them as surely as air was by smoke, replaced with a bizarre sort of maddened, vicious aggression that drove them towards the enemy like loosed pit dogs against a juicy steak. It was half his challenge just to keep the men struck by their random bouts of lunacy from making impromptu charges. The other half was resisting his own.


    Out there, somewhere, in the dirty grey plains, there were the fuckers responsible for killing Collin¡¯s father. Could he really stay put and mess around with logistics and planning while they went about their business without so much as an ounce of steel in them?


    Yes, he told himself. More to the point, he had no choice in the matter.


    Some idiot had mixed up an order for defensive stones, intended to be dropped over the walls on attackers, and piled three loads in the same area. Collin had to rectify that himself. He¡¯d had heavy axes prepared to hack apart the grapples apparently used last time, but those were delayed in arriving, which had forced him to investigate the matter personally. It turned out the load was being smuggled and sold among the city for profit, thus necessitating new action to resolve the entirely separate issue that posed. Collin hated that part, he¡¯d never liked hangings.


    He recalled what his father told him about thievery within a siege, the way hoarded food suddenly became the most valuable thing within its walls, and so he had the known criminals rounded up and disposed of all at once. That one stung in particular, but it was necessary.


    Forty years ago his own dad might have been among that class, but today anyone in it was a threat to the people. He couldn¡¯t tolerate those at this of all times.


    Collin worked for hours, distributing ladders, checking over firing slits, supplying ammunition, working men, working forces, working bloody officers. Everything was his problem, everything his duty, everything his fault. He was so smothered by the scale of it that it took him rather by surprise when word finally reached him that other matters, besides drunken arseholes knocking out teeth in a pub brawl, demanded his attention.


    ¡°General,¡± Gyvain said, looking about as happy as ever to be bringing the news, ¡°Venka is here for a parley.¡±


    Collin was so suddenly cold at the knowledge, he barely even noticed being called General.

 Chapter 63

    Watching Silenos Shaiagrazni work was an exercise in insignificance. Sphera had considered herself a clever, educated, knowledgeable woman. She¡¯d worked hard to become so. Like most who excelled, she had been born with a natural gift for magic and natural studies. Like all who excelled without peers, she had hammered that fluke of nature until it was tempered well beyond the limits of mere talent. Within her head lay a thousand secrets and a hundred thousand facts, each one contributing to an ever growing web of genius and enlightenment.


    At least, she had considered it genius and enlightenment. That was before the towering, lithe man she¡¯d made her new Master had shown her otherwise. Had revealed to her that what she¡¯d called genius was mindless idiocy, that what she¡¯d called enlightenment was the half-known truths of a simple child stumbling onto an apprentice¡¯s book.


    He had an orc, or rather an orc¡¯s corpse, laid down across the table before him. He eyed it as if it were a book to be read, scrutinising it with inhuman eyes and probing it with fingers made into long, needle-thin instruments by his own magic. Sphera watched, thoughtful, silent, and just a hair irritated to be so far behind his cognition as to not even muster any meaningful deductions.


    ¡°You will learn much faster if you ask me about my work.¡± Her Master noted, speaking without looking up. Sphera felt the blood pool in her face. Somehow it had felt inappropriate to do such a thing, as if she might defile the sanctity of this testament to intelligence simply by adding her voice to the room.


    ¡°What are you examining in that body?¡± She asked immediately. The question had been bubbling for a while, and was practically launched from her lips the moment her Master gave it permission.


    ¡°Microorganisms.¡± He explained.


    The man could not have gauged Sphera¡¯s confusion from her face, because he did not look at her. Nonetheless he must have sensed the need for elaboration after a moment.


    ¡°You are familiar with insects, I take it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a fool.¡± Sphera replied, carefully keeping her frustration from showing.


    ¡°Good. Then picture things smaller, so small, in fact, that they are to insects as insects are to you. Now imagine smaller things still, that are dwarfed by these new beings as much as these beings are by an elephant.¡±


    She tried her best, but it was no small thing to be asked. Sphera wasn¡¯t sure scales even functioned at such minute levels. How could life exist as small as that? How could anything?


    ¡°Are you picturing it?¡± He prodded, and she nodded, though was still not sure whether it was the truth.


    ¡°I think I am.¡± Sphera whispered. ¡°What you just described, they¡¯re microorganisms?¡±


    ¡°They are. Micro meaning one millionth, in this case one millionth of a metre. A metre, before you ask, is approximately thirty nine inches.¡±


    She tried to envision that, and promptly failed. The human brain, it seemed, was not designed with millions in mind.


    ¡°And organisms? What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°It simply means an individual life form, which makes a microorganism¡­?¡±


    He was testing her, she realised, and Sphera was eager not to fail so early into her education. She would have been eager enough not to fail so simple a test as that in any case.


    ¡°An¡­An organism that measures smaller than one millionth of a metre?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± He nodded, sounding slightly satisfied, if not pleased. ¡°One millionth of a metre is called a micrometre, for future reference. You must learn proper units of measurement if you are to study under me.¡±


    Sphera hadn¡¯t wheedled her way into his apprentice to learn proper units of measurement, but she knew enough to keep her displeasure hidden as he continued his work.


    ¡°So what is it about microorganisms that you find cause to study?¡± She frowned. ¡°It seems hard to believe such small things could matter much for such large creatures.¡±


    He did not look pleased at this question, rather annoyed. As if the very asking of it were failing some subtle standard he¡¯d laid out. Silenos Shaiagrazni nonetheless kept his voice level.


    ¡°Your body is made of structures as small, and smaller, than microorganisms, at its most fundamental level. The way these are arranged and built is what determines the difference between bone, muscle or blood. There is much to be changed by affecting matter on the micro-scale. In more direct, immediate terms, I am looking into which microorganisms live within orcish anatomy.¡±


    ¡°To try and remake them?¡± She asked, hesitantly.


    ¡°No, such a thing would be an uneconomic use of my time and power against an army of tens of thousands. I mean to see if any of the microorganisms living within their flesh are vital for life, responsible for sustaining it, or managing some bodily function they cannot do without.¡±


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    Sphera thought about that, frowning.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because any weakness, or fault in their design, is a possible avenue of attack.¡± Shaiagrazni replied.


    It was a lot to swallow at once, but Sphera did her best. She supposed if she really could learn this most powerful of magics, however far into the future, it would not hurt to gain some intellectual grasp of its mechanics first.


    ¡°Can you not create your own species of servitors?¡± She asked, finally. ¡°Something that reproduces itself, rather than requiring your magic? Surely that would become a mighty army within years even without you altering anything, especially if it bred like rats or rabbits.¡±


    He actually looked up at that, eying her, looking rather pleased.


    ¡°That is an intelligent question.¡± The caster replied. ¡°And no, I cannot. Complex creatures, ones capable of reproduction, are made in accordance with¡­The best way to describe it would be design details, I suppose. We call it D.N.A, standing for deoxyribonucleic acid, a pattern of sub-microscale matter contained within the tiniest components of your body and ordering how they replicate and function. For sexual reproduction, you require it to be further adaptable through things called gametes which are designed to combine patterns with those of external sources, thus creating an offspring based on the material of both parents. Such matters are¡­Beyond me. For now. My Master and one other are capable of it in all of House Shaiagrazni, and I have not yet developed the raw skill and power required to mimic her.¡±


    Sphera reckoned she didn¡¯t understand even a single word of that, up until being told that her new Master couldn¡¯t do it. A pity, she decided. There was something rather appealing about creating life, doing as God did¡­Doing better, even. She¡¯d seen the sort of creatures Shaiagrazni could make, there was no comparing them with the petty efforts of nature.


    ¡°Do microorganisms attack each other?¡± She asked, suddenly. Another smile.


    ¡°They do, in a way.¡± Shaiagrazni replied. ¡°Diseases are caused by them, or rather, they are them. A cold, a cough, a deadly plague. All of them are one kind of microbe or another. They enter the body and multiply within it, their simplicity letting them do so without the need for complex reproductive patterns, and are quickly numerous to being negatively affecting the activity of the body¡¯s smallest components- its cells. Some, called viruses, are even more efficient, small enough to actually sink inside the cells and affect them from within.¡±


    Sphera glanced down at her hands, feeling suddenly, terribly sick. It was a pointless effort, trying to see any microorganisms that might be clinging to the skin, but she found herself doing it nonetheless. Shaiagrazni evidently took note.


    ¡°You needn¡¯t bother, we are all of us covered with microorganisms at all times, more or less whatever we do. Most are harmless however.¡±


    That didn¡¯t make her feel better about the damned infestation, not in the slightest. It was simply too big a thing to be told all at once, like having it revealed that the world was actually hollow under her feet, and falling through a crack may leave her falling forever.


    ¡°How¡­How did you learn such things?¡± Sphera whispered, staring at the man with new eyes, now. She had taken him for a genius, for a being with knowledge beyond her world. She had underestimated things to a grotesque extreme.


    A rush of something ran down Sphera, starting in her chest, and blooming as it shot straight to that spot between her legs. She¡¯d not felt such a feeling since the Dark Lord first demonstrated his might to her, and it hadn¡¯t been mingled with such a delightful, dangerous touch of fear, then. She found her lips dry, voice uncertain, as she spoke to her Master.


    What she said, however, was swallowed by the sound of an opening door, and Collin Baird stormed in. Sphera¡¯s first thought was to punch the stupid bastard for ruining the atmosphere so thoroughly, her second was to study him.


    Kaltans were a hard people, harder than most. Generations spent choking in mills and workhouses, then decades more being sharpened by one of the finest military minds alive, had left them about as difficult to shake as boulders. Which meant that it was more than a shade concerning to see their new Governor, and General, soaked so thoroughly with his own sweat.


    ¡°Venka.¡± The boy gasped, clearly having sprinted the entire way to the workplace. ¡°Venka is here, to parlay. What-¡±


    ¡°Take care of it yourself.¡± Master Silenos snapped, without looking up. ¡°I am busy.¡±


    Baird stood there, blinking and dazed as if the retort had been a blow between the eyes. Sphera let her amusement show with a grin, and he recovered quickly.


    ¡°But this might determine the fate of the city,¡± The Governor pressed, ¡°We need-¡±


    ¡°It is your city.¡± Shaiagrazni interrupted, irritably, ¡°And I would entrust it to no other, now go and take care of the matter yourself. My incredible mind is required for the task it is currently applied to.¡±


    If Collin Baird considered it comforting to hear that such an incredible mind was being worked, he did not show the fact. Merely scowled.


    ¡°That¡¯s it then?¡± He snapped. ¡°You spend all this time working on defences, and now the time¡¯s come to actually negotiate with the fucker they¡¯re made for, you-¡±


    ¡°I am making defences at this very moment.¡± Shaiagrazni interrupted. ¡°Now leave, I have given you more leeway than I would most other men, out of respect for your father and talents, but my patience is finite and rather lacking compared to what you are doubtless accustomed to. I will snap soon, and painfully. Begone.¡±


    Baird paused, stared. He worked his mouth in silent, considering discontent. Then nodded sharply, glared jaggedly, and made his way out through the door he¡¯d come in through. Shaiagrazni spoke again only when he was almost past it.


    ¡°Two days.¡± He called. ¡°That is my current estimate, give me two days, and I shall give you a victory.¡±


    Baird hesitated, and Sphera half expected to see the boy crumple under the demand. Instead he hardened, like molten brass setting into a cast.


    ¡°Two fucking days.¡± He replied, voice like a starving dog¡¯s. ¡°If I can resist taking that bastard¡¯s eyes out for that long.¡± He was gone a moment later.


    Sphera found herself turning back to her Master, and only one question had any true weight in her mind.


    ¡°Do you really think you can turn the tables in two days?¡± She asked.


    He did not look certain.


    ¡°I can, but there is no guarantee. It is, however, the only hope any of us have.¡±


    Sphera nodded at that, thoughtful. One city, one outer wall, and a few thousand normal humans against the greatest army assembled on the continent in over a century. Any other time, she¡¯d have fled from such odds like they were death itself.


    But she¡¯d seen too much, glimpsed too much more, to live satisfied with not wringing all the secrets her Master had. She realised then why he¡¯d been so encouraging of her questions.


    What better than promised knowledge, to ensure a caster¡¯s loyalty?

 Chapter 64

    General Venka marched with quite an impressive staff, Collin had to admit. He¡¯d gathered his own best men, of course, a dozen of the finest Rangers in Kaltan. Two of which were even at his side, rather than perched in buildings primed and ready to start taking heads off with near-sonic arrows. Even still, he¡¯d half expected to be outdone, and he found he was not surprised.


    Venka moved with a procession of orcs and undead, which very much mirrored the general makeup of his own army. These ones, however, were all something past elite. A pair of liches came first, hovering slightly above the ground, their desiccated flesh neatly wrapped in linens and empty sockets somehow filled by intelligence rather than ocular tissue. The magic from them was felt at fifty paces, and overwhelming at ten. Collin found himself wondering whether he and his pair of bodyguards would have matched even a single one.


    They would not, he decided.


    After the liches came Venka himself, his march framed on either side by a giant, armoured reanimate that Collin could only guess to be one of Galukar¡¯s sons. There were only two of them present, but two was two more than he¡¯d have liked. Even weighed down by all that plate they moved like cats, lighter than air on their feet, and seemingly primed to lunge one way or the other in an instant. Venka himself was more graceful by far. A Hero.


    Collin always hated that term, Hero. There was nothing Heroic about power and strength, his father used to say. The great Finlay Baird claimed to have seen at least one real hero die in every battle, the magic-filled cunts who always lived? They were just human siege engines.


    Venka had his back covered too, probably he¡¯d heard that Kaltans were dirty, cheating cutthroats who¡¯d sooner stick a knife in it than meet for peace talks. Bastard. It was a lucky guess, at best. Collin wouldn¡¯t have had to do such things if he weren¡¯t so bloody outnumbered, breaking parleys was a great way to ensure you were never parlayed with again.


    ¡°Governor Baird.¡± Venka said, speaking calmly as his little group came to stop just a few paces from Collin¡¯s. Oh, that was strange. Rage. Pure, molten rage unlike any Collin had ever felt, coursing through his veins, animating his muscles, urging him to come flying at the Hero and start biting chunks out. He¡¯d thought he had a handle on his fury, thought he¡¯d calmed himself with the bigger picture, but here it was, waiting for him. Springing its ambush and bowling his wits over with a storm of animal hate and soldier¡¯s savagery.


    ¡°General Venka.¡± Collin replied, surprising himself with how coherent and calm his voice was. Was he calm? Would he be a calm man today? He didn¡¯t know.


    Could be he¡¯d lose his wits and start sticking steel in things any moment. It felt like he was watching the conversation from the outside, looking in on some scene he had no part in, and no ability to influence. He was actually curious to see how it ended.


    ¡°I will be brief.¡± The General replied. ¡°You are grossly outnumbered, and more grossly outmatched. Surrender and we shall spare your city.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be brief too.¡± Collin replied. ¡°Fuck yourself with a pike, you shit-eating twat.¡±


    Apparently he would not be very diplomatic today, interesting. Gyvain snorted with laughter. General Venka did not seem particularly surprised by his response, but he was certainly annoyed. Brow creasing, face suddenly lined in all the ways his uniform wasn¡¯t.


    ¡°I had expected you to conduct yourself with a bit more dignity.¡± He noted.


    ¡°I had expected you to not throw a few thousand idiots at my wall and watch them burst like grapes.¡± Collin shot back. ¡°Seems neither of us is living up to our reputation.¡±


    Venka¡¯s eye twitched a moment, his lip curling, cheeks thinning. The man¡¯s fury was well hidden, but rather too great in volume to be fully missed.


    ¡°You know, I had nothing but admiration for your father.¡± He answered, speaking with the forced calm of a man resisting the urge to draw steel and start hacking away. ¡°Nothing but admiration. He was a man after my own heart, I should think. A man of iron, of intelligence, of drive. One who understood the need for a strong leader in hard times, who¡­¡±


    Collin didn¡¯t stop listening, but by God did he want to.


    He¡¯d read Venka¡¯s books, of course, and his half-thought philosophies had always been good for a laugh, but hearing them in person was an exercise in tedium. Every good thing that had ever happened, the man seemed to think, was because of some individual, great man seizing power and initiative, while every single bad thing was the fault of some vague weak men growing soft in times of peace.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    It was laughable to hear him try to reconcile that with the existence of King Galukar, pathetic to hear him try and explain Elrai the Cruel¡¯s coming up from his almost-as-incompetent father, and downright infuriating to hear his own dad used as further evidence of the fact.


    But Collin listened, because that was what a lad in his place had to do. He wasn¡¯t a noble, really, and though he had wealth, most would call it stolen. When the whole world considered you a rowdy, violent thug sitting on a throne you didn¡¯t own, you learned to take what advantages you could get.


    The younger, brasher and stupider Venka thought he was, the less he¡¯d try to keep himself from giving away whatever subtle hints Collin could catch, and the less he¡¯d notice them being caught.


    You had to take whatever advantages you could, particularly when you were dealing with a General twice your age and a hundred times your experience.


    ¡°Am I boring you?¡± Venka asked, irritably.


    ¡°Hm?¡± Collin blinked, making a show of having let his focus slip. ¡°Oh, no, not at all, please go on.¡±


    It seemed Venka bought the performance, for his lip curled with disgust.


    ¡°Nothing like your father at all.¡± He scowled. ¡°Very well then, if you have any counter-offers to make then I will hear them now. If not¡­This is your last chance to surrender.¡±


    ¡°Or what?¡± Collin asked.


    Venka seemed stunned, almost disbelieving.


    ¡°I¡­I beg your pardon?¡±


    ¡°Or what? What will you do if we don¡¯t surrender?¡± Collin pressed.


    ¡°We¡¯ll attack your city, breach the walls¡­Seize it by force, and punish its populace for resisting.¡±


    ¡°If you manage to get past the walls.¡± Collin replied, making a show of confidence. Pure, unbroken confidence, of the kind that only an absolute fucking moron could possibly humour. For a moment he feared he¡¯d overdone it, but Venka seemed to swallow the performance well enough.


    ¡°We will get past your walls.¡± Venka explained. ¡°Our forces are a power not sent to field on this continent for centuries, even more. Whatever modifications you¡¯ve seen made to Kaltan¡¯s outer defences, they will not withstand us. Not our siege towers, and, at worst, not our sheer numbers. Your father, no doubt, knew as much, and it surprises me that he apparently did not think to inform you.¡± His lip curled, disgusted. ¡°Such a waste for this to be his legacy. In any case, you have heard my warning, if you wish to ignore it then that is your mistake to make.¡±


    ¡°Oh I¡¯m not ignoring anything,¡± Collin snarled, letting his rage seep through- a shade- and letting Venka mistake it for mere pricked ego. ¡°If you want to test your men against mine so badly, you can be welcome to it. We¡¯ll be waiting for you, us Rangers, by the front gate. Send your best and we¡¯ll see how they fare. I should warn you though, my boys plan on getting a thousand of you fuckers each before they drop, and I reckon that¡¯s without counting the other help they¡¯ll get.¡±


    Venka¡¯s face was unreadable, but even that told Collin that his words had hit home. The General had not hidden his expressions before, that he did now¡­It implied he considered them something worth hiding. Something that might tip his hand.


    He¡¯d believed him. Had he? He couldn¡¯t be sure.


    Venka was staring, scrutinising, studying Collin. That was bad, his mask wouldn¡¯t hold up long under as practised an eye as his. He had to do something, and do it fast. His sole advantage would be surprise and secrecy, he¡¯d hold onto them even if it killed him.


    ¡°You might want to think twice before your bombardments, by the way.¡± Collin added. ¡°We have your Necromancer, Sphera, in our city. Tied up, bound, powerless. Very much at risk of being killed by a stray catapult shot.¡±


    The General didn¡¯t wince, or flinch, or even hesitate. He only smiled.


    ¡°I see.¡± He answered, voice slick like oil on water. ¡°Excellent, then with luck she will perish in the siege and allow me the chance to further rise in status unimpeded by her emotional idiocy.¡± The man turned, moving away without so much as pausing, and relieving Collin by leaving his eyes off from his face.


    ¡°Good day, Collin Baird.¡± Venka replied, frostily. ¡°And good luck in your pointless last stand.¡±


    Collin watched Venka leave, and tried to work out whether he¡¯d won the exchange or not. He¡¯d find out, he supposed, by either dying or living the next day.


    Venka was long gone when Gyvain next spoke, his voice a tight growl.


    ¡°Good work on not skewering the smarmy bastard.¡± He grunted. ¡°Barely avoided it myself.¡±


    Collin just nodded, finding his mouth suddenly dry. He¡¯d expected more rage, or to feel it more harshly, but he hadn¡¯t gone hot and blind when Venka arrived. Just cold and jagged. Like his father always talked about.


    ¡°Think he bought it?¡± Collin asked, his voice made a strangled whisper by sheer nerves. Gyvain laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.


    ¡°I nearly fucking bought it myself for a second there, you magnificent little bastard!¡± He chuckled. ¡°Now come on, sir, we have more preparation to do.¡±


    Collin was escorted back to the inner fort, and felt the sour taste return to his mouth. The Governor¡¯s quarter, the military quarter, the centre of the city. Their last stand. He¡¯d neglected it for a good few days, kept himself focused on everything except it, and then he¡¯d finally run out of other things to do. Finally run out of excuses not to start fortifying their last stand.


    It was a sickening task to work on. Hard to feel it had any relevance, not out of scepticism but simply because to seriously consider it meant humouring a scenario in which the city was lost, its citizens rendered the playthings of their enemies. It was a scenario where Venka would have all of Kaltan¡¯s supplies to salvage and sustain his army, where he would control the territory around using the outer walls as his own refuge. Where he could camp indefinitely until starvation displaced the remaining defenders from their remaining defence.


    But Collin put himself to work quickly, all the same. For no other reason than the simple, immutable fact that he was Governor. Governor, General, leader. And if that meant the most he could manage was buying his people a few months more, then that was what he¡¯d do.


    He started setting up the ranged defences, calling on wood and twine to assemble catapults, ballista and trebuchets.


    If the most he could do was buy a few more months, then he would. But Collin rather wanted to make that fucker Venka bleed a few more troops in any case.

 Chapter 65

    Venka had fallen for Collin¡¯s feigned stupidity, and he¡¯d sent a great mass of his forces to attack the centre. Doubtless, he had believed his enemy to be a fool, believed that there would be a hundred Rangers awaiting the assault with long knives and shortswords. He had been wrong of course, because awaiting them there had been only one thing. Silenos Shaiagrazni¡¯s new weapon.


    Collin would have been a liar if he¡¯d claimed to understand what it was or how it worked, but he understood the results. He understood the results very, very fucking well, and he was rather fond of them.


    Weird things, they were big, bony. Like they¡¯d been carved from the skeleton of some great creature long dead and rotten. The main structure was cylindrical, maybe a half-foot wide and stretching as long from arse to face as a tall man lying down. The back end of it curved down into a thickly built platform welded into the bone surface of the walls, built onto a platform designed to shift forwards when pushed. That was the part that made it possible to keep them hidden from the outside, just a few feet, just a few degrees, but it ensured the enemy¡¯s scouts wouldn¡¯t be getting a clear line of sight to them.


    Not that they¡¯d have been likely to recognise the weapons, no more than Collin had. Far as he knew they were something new, something unheard of. Something more sudden and unprecedented in the ugly art of killing than anything else since one man had first taken a rock to the skull of another.


    The enemy found that much out the hard way.


    Orcs, mostly. Made sense, Venka had been sending them against Rangers in his own mind, against death itself. He¡¯d want savagery, and he¡¯d expect death. Orcs were always the most replaceable and expendable for that bastard.


    It was orcs he sent, and it was orcs the weapons- Shaiagrazni had called them ¡°cannons¡±- spat their burning death out into.


    Collin didn¡¯t understand what they were, or how they worked. But he understood the results, and the results were a wave of falling bodies running deep along the horde of charging enemies, a flight and rain of shredded meat and severed limbs, then a twist of blasted dirt and bloody mist. Too many died at once to be counted, entire chunks simply disappearing from the thousands-strong mass of bodies that came surging for Collin¡¯s wall. Their ladders disappeared as panicking orcs dropped them, then crushed them to splinters in retreat. It took only three volleys of the weapons to send the enemy scurrying away.


    Another minute had passed before the air was clear enough to let the ground look back up at them once more, and Collin almost puked when it did. He couldn¡¯t see the dirt, not really. It was covered in that many bodies. Pooled with that much blood, carpeted with that many smashed and discarded weapons.


    Collin didn¡¯t understand what they were, or how they worked. But he understood the cannons¡¯ results. He understood them enough to hope with every fibre of his being that House Shaiagrazni remained absent from his world.


    ***


    Crossbows weren¡¯t complicated, most men could learn to use them. Henri had learned enough, over the years, to use them fast. But it was the fear more than the knowledge that had his fingers dancing along the weapon, it was his desperation more than the experience that kept his muscles dragging the winch back tight.


    An orc came on with a ladder, a big, bastard orc with a big, bastard of a ladder. No human could have carried such a tall thing, no five humans, but it barely seemed to slow this bugger. The quarrel did a better job of that.


    Orcs were tough, and this one was well armoured, but the bolt was well aimed. It found that magic spot between heavy iron plates, cutting through the ringmail that protected its joint and digging a few inches into the meat below. Henri was already cocking another one by the time the blood was visible, and his next quarrel hit within a finger of the first. This time the mail was already weakened, and he saw half a hand less of the projectile as it embedded itself. The orc stumbled, gasped, fell. Its ladder took some of its bulk, left propped against the ground where one end bit into mud, and the thick wooden frame snapped. Henri turned his focus to the next enemy.


    Bolts, that was his work. There were men around him with spears, axes, swords. Rangers, the odd hedge Knight, some mercenaries with Vigour and vinegar in their balls, but they were the desert. He was the main course. Every siege started with bolts, and he¡¯d fought in more than a few sieges in his days. Twelve years of soldiering, all under a Baird, and he¡¯d be fucked if he outlived the old one by less than a decade.


    He drew, fired. Drew, fired. Drew and fucking fired. Snarled as he saw bolts bounce from thick iron, grinned as he watched them bite into the mail-wrapped gaps, laughed and whooped and bit back the urge to dance in satisfaction as one of them sank right through a helmet¡¯s eye slit and mashed up the soft brains beneath.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    A veteran was a reaper of souls in any fight, and none so much as a siege. Henri felt the snap of string in his weapon, the jitter of wood as it threw another murderous splinter out, and he reloaded again just as the first orc reached the walls. He nailed it in the spot where pauldron and gorget parted ways, and the angle was such that he nicked an artery deep enough to leave half its body painted red in seconds. The orc wasn¡¯t dead for even a moment before yet more came onto the wall, and a ladder with them. It was up in seconds, enemies scaling it in seconds more, angry iron flashing about in the dawn light.


    Desert had arrived.


    ***


    Patrick had a simple job, jobs tended to be simple for him. As complex as the actual study of magic was, as tasking and demanding as attaining true mastery had always been, there was an invariable lack of contrivance to the things one was generally asked to do with it.


    Focus, destroy things. That was about the gist of it, ninety nine times out of a hundred, and this was certainly not the hundredth. Today his target was incoming catapult stones. Patrick focused well.


    His power was one over flame, as potent a war magic as could be hoped for. He threw it out in great jets, concentrating the power such as to leave it forceful and kinetic as it struck the incoming projectiles, smashing rock into shrapnel, leaving chips of smouldering stone to rain down on attackers en masse. Each success was a dozen men saved behind the walls, if he¡¯d stopped a lucky shot. Each failure was a dozen deaths allowed. Patrick didn¡¯t feel any particular weight to either fact.


    They were people he held in his hands, but there was no time for that sort of consideration. He could ponder the philosophy of what he did when he had the wits to spare, for now they were all needed. Focus and destruction.


    Something scraped just a few feet to Patrick¡¯s left, and he looked down in time to see an axe. A great big axe with a great big orc on the other side of it, closing fast, swinging faster. He gasped, screamed, just about pissed himself and took a full step back all before thinking to do the one thing a man of his talents ought always to think of doing first. Using his magic. The flames wrapped around the orc like burning oil about a figure of wax, and he just barely caught its silhouette through the eye-stinging light. One step, two. By the third it was losing shape, iron armour running off its body in molten streams, pooling to form a hissing, spitting puddle on the battlements at its feet. The orc fell in that puddle before taking a fourth step.


    Patrick never got to laugh, globules of metal splashed out from the impact, and a few caught his face. He fell just as the orc had, screaming louder than ever, and more clambered over their burning comrade¡¯s corpse to crush his underfoot.


    ***


    Gyvain hadn¡¯t run out of arrows, but he¡¯d run out of time. The orcs were on the wall, and that meant that in a few more moments the humans wouldn¡¯t be. Unless he was quick.


    He was always quick, though. That was what it meant to be a Ranger. Not shiny and proud, not grinning and smug, not strong and tough. All that was Knight¡¯s business- fool¡¯s business. Rangers were quick, careful, nasty. Baird had been teaching that lesson for decades, and Gyvain reckoned he¡¯d learned it before anyone else.


    His knives were quick, too. And they were most certainly nasty. Each one found a different eyehole as the orcs stormed on, plucked back out of helmeted skulls with a twist and a jerk to leave the newly-made corpses thrashing on the floor. Some idiot splashed himself with molten metal a few yards to the right, and Gyvain saw more orcs glance over at the heat and light. By the time they¡¯d focused again, he¡¯d cut another dozen arteries and cleared the section of wall up nicely.


    That was when the easy part stopped, because it was an elite that came up next. One of Venka¡¯s favourites. It towered a full stride over Gyvain¡¯s height and probably a war horse¡¯s weight over his mass, coming at him like some giant statue had gained the power of movement. He feinted low, then darted left, knives flashing, scraping uselessly along iron plate and iron mail. Armour that thick, he might have pissed on it and done more. At least piss-soaked metal might rust.


    A hammer was this orc¡¯s weapon of choice, its shaft as long as Gyvain was tall, its head as big as a brick and seemingly solid iron all the way through. It whipped for him fast, almost catching him, sending a few hand-long cracks along the bony shell of the wall as it impacted it. Gyvain swung his own weapons, felt steel scrape off mail, swore and backed up. He¡¯d spun his way around the orc¡¯s body, kept his back to the side the rest were coming in from. If another one cleared the ladder while he fought, he was fucked. But that was combat, risks. Sometimes the best you could do was work out which one measured the smallest, then take that instead of the others.


    The hammer came again, again, Gyvain kept on backing up. He was two yards from the wall¡¯s edge, then one, then barely a foot. The orc closed just as he found his arse kissing the fringe, its hammer forgotten in favour of a single, grasping hand.


    Gyvain¡¯s knives bounced off its visor, blinding the orc for a precious moment and letting him move with his newly freed hands. He grabbed the outstretched wrist with both hands, hopped back to plant his heels on the wall, then kicked out. He and the orc both fell back, bodies tumbling over the edge inexorably, and Gyvain moved fast.


    Rangers were quicker than men, and quicker than warriors. They couldn¡¯t cut through armour, not even with Gyvain¡¯s talent and experience, but train enough, fight enough, grow enough, and even gravity felt slow to a person. Slow enough for him to climb the orc¡¯s body even as it slowly accelerated downwards, and leave himself rolling back onto the wall just as it fully fell off.


    A ton of meat and metal landed hard just moments later, audible even over the snarling fight occurring at every place around. Gyvain stood, grunting, and readied his spare blades. Another orc was up just as he was, this one barely smaller than the last.

 Chapter 66

    It wasn¡¯t going well, not at all. Collin recognised a testing blow when he saw one, mere fodder thrown at the walls in great volumes, sent to die in droves and expose useful weaknesses in the process. Well, they were certainly dying. And the fact that Venka could order so much death for knowledge alone said more about the General¡¯s resources than his skill.


    Galukar, where the fuck are you?


    Easy to call the King useless, easy to spit at his feat, when the bastard was standing idle and passing judgement on workers. So much harder to prop himself up by his morals when the matter of killing turned up. Collin watched his right flank threaten to crumble, orcish elites mixed in with the grunts, easily one for every score, and found himself wondering how quickly that tide would be reversed if he had the Godblade¡¯s Master to throw into it.


    Then he pushed his thoughts elsewhere. Wondering about what he didn¡¯t have was a surefire way to waste that little time remaining in his grasp.


    He didn¡¯t need to look around to find the suitable bunch of reinforcements, not physically. Collin had reserved a dozen battalions for just such occasions, and memorised each one. There still came a few moments of mental flailing as he searched his own mind for the information, thoughts somehow slowed by the daunting scale of his novel new assignment.


    ¡°The Third.¡± He commanded, knowing without looking that his orders were being sent down the line. ¡°I want the Third up there on that section, order them to form a wall before they ascend, it¡¯s going to be bloody vicious fighting and I don¡¯t want to lose any more than is necessary in this shit an assault.¡±


    It was already vicious fighting, as far as the eye could see. Collin saw nothing but dying men and killing men and three or four enemies for each one, their defence sustained only by the sole grace of being affixed to a wall that kept the foe from really bringing their numbers to bear. But there were siege towers coming, now, tall and plated in iron, ready to meet whatever counter-fire would strike them and come on anyway.


    ¡°I want the cannons on them.¡± He barked, a cold fear rushing through him. Four or five orcs at once spilling onto a wall from a shielded passage would be the end of it, that much Collin knew. There¡¯d be no displacing them by simply cutting a chain, as with the scaling force from the other day. If a siege tower touched down, it might well spell the defeat of their entire defence.


    He watched the cannons move out, and found himself able to do nothing but pray.


    <hr>


    Gyvain hadn¡¯t expected the windmage¡¯s help, and he hadn¡¯t needed it. But he¡¯d have died without it. He was a big enough man to admit that much, and a desperate enough man to not feel the slightest twitch of bitterness at seeing the killing power thrown out by a man so much more youthful and green than himself.


    Cutting currents scraped the air, picking orcs and undead up to send them spinning from the walls, or driving chunks of mortar into them with bone-smashing velocity. It was a destruction possible only to one with magic, and no small measure of it. But Gyvain had seen far more skilled casters of far less talent. Falls was distracted, he realised. There could not have been a worse time than that moment for such things, but it was the nature of a magus to be inconvenient in their disposition. He got back to killing anyway.


    <hr>


    The attack had lasted a day, and the focus had intensified into a crescendo, when Ensharia finally made her move. It felt almost surreal to do, after her time of inactivity and imprisonment. Minds had inertia just as bodies did, and to suddenly spur oneself into action was a jarring thing. There was no choice now, though.


    General Venka, fortunately, seemed busy conducting his siege still. Ensharia had counted on that, counted on the old narcissist being obsessive over his enemy¡¯s unexpected resistance, counted on him monomaniacally focusing on breaking through their defences regardless. Counted on the nice, big lull that would leave in his observations around his own camp.


    Of course he had not been so careless as to leave them entirely unobserved, perish the thought. Ensharia had to keep herself cautious, and keep her allies well hidden, as they made preparations. But the moment came eventually. A particularly dramatic flourish of the siege, a row of distracted guards, a carefully worn-down chain then snapped in one explosive lunge. She had cleared the way in moments.


    It was thanks to the Saviour that, even worn down and exhausted by the passing days, Ensharia had enough strength to wring the necks of two orcs before either could make a sound. A stab of guilt hit her at the deed, but she buried it. These weren¡¯t her friends, they weren¡¯t even innocents. They were enemies, serving perhaps the worst man she¡¯d ever seen.


    She turned to find Garutan eying the display, a look of hurt disgust painted across his features. Ensharia felt it inspire very much the same sensation within herself.


    ¡°They are¡­¡± He breathed, looking away suddenly. Ensharia forced her heart to harden. There were times for kindness and compassion, times for steel and resolve. To be a Paladin was to be capable of both, and she knew that now called for the latter.


    ¡°Dead.¡± She replied. ¡°Now let¡¯s hurry, we don¡¯t have long.¡±


    Shargon was the first to move, as Ensharia might have expected. He was no colder or crueller than the others, but far more mentally nimble, and endlessly practical. He knelt beside one guard to claim their arms, then handed the others¡¯ weapon over to Garutan. The larger orc hesitated a moment before accepting it, swallowing with nerves.


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    It hadn¡¯t been hard to free them, numbering only three as they had, and boasting such an excess of physical strength. What came next would be harder still. There were thousands of chained orcs in dozens of rows, and all were watched by their own squads of guards. Ensharia would need swiftness and brutality worked as one to manage her task.


    Not for the first time, she felt the loss of her companions. Not a group of friends- never that- but they had been beyond effective. Falls or King Galukar might have made a considerable distraction, and the Saviour would surely have defeated any chains Venka had mustered with no issue at all. She buried the sense of worry their absence sprouted, moving on.


    Firstly, Ensharia found the hardest band of slaves she could. One composed, she had carefully learned beforehand, of former warriors from the many tribes crushed and absorbed by Venka¡¯s war machine. They would serve as a vital aid in keeping their momentum going.


    Guarding them were orcish warriors, but not elites. Their bodies clattered with boiled leather bound around slabs of iron, but none so solid as plate, and their wearers not half the equals of Venka¡¯s greatest warriors. Ensharia fell upon them like a plague. Her only weapon was the half-severed length of thick chain once used to bind her, but its sheer weight proved enough to split open skulls and ruin limbs wherever it touched. Within the span of a half minute she¡¯d slain each of the ten or so guards around her prize, then she got to freeing the slaves.


    ¡°What is happening?¡± Asked one of them, instantly. He was a large orc, as the most confident and assertive of their kind tended to be, but did not seem as aggressive as he did cautious. Ensharia spoke with as soothing a tone as could be made, in spite of the adrenal convulsions of her vocal chords.


    ¡°We¡¯re freeing ourselves.¡± She replied, quickly. ¡°And you may help if you¡¯d like.¡±


    The orc blanched.


    ¡°Venka will kill us.¡± He replied, staring at her as if she were the one to pass the sentence. In a way, Ensharia supposed, she was.


    ¡°Only if he captures us all again, if you don¡¯t want that to happen then you¡¯d best get to work on helping us gain more slaves on our side and bolster the break-out.¡±


    If it had been a human she was speaking to, or a particularly clever orc like Shargon, Ensharia might have feared he¡¯d think to simply attack her with his hundred or so companions and try to apprehend her. She wasn¡¯t certain a hundred slaves would even fail to best her, unarmed as they were, with such warrior backgrounds and natural strength. But the idea did not seem to occur.


    Precious minutes slipped by as Ensharia helped free the rest of the line, and the orcs soon armed themselves in a fashion that was as crude as it was practical. They tore tent pegs from the great pavilions set up around, or smashed great clubs out of the palisades at the edge of the camp. Some even thrust their hands into dirt and ground to pry free boulders as bludgeoning weapons. It seemed the world was malleable, for creatures with so many times a man¡¯s strength, and soon enough she had behind her hundreds of shoddily armed, but armed nonetheless, warriors tested in combat and growing more eager for it by the moment.


    It was just in time for them to be unleashed as the first wave of guards came to investigate the noise of their disturbances.


    Ensharia had seen undead eating men alive, and more beside. The years of war against the Dark Lord had washed the continent with some of the worst carnage in its entire history, and her earliest years had been spent in the beginnings of that conquest. But she had yet to see slaves turn upon their jailors, or men swarm against traitors. To witness both at once was a sight so savage in its violence as to almost transcend savagery.


    Guards were simply taken from their feet, like leaves caught by a gale. Those few who were far stronger than their brethren lasted moments before being seized from enough sides and bludgeoned in enough ways to surrender likewise, and in seconds the battle was done. What followed grew only more twisted.


    Clubs came down upon armour, then limbs and skulls as the iron quickly broke away. Punches and kicks fell like rain, interfering with one another in their volume, their victims kept alive only by the inefficiencies of so many at once attempting to strike them. Bodies broke, then broke more as they were hoisted up, grabbed and torn in every direction. Skin parted, blood spilled, limbs detached from torsos while skulls gave in to leave grey brain tissue spilling out in a visceral shower.


    There was no concern of quietude or stealth, only hurting the men who had spent so long watching the slaves hurt. Ensharia didn¡¯t even consider trying to stop it. Whatever control she¡¯d had as the one to free these orcs, she had lost it the moment they fell into their frenzy. Within the span of this barbarity, anywhere touched by blood, there was no master but murder itself. And it was obeyed with relish.


    By the time everything had finally finished, their position was known. Ensharia stood high atop a flagpole to watch as guards hurried over by the dozen- too many to simply be swarmed as the first few had, with their weapons and training.


    ¡°We need to galvanise.¡± Shargon growled, from below. He always had a grasp of the most important things. ¡°You go and get the other slaves, leave this to me and Garutan, we¡¯ll be trusted more than you.¡±


    Ensharia didn¡¯t need to ask why. Fellow prisoner or not, she was still a human, and these orcs hadn¡¯t exactly had the best experience of her species. She hurried to do as he said, letting only one glance fall over her shoulder as she saw Shargon growling something to the half-maddened slaves, gesturing repeatedly to Garutan as he did. Their own group at least had not joined in the carnage.


    But that wouldn¡¯t help anyone if they didn¡¯t gain some measure of coherence, and even that would mean nothing without yet more numbers. Ensharia hurried.


    It was long work, hard work, dangerous work. But it was work Ensharia did well.


    One chain of freed slaves became two, then five, then twenty. By the thirtieth minute since her escape the alarm was ringing out among the camp, and thousands of orcs stood waiting and twitching with nerves. Bereft of their chains, and bequeathed with an urge to unleash no less than the monstrous violence she¡¯d seen before.


    Ensharia forced herself not to look at Garutan or those few others who seemed more sickened than excited by the idea, speaking quickly.


    ¡°We can run now!¡± She called out. ¡°But Venka will probably take Kaltan, and once done he¡¯ll only hunt us all down to recapture. Our options to flee are non-existent. But he¡¯s distracted now, busied with the siege. And if we were to crush his forces from behind¡­¡±


    She watched the distant horizon, where a siege tower was torn nearly in half by some impact so quick and forceful she couldn¡¯t even make out the projectile as a blur.


    ¡°...Then these defenders might well exhaust his armies enough that they can¡¯t pursue us. Might well let us into their walls to further defend them. The choice is yours.¡±


    The choice was theirs, because there was simply no other way to draw in recently freed men for another fight but to make it their decision. Ensharia was not surprised to find many choosing not to follow.


    But she was not surprised to see so many more choosing to do so, either. Perhaps they were practical, perhaps they simply wanted blood, or perhaps the thought of fleeing scared them. She really couldn¡¯t guess why they began plucking stolen weapons from the dead guards.


    And it truly didn¡¯t matter. She had her force, and was not slow in leading them on.

 Chapter 67

    It had been long odds from the start, Ensharia knew. Numbers aside, her newly recruited orcs were far from the finest soldiers, and nothing near the equals of those under Venka¡¯s command. She fought at the front, as they slammed into the edge of the war camp and took a horde of soldiers just around a siege tower. Shock and the confusion of seeing fellow orcs falling upon them bought precious minutes and yet more precious lives as they cut into Venka¡¯s forces, Ensharia herself wielding a stolen mace to take off heads and ruin torsos with every swing.


    But there had always been long odds.


    A spear came at her, a big, nasty spear with great big points on one end and a great big orc on the other. Ensharia didn¡¯t have time to parry, so she blocked with her arm- felt the metal sink a half inch through her reinforced flesh, then brushed it aside and brought the mace down on its wielder. Her blow squeezed brain matter out through the helmeted orc¡¯s eyeholes, and she stepped over the thrashing corpse to find her next enemy.


    Behind her, Garutan had finally started fighting in earnest. The man was not blind with rage, like some of his allies, but he didn¡¯t hesitate either.


    There had been no missing Garutan¡¯s size from the start, between his height and breadth he surely weighed double or more what most of the other orcs did, even starved and worked in slavery. But Ensharia couldn¡¯t have known the Vigour dwelling in his body beneath the bulk.


    A grunt escaped him, not a roar. Nothing more than the product of exertive muscles and tensing lungs, powering his arms along in a great arc as the axe they held split an armoured orc almost cully in half. Entrails spurted out, sloshing across the faces of an entire row among the enemy, blinding them for the vital moments Garutan needed to take his weapon to them once more. He slew in every direction, felling enemies like they were trees, standing, it seemed, in a fathom-wide circle carpeted by blood and pulped flesh, and rimmed by wavering, hesitant enemies too intimidated by the orc¡¯s bottomless might to come nearer.


    Another spear, Ensharia swatted it aside only to find a great hammer slipping in under her guard. She had no armour of Fleshcrafted resilience, that had been taken from her when she was captured, and so only bare ribs were left to resist the impact. It was enough to throw her from her feet and back into the ranks of her orcs, knocking the wind from her. Ensharia was jostled, shoved and fell into the mud, wheezing for breath while feet and weapons slammed down all around her.


    Her head was clipped by a heel, then caught outright by another. Vision blurring for a moment as preternatural resilience contested impossible weight, then her thoughts regained clarity.


    Ensharia barely even realised she was screaming as she rose, swinging, then swinging again. She¡¯d soon smashed a space out of the enemy¡¯s mass of bodies no smaller than Garutan¡¯s own, but it was too little.


    She was one woman, her enemies a thousand orcs, and among them were Elites. She could tell even then her hastily-assembled horde of starving slaves was thinning quickly in numbers, and more quickly by far in morale.


    There hadn¡¯t been enough orcs on her side, or else too many on Venka¡¯s. They had chosen the wrong moment, waited too long or too little. They¡¯d missed their chance, and she¡¯d led thousands to death.


    Ensharia swung one last time, saw an orc step into her guard even as she downed another, and braced herself for its sword to fall. But the blade did not oblige her, and when she fought back her wince and opened her eyes anew, blood was wet and warm on her face where it gushed from the enemy¡¯s opened up throat.


    She saw a flash of spinal bone poking out through the jagged wound, then the orc dropped back and Swick the Swift stepped out from aside its jittering corpse. He had knives, two of them. Ugly things, crude and thick, but more than sharp enough to do the work that needed doing. More than sharp enough in the hands of a Hero, in any case.


    He moved like quicksilver, and the orcs like slow lead. Swick merely appeared in one place, with dead men falling away from him, then disappeared to re-emerge elsewhere amid another spout of ichor. Ensharia couldn¡¯t tell what was his translocative magic and what was sheer, simple speed, but she knew where he was always by the living men who weren¡¯t there with him. And their own side saw it, too.


    It was palpable, the realisation among her orcs. Then tangible, and then it was a mighty current of will and rage resurging at their backs. They charged on ever more fiercely as their enemy¡¯s cohesion broke around Swick¡¯s attacks from within, and Ensharia charged faster and harder than any other.


    Collin¡¯s father had been balding before his death, he¡¯d been balding for years. He¡¯d always wondered why, always laughed when he¡¯d been told stress might have anything to do with it. His first command, as a general at least, had educated him on exactly what the causal relationship there might have been.


    If he felt any greater weight of emotion against mind, his wits would surely be squeezed out the ears like butter from a churn. He could hardly have retained less control of the fucking conflict in that eventuality, because it had long since progressed from disadvantaged fight to bloody chaotic mess even in spite of his orders.


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    ¡°Sir, the retreat is finished.¡± Said one soldier, who Collin didn¡¯t recognise. He was his messenger, he thought, one of them at least. It was rather hard to track them. Half the originals had been killed, two thirds of those who remained were in comas, and most of the ones now serving were hastily conscripted non-combatants made to keep the chain of command from snapping like-


    -One of the walls imploded, crumbling as Venka¡¯s new weapons finished chewing through and letting dozens of tonnes of stone and mortar fall inwards like the perfect metaphor for Collin¡¯s situation. Bastards, they¡¯d made him poetic.


    Venka¡¯s new weapons. Oh, those had been a surprise. And about as pleasant of one as a spear up the arse. A few weeks ago Collin would¡¯ve been stumped as to what they were, now he was just suspicious.


    After all, Silenos Shaiagrazni had taught him to recognise cannons when he laid eyes upon them.


    ¡°I want the Rangers, all of them.¡± Collin replied, after a moment, watching the wall further crumble and drawing the very obvious conclusion. Their defence in the martial district would not live long past its infancy, another withdrawal would be needed. Into the very keep itself.


    Into the very laboratory of Silenos Shaiagrazni.


    ¡°General, you must-¡±


    Another cannon shot, Collin was rather amused by the regularity with which they seemed to be interrupting conversation of late. This one struck the stone far above his head, projectile gouging a great, jagged rent from one corner of a towering building and leaving mortar to rain down. He moved quickly, shoving the messenger down, shielding him with his own body and wincing as fist-sized rocks peppered and bounced from his back.


    It was a petty pain, less than the punches of orcs- and Collin had long inured himself to those.


    ¡°Leave, now.¡± He ordered the messenger, watching him scurry away, then sweeping his eyes back to the final wall of the district. The men were fleeing from it already, unable to continue their defence now that enemies were swarming through breaches to attack them from behind.


    Less than half, Collin thought, would manage their escape back to the rear lines. His error had been calling the retreat too late, and it had killed men. He buried the thought like so many others of its kind and turned himself to hurry back as well.


    Collin found his own path easier, guarded by soldiers and wardens, as the ways of generals seemed always to be. Within minutes he was surveying the entire battle from a new vantage point, one of many balconies in the keep. He did so with an eyeglass, finding a rare limit to his Ranger¡¯s sight in the extreme distances involved.


    It had been hard to deny from the start, but after seeing the bizarre chaos at the back of Venka¡¯s forces diffuse into subsequent, smaller explosions of violence over the following days, Collin had come to conclude that his initial, instinctive guess had been right. There was friction in the General¡¯s camp- a lot of it.


    He¡¯d spread word at once, of course, having not coined even a lie which would have positively imprinted on morale as well and extensively as the simple truth of such a thing. Over the hours, though, that fact had started to wear thin as far as comforts went. No doubt it was the main reason their defences still held strong, but even it couldn¡¯t distract from the ever-tightening noose of orcs and- increasingly, now- undead closing in around them.


    The keep was all they had left, and they barely even had the men required to fill it. Collin wondered idly how many he¡¯d sent to their deaths by insisting upon fighting Venka. Most who had defended, he was certain of that much, and it was no small thing to admit.


    Of all the battles he¡¯d read up on throughout history, and all the great victories or crushing defeats, a scarce few had featured losses so severe as even half of either side¡¯s starting men. And here he was, standing bereft of surely more than two thirds his own soldiers. What sort of general was that?


    A bad one, Collin decided. It was, perhaps, the first correct decision he¡¯d made over the course of this entire smegging siege.


    ¡°General!¡± Came a messenger¡¯s voice, speaking that wretched, sickening word apparently heedless of the chill it sent crawling down Collin¡¯s spine. Call him scum, animal, but not general. Anything but that.


    ¡°What is it now?¡± Collin asked, forcing his voice to the appropriate heights of arrogance and certainty. It was, surprisingly, not hard. ¡°Is the sky falling, or has the Devil come up from beneath? Both at once, maybe?¡±


    If the messenger found his joke funny, he was in too much of a rush to even reply with the ceremonially appropriate nod.


    ¡°No, general, I¡­I¡¯m sorry, it¡¯s Gyvain.¡±


    Collin¡¯s blood ran cold.


    ¡°Where?¡± He asked.


    ¡°At the first breach.¡± The man replied, misunderstanding the question entirely.


    Collin had wanted to know where the old bastard was resting with his wounds. Evidently, he hadn¡¯t been taken back.


    ¡°One of the enemy¡¯s new weapons, a piece of debris from the impact clipped him, then the orcs overran his position. I¡­I am sorry, I was told he died well.¡±


    That, Collin knew, was a lie. There was no dying well, just dying sooner or later. Gyvain¡¯s sooner had been staved off longer than might have been expected, at least. He sighed.


    ¡°How long until we have all the remaining Rangers assembled, and what are their numbers?¡±


    ¡°Minutes at most, general.¡± The messenger replied. ¡°I¡¯m told there are fifty-two remaining.¡±


    Fifty fucking two, less than half their previous numbers. Kaltan was a ruin already, and ruined more with every passing moment. Collin let a snarl of anger escape him, throwing an aimless punch which clipped a fancy bit of stonework and sent it cracking free of the railing.


    ¡°Have them diffuse across the highest places in the keep, I want their range put to good use picking off enemy officers. Waste none of them in melee any longer, they¡¯re to snipe only.¡±


    Was that another order he ought to have given sooner, or would they already have been defeated had he not left his quickest, greatest killers fighting in the various breaches? Always decisions, never answers.


    The messenger looked to be on the verge of agreeing, then paused and stared out. Collin followed his gaze, wincing as he anticipated the sight of some lich flying at him ready to tear him apart.


    He saw none. Instead his eyes were met by the sight of King Galukar.

 Chapter 68

    Galukar was so old. He had been old fifty years ago, even. Venerable thirty years after that- and then the disease had come to chew at his vitality. His body had wasted and rotted, until all the strength that was available to him was derived from the Godblade.


    He was not a Hero any more, just a human vessel to channel the power of that relic, and even its magic could only prolong a man¡¯s life for so long. Galukar knew his days were limited, and he could feel the weariness of all those he¡¯d yet lived weighing down upon his shoulders. One day, one day soon, he would die. The thought was a candle in the dark.


    But for now he lived, and while he lived he had to fight. It had been selfish enough, already, to keep himself chambered in isolation for so long. Selfish enough for even his long lifetime. Galukar surged on to put an end to his petty failure.


    They were potent, these enemies, and numerous too. Swarming in for the keep from every direction there was. Evidently something had gone very wrong in the siege, something he hadn¡¯t the time or means to check, and the results were an attack that could be bottlenecked only in the very corridors of their fortifications.


    And so that was where Galukar met it. With the Godblade held tight and a roar erupting from him, he announced himself in a storm of screaming iron and rippling air. The enemy seemed as pleased to meet him as ever.


    One orc came in, one of the huge, iron-clad ones he¡¯d been told were called Elites. There wasn¡¯t much difference between it and the others, so far as Galukar could tell. Perhaps its elite training had been to keep the head hanging on by a thread, rather than removed entirely, for that was all that separated it from its kin. Then he was crashing past the corpse and swinging again. A row of orcs were split apart, another dismembered likewise. One of the undead- a Fomori- shot for Galukar like an arrow, and he barely sidestepped in time to take its legs off as it stumbled by him.


    The thing was not permitted to rise before his Godblade found a new hilt in its torso, cutting deep through until it found the point where the skull met spine, then separating them from one another with a sharp twist. Rotting blood filled the air and tortured his nostrils as Galukar turned back to the hall of his enemy¡¯s entrance, surveying the flood.


    If he estimated their numbers to a thousand, he might have killed five. As things were he knew he had slain a great deal more than that, and yet the tide of bodies seemed to be swelling, not receding. It was the dangerous sight of a siege close to unwinnable, an enemy already past city walls in such numbers could scarcely be further reduced by whatever remained inside.


    Well, that was fine. Galukar was certain he¡¯d fought himself from deadlier spots, once or twice. Though none quite came to mind. He got on with the killing, doing what he could to thin the tides ever more.


    An orc fell from him in two pieces, a Fomori spasmed as its neck bones were crushed to paste. A Dullahan, insanely, attempted a mere frontal assault which ended in predictable carnage, and through it all the Godblade came up and down like the scythe of a farmer. It had grown muddy with blood, that¡¯s how much blood there was, necrotic fluids and viscera now forming a repugnant crust around the metal where it fissured one body after another. Galukar was struck by the reek of it all at every moment, almost overwhelmed. He knew a lesser man would perish to the innate toxicity of such close undead exposure near instantly. For him, it was just an annoyance adding further fuel to the flames of his rage.


    ¡°Galukar!¡± He heard a voice, almost felt it pull him from the killing frenzy that befell all effective warriors. Galukar did not turn, realising it came from his back and was made by human lungs. ¡°It¡¯s King Galukar! He¡¯s returned!¡±


    There was hope in that voice, and with hope came a bolstering of morale and rigidity that could, and had, turned the tide of many battles. He¡¯d seen it himself, relished it himself. But he was old, now. So very old.


    Don¡¯t cheer my coming, fools. I could have been with you all this time if I¡¯d not been such a coward.


    They cheered, in spite of his thoughts. As if the sun were shining from Galukar¡¯s body, as if he had brought with him a body of ten thousand Knights and five hundred magi to bolster them. As if he were a man made of stories and myths, rather than weakness and fear.


    A Fomori almost caught him in the side of the head with one of its razory tendrils, and Galukar felt a surge of rage displace the guilt. He killed it slow and savagely, then kicked its carcass into the front row of enemies to keep them tied by its weight while he fell upon them from the side.


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    Galukar swung, swung, swung. Then he gasped as his blows finished peeling back the ranks of putrid undead to reveal a new quartet emerging from them. His eyes stung with tears at the sight of his reanimated sons, and his muscles froze with indecision. They came nearer, readying their blows, and still he remained. How could he fight them? How could he even move aside, if they wished for his life?


    How could he deny his boys the justice of seeing their killer¡¯s life end?


    Something coursed through the air, and it became solid in an instant. Smashing sidelong into a falling sword to send it off-course, and before the next was coming Galukar felt a wind cast him backwards along the corridor. He landed behind Arion Falls.


    The boy was different, and perhaps not for the better. He seemed leaner, haunted, but the look in his eyes was that of a killer. Desperate and emptied, with nothing left but the fight. It was a useful one to see at his side, and it spurred him into motion. Galukar got to his feet, staring, searching for the right words.


    ***


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± King Galukar asked, and Arion had to resist the urge to sneer at the moron. Perhaps his Master was influencing him more than he thought.


    ¡°Saving you,¡± He replied, ¡°Now get up and start fighting or we¡¯re both dead.¡±


    There was no exaggeration in his words, the armour-clad undead- Galukar¡¯s sons- were coming on fast as anything Arion had seen before. They moved like Knights, long hours of training and care evident in every move, but had that feral magical potency noticeable in all undead. Writ more. It was easy to recall the fear of being chased by them now, but Arion found himself without any scrap of it.


    Was it just what had happened with his Master? A simple fact of realising his own worthlessness that made the thought of fearing death laughable? Certainly, his new powers could not have hurt.


    Arion drew on his magic quickly and shaped it into shadestuff. His lessons all clicked together like some Rartynchan mechanism, gears grinding, cogs sliding, and he found the substance answering his call as will seeped in through the abyss to give it form and mass. It was off-centre, he knew, far from that perfect median point of the spectrum that made Master Shaiagrazni¡¯s able to eat through so much steel, but there was an instinctual fear of it imbued within him nonetheless. Superstition, or his gut sensing that which his higher thoughts lacked the knowledge to predict? There was only one way to find out.


    Walriq had made issues for Master Shaiagrazni by deflecting his shadestuff with potent currents of wind, exploiting its mass to send it flying back at the creator. Arion used much the same technique now, but with his own. He cast the shadestuff out in rapid globules moving arrow-fast and pelting the approaching enemies faster than they could react, watching as it burst apart to coat armour and mail.


    Black steam hissed from wherever the shadestuff touched, and Arion watched the metal recede like ice doused in boiling water. But the erosion was too slow, and too little. His enemies were on him the instant later, primed and ready to end his life.


    Then King Galukar barged him aside, catching three swords at once along the edge of the Godblade. For a single instant he remained locked in place against the trio of undead, even while the fourth moved to slip around his side. Arion sent that one stumbling back with a jet of wind, and a moment later the King let out a roar and forced his strength against the enemies¡¯ with a mighty heave.


    A tree might have stood before him and not offered as much resistance, or even a castle gate. Nonetheless, the undead were sent sprawling as their balances gave and their bodies shot back before Galukar¡¯s prowess.


    For one, wonderful moment Arion thought the old king would actually snap from his stupor and start helping. Then he froze again, and stumbled back as his sons rose to their feet. Arion snarled, more shadestuff leaping to his hands, winds carrying it out as another volley. The undeads¡¯ armour was looking worn, now, but not nearly as much as it needed to.


    The closest was on him within the moment, sword barely missing as Arion helped it to one side with a blast of wind. More shadestuff, this time carefully angled into its face, globules breaking off to slip through eye holes and eat at the flesh below. It started twitching, froze up just long enough for Arion to throw it back at the others, and he continued backing away as one was knocked down and two more continued to close.


    ¡°I need your help!¡± He cried to King Galukar, not having the time to so much as glance his way before the undead closed further. Arion put up a wall, which shattered instantly as they crashed into it, but bought him time enough for another blast of shadestuff. It might have hit an already-eaten part of the closest one¡¯s armour, might even have put it down, had the sword not come up to block the magic substance. That single move kept an extra enemy in the fight, and so when Arion sent the other stumbling, there was one left to attack him.


    The sword came low and bit him right under the ribs, cutting through meat and gristle, then exiting around his belly. The strength left him instantly.


    Arion was falling, and it felt like a long time. But the ground was all that caught him. His body hit it without sensation, mind bouncing around, drifting suddenly. It was hard to focus, hard to notice where the sensations of his flesh were starting or stopping. From one corner of his eye he caught movement, tilting his face slightly to see King Galukar closing in. There was a look of horror upon the man¡¯s face, a novel sight which Arion might almost have smiled at. Had he still possessed the strength and responsive flesh needed to produce a smile.


    Galukar¡¯s sword was out, shoulders squared, voice hollow. It all felt so surreal.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He croaked. ¡°I¡¯m¡­Forgive me.¡±


    The undead came on, and so did the king.

 Chapter 69

    A man was dying, and it was Galukar¡¯s fault. Many men had died already, many more were dying as he moved even now, but this one had happened in front of him. This one, he¡¯d known. He was no Hero, just a worm writhing in the dirt.


    One sword came, and Galukar slapped it aside. Another slipped around, missing as he ducked it, then the Godblade found that crease where pauldron and breastplate parted.


    The offending undead lost its arm in a single stroke, falling back from the momentum as two more swings came after Galukar. Neither caught him, parried just as the first, space newly reopened between him and his adversaries.


    He was fighting again, and he hadn¡¯t even noticed it start to happen. Galukar waited for the freezing cowardice to strike him again, but it didn¡¯t. He felt nothing at all except the bodily instincts of movement and combat. Nothing until his heart ached again at one son¡¯s approach.


    It was worse than cowardly to keep from clashing with them. It was cruel. Galukar would not stand by and watch his boys left in their torment, not when it was within his power to end it. He surged on, roaring out every one of the molten emotions burning at his lungs and swinging in a great overhead arc that clove a streak of stone from the ceiling above. At the end of its path, the sword proved deadlier still. Undead strength, even bolstering his own son¡¯s might, was no match for the Godblade, and steel gave in with a scream of agony as the old iron edge bit deep. Rotting juice spurted free as the reanimate fell back. Galukar turned just as the others were charging.


    They had learned from their previous bout, and perhaps even from all the decades he¡¯d spent sparring with them as living men. They swarmed Galukar carefully, bringing numbers to bear in a diffused weight ensuring that their blows fell from many angles at once. Speed was of limited aid in such conditions, but Galukar found himself striking first, and used the edge to keep them from overwhelming him completely.


    A sword bit his shoulder, and a morningstar bounced from his cheek. The latter actually left him stumbling, blood filling his mouth as teeth loosened, but he was within their reaches a moment later and swinging hard enough to take two of the three from their feet entirely.


    It was nothing like the fights they¡¯d once had, and growing more dissimilar by the moment. Galukar had always held back, then, fearing even with his own sons that his strength would break them if wielded unfettered. That was no concern now, and strengthened though they were he still saw the truth in his past fears with how they failed to withstand him.


    Galukar¡¯s side erupted with a sharp, cannibalistic pain that reminded him of the other disparity between his situation and those long hours in the training grounds; he had no armour on him now. His body had always been steel enough against most blows, but these were no ordinary strikes now facing him, and he¡¯d taken three already. He focused his wits, retaliating against the cut to his side with a long stroke that tore a pauldron free of his enemy.


    The morningstar was back, then its head fell from the body as chain was cut before ancient iron. Galukar followed his swing with a kick, twisting to sidestep another sword slash and wincing as a second caught him across the shoulders. He ignored the foe behind, swinging for the one in front.


    His son¡¯s head came free in an instant, and his suffering was ended in that single stroke. Three remained.


    Weight, speed, force. Galukar¡¯s world became no more than the sum of those spheres acting in opposition and unison, working in one way, then the other, reducing all of creation to nothing more complex than the ebb and flow of a single bout. It neared its end quickly, and more quickly still with each undead he slew.


    Soon enough, only one remained. The eldest, the strongest, relatively unmarked and at the fullness of its Vigour compared to Galukar¡¯s own weakened, wounded body. Ten gashes and bruises welled along his flesh, where edges had opened and blunt heads crushed the bare meat of him. None were grievous, but together they proved an issue. Galukar could feel even his own stamina running out.


    ¡°It¡¯s you, isn¡¯t it?¡± He asked, feeling his fear grow as he spoke. ¡°I can recognise you, armour or no, undead or alive. My oldest, my first. My boy.¡±


    The undead said nothing, but Galukar didn¡¯t dare hope it was beyond understanding him. He had to fight back the tears from clouding his sight, knowing that even so much as distorted vision would be neither missed, nor overlooked by so sharp an enemy.


    He moved towards Galukar, the eldest. The first, his. The one whose name he dared not speak, even now, for fear of the torrentius emotion doing so would bring forth. Galukar forced other words out of himself, wincing as they came.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He repeated. ¡°Know that. And know that the Dark Lord will be leaving this world, too. But I mean to send him to a different place than I will you.¡±


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    Galukar had been right, and his son did still understand him. He chose that moment to charge his father, swinging in the precise way Galukar had expected he might, opening himself up for the blow that removed one arm, then his head. It was all over in an instant, dismemberment taking no longer than the blink of a man¡¯s eye.


    It was his first instinct to take a moment staring at the ruined corpse, but Galukar resisted that. He turned instead to Falls, hurrying to the magus and kneeling down beside him.


    ¡°Boy, do you live?¡±


    He did, that much was clear, but the wound was a nasty one. A normal man might have been cut fully in half by such a blow, but whatever magic or fortune had spared Falls, it had not done so fully. He seemed to have been slashed right down to the spine, and was bleeding in a volume which might have threatened men twice his size. He was pale, shaky, gasping. Galukar had seen injuries like it, and they were rarely survived.


    <hr>


    Arion¡¯s guts felt as if they were falling out, and a quick glance down to his waist confirmed the reason as to why. They were. He felt his agony intensify just from the sight alone, desperately looked away as the queasy feeling washed over him and threatened to strip his consciousness all over again.


    His thoughts were solidified once more as a new spark of pain rang out, this time borne from movement. King Galukar¡¯s arms slipped around him, hoisting his body up as if it weighed no more than a sheet of paper and starting the process of hauling it back through the corridor. Arion was seized by wheezing torment for only a moment before managing to sputter out a protest.


    ¡°What¡­Are¡­What are you¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m saving you.¡± The King growled, words barely audible over the sharp wind rushing around them. It was strange, he seemed to be moving barely faster than a jog, and yet the space was vanishing underfoot as if he were a sprinting horse. Vigour was a force in and of itself, Arion supposed, particularly the kind fuelled by such weapons as the Godblade.


    ¡°You can¡¯t.¡± Arion croaked. ¡°There¡¯s no point, I¡¯m¡­¡±


    A petty, stupid, selfish rat of a man¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m useless.¡± He breathed, finding tears, pathetically, rising up to accompany the words. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to gain by saving me, you have other things to do- other men to save. Every moment you spend carrying me is one you¡¯re not fighting for.¡±


    Galukar didn¡¯t even hesitate, not missing a step, not pausing a moment, and not revealing a single breath strained by the efforts of speaking as he moved.


    ¡°You are my companion, under my protection, and I will not leave you to die. There¡¯ll be fighting enough once I¡¯ve left you with your Master for healing, and you might still be able to join it once repaired.¡±


    Arion surprised himself by feeling a stab of¡­Something. Contempt, perhaps, or something categorically akin to it. He felt that same niggling wrongness, heard that same echo of his Master¡¯s words, and decided to change tactics.


    ¡°And what if I distract him?¡± He snapped. ¡°What if healing me costs him precious moments that could be spent on whatever plans he¡¯s working, or else delays him even more. What if you kill everyone in this city and doom them to be reanimated as undead servitors of the Dark Lord?¡±


    That finally gave the King pause, and Arion jumped on the chance.


    ¡°Please.¡± He gasped. ¡°Do what¡¯s right, leave me.¡±


    Spare me.


    ¡°Keep from disturbing my Master.¡±


    From dropping another of my failures at his feet.


    ¡°Focus on what truly matters.¡±


    On anything other than me.


    Arion was no fool, and he was not stubborn. His magic was no special thing in the grand scheme of things, his power no worthy virtue. After meeting Silenos and learning of House Shaiagrazni, he couldn¡¯t possibly have continued to live with such a delusional view of his importance as he¡¯d once enjoyed. After failing them, he could barely bear to live at all.


    ¡°Boy¡­You will die.¡± The King breathed, turning a corner now, jostling Arion in his speed and jostling himself in his consideration. He was close to convinced, Arion could see, his every word would count to weigh against the man¡¯s decision from now on.


    ¡°Better me than us all.¡± He forced himself to whisper, then felt King Galukar tense, hesitate, and slowly lower him to the floor.


    ¡°If you¡¯re sure.¡± The monarch breathed, eying him, still wavering. Arion realised, then, with the jolting weight inherent to any such realisation that he was looking at his own last chance for life pass him by. Oddly, he felt no sudden urge to seize it. Only a bizarre peace.


    ¡°Tell¡­¡± He coughed, and his guts squirmed at the motion. Arion¡¯s pain lasted well more than a second, but it was within that timeframe that he managed to make himself speak anew. ¡°Tell my Master¡­Tell him I¡¯m sorry.¡± Tears wetted his eyes, though for what, Arion wasn¡¯t sure. ¡°Tell him I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t be better.¡±


    King Galukar stared back at him, long and hard. Then nodded. He was gone an instant later, back to the fighting, leaving Arion where he leaned against the wall.


    He didn¡¯t take long to die, at least. And he was busy in the dying. Arion thought to old lessons of magic and new lessons of Necromancy, recalled the half-remembered hints of prolonged life and onliving spirits let out by his Master during their travels together. What could the consequences of an amateur¡¯s failure in such arts truly be?


    No worse than death, he thought. And so he began to work on them promptly. Arion seized his spirit with grasping fingers of magic, feeling none of the trembles in his metaphysical hands as might have racked those bound physically to his failing muscles and dying flesh. He worked to weave a net around his spirit, and keep it tight and strong, a trail of arcane webwork tethering that vital core of his mind to the body it inhabited, carved through abyssal paths and Necromantic avenues.


    Whether it worked, Arion had no idea, and no way of so much as guessing. By the time he was finished, it was all he could do to even recall that he had done such a magic at all. His life slipped from him within the minute, magic soon following. Then Arion Falls was nothing but cooling meat pressed against a cracked stone surface.


    Like so many other men slain in the fighting.

 Chapter 70

    In hindsight, Ensharia realised, it had been too good a target. Too obvious, too exposed, too open. Not the sort of thing the famed General Venka would permit to exist within any of his warcamps, even ones so great and expansive as these. Except as a trap.


    She was a Paladin, and proud to count herself as one. But Paladins were warriors, not commanders, and though she had studied the tactics of history and learned what she could from memoirs and accounts written by the very greatest geniuses ever to conduct men in war, she was no general herself. Perhaps the Saviour could have foreseen her error, or King Galukar. Perhaps they could have prevented the ruin that followed it.


    After his sudden appearance the day before, Swick the Swift had remained by Ensharia¡¯s side. They had not spoken much to one another, and she would have had things no other way. The man had left her, had betrayed her, and returning hero or not that was a hard stain to remove. She¡¯d forgiven him, but her heart did not seem to realise it. Even if it had, there had been more productive things to discuss than their comradery in any case.


    It had been a crushing blow to Venka, and a rallying victory to her, that they had managed to kill so many of the general¡¯s orks in their attack. Almost half perished before the rest fled, and some remained. They were quickly taken as prisoners, bloodlust not so strong in victory as it had been in freedom, while the corpses were picked over for arms and armour. The siege tower, of course, was destroyed. They carried the salvaged wood with them as they disappeared across the plains.


    Parties followed, large ones, fast ones, but none were able to chase them down. Swick¡¯s translocation proved an invaluable scouting tool, and was almost as useful in misleading the enemy as to their location as it was keeping his own side accurate and informed about their foe¡¯s. Only one of Venka¡¯s numerous chasing hordes actually made contact, a force of some half dozen Elites and two hundred warriors.


    There was no contest as to the victor of that conflict, and soon enough yet more equipment was being shared out amongst their men. Bolstered by this, they had grown hungry for yet more victory- and hastened in their hunger by the sight of Kaltan¡¯s outer wall falling. Once the siege was done, Venka would turn his focus on them. All remembered that well, and none so well as Ensharia, so they had turned to the attack.


    It might have been clear to her, had she not been blinded by the novelty of freedom and the thrill of revenge, that a man of Venka¡¯s experience would have known their advantages better even than they did. The first easy target they stumbled onto, they attacked, and it was then that the forces came to encircle them.


    Among the ambushers were ten thousand warrior-orcs, close to double the numbers Ensharia herself laid claim to, a hundred Elites¡­And Venka himself. Any hope they might have enjoyed before that point died with the sight of him striding across the battlefield, sabre drawn and eyes cold as icicles. Ensharia readied herself.


    Orcs crashed into orcs, and instantly the difference was there. Ensharia¡¯s might well have been the higher quality soldiers, less formally tried and tested but consisting largely of former chiefs and warrior-castes from the tribes, greater in size and strength, and fighting with a ferocity impossible to any but a freed slave. Venka, though, had the numbers, and he used them well. His formations were non-existent, forgotten in favour of simply made columns that struck her forces like bludgeons. The carnage was great, the effectiveness greater. Ensharia grabbed Swick, gave him the signal, and they translocated past it all in one go to come charging at the general.


    If any chance was to be found in the battle, it was by taking Venka¡¯s head. Clearly he had known it himself, because he was well guarded by Elites as Ensharia and the pirate drew near. They split apart into twinned attacks, closing from different sides and each contesting two of the lumbering orcs. Ensharia baited a swing from one, then opened its jugular up just as the other grabbed her. Venka was moving behind it, almost skewering her before Swick translocated between them to parry the thrust, then, while the general was stunned in shock, headbutt him hard and savage across the nose.


    General Venka stumbled back, and Swick and Ensharia both made short work of the remaining Elite beside her. Of the other two, the ones fought by Swick, only one was able to continue fighting. They came on for Venka like a thunderstorm, and this time the General seemed cautious.


    When last they had fought, Ensharia had done it without her armour and with barely even a weapon, Swick half-drunk. Now they were armed, armoured and sombre as a winter chill. The Elite fought well, defending his master, but died quickly, then it was just Ensharia, Swick and the General.


    Ensharia¡¯s war-pick was unbalanced, but it served her amply enough as it chased after the general. Swick for his part seemed perfectly comfortable with the daggers he wielded, slashing out in great circles whenever Venka sought to slip within Ensharia¡¯s own strikes. A nick appeared along the general¡¯s wrist, then his cheek. Her pick¡¯s blunt end clipped his shoulder in a stumbling blow, and his wince of pain was doubled as the tip snagged his leg and gashed it just over the knee.


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    He was dying a slow death, that of a cliff eaten away by tides, but he was dying nonetheless. If one such scrape could cause a man pain, then fifty might well kill him. Ensharia had only another forty five to land.


    Of course, it had always been Venka¡¯s trap, and the man was a Hero in more than just name. He did not make his killing easy, sword emerging to parry nine would-be-wounds for every ten that came at him. Ensharia was faster and stronger than she¡¯d ever believed possible, thanks to the Saviour¡¯s touch, but she was no great threat to an enemy like this. Not when he needed only play for time.


    A sling bullet caught Ensharia in the back of her head, and the one after it struck Swick in much the same place. Both projectiles were stone, not iron or steel, and thus fractured on impact with the Vigour-infused skulls they struck. Neither failed to stun their target regardless.


    Venka¡¯s sword caught her weapon, not her body, and easily cleaved through the shaft. Before Ensharia¡¯s pick had even lost its head to the dirt, the sabre was back around and thudding its blunt side against Swick¡¯s face. The man dropped like a stone, and orcs fell down upon her before she could surge on to try and best the general with a tackle. Strong arms, numerous arms. Three, eight, a score.


    All crushing grips and compressive holds, strength compounding strength until even Ensharia was no match for the sheer weight of musculature and Vigour brought to bear against her. She fell, knees hitting the ground so hard that stones broke beneath them, the rest of her following a moment later.


    It was all she could do to raise her head and affix Venka with a glare, and all she could do after that to keep from snarling in her rage as the man refused to so much as glance back at her. Ensharia bucked her body, twisted to give herself more space, then lashed out with both feet and lifted an orc from her. Before the ranks of bodies closed again she was sliding through them and breaking out at a sprint, bowling over a quartet of others trying to pin Swick and hauling him along beside her. Both of them moved quickly.


    Ahead, they saw their forces. Or what was left of them. The orcs were encircled by their own kind, ranks thinning as enemies broke through and hacked apart the defenders. There was no saving them, not all. Ensharia took all of a second to make her decision, then turned to Swick for verification.


    ¡°We need to take the left flank.¡± He gasped. ¡°They¡¯re the only ones with a chance to cut and run.¡±


    A chance, perhaps. But not a big one. Ensharia braced herself, cursed herself, then charged on, only pausing to snatch a fallen weapon from the ground.


    It really had been too good of a target, in hindsight. And there was no time to do anything about that now.


    <hr>


    The siege was over, Collin could see that much. The people had long since finished their retreat into the keep, and the orcs had long since begun their final assault at it in earnest. For hours the building had been surrounded, and those hours were starting to run out. He watched it all, waiting for the fear, the dread. Instead he felt only a quiet discontent.


    I won¡¯t be avenging my father, then.


    It was laughably pathetic that a thought like that stuck itself out so far above the others, but Collin couldn¡¯t control his thoughts. He couldn¡¯t control his city anymore, for that matter, either.


    From his telescope, he saw Galukar was still fighting. It wasn¡¯t a normal telescope, of course, to be perceiving such a thing through solid stone walls. Some magus had been commissioned to craft it decades ago, as a means of looking through the correspondingly enchanted structure of the keep. Fitting, because it wasn¡¯t a normal fight Collin used it to observe.


    Regardless of the verbal trouncing he rather fancied his father had given the man¡­Galukar still impressed. Collin hadn¡¯t thought of him much, merely sectioning all recollection of the King off to a distant, resentful corner of his thoughts, but he was grateful to see him back again. No doubt, the corridor he held would have long fallen otherwise.


    For hours he¡¯d carved his way through undead and orcs alike, until their mangled forms made a bloody carpet at his feet. The walls, the ceiling, were all coated with congealing ichor spurted out by the wreckage left where ancient iron came down on fragile meat.


    Collin had heard the stories, everyone had, and he¡¯d seen some measure of them acted out in their joint ambush against Venka¡¯s forces beyond the walls. It was another thing entirely, however, to be exposed to such a distilled, prolonged demonstration of King Galukar¡¯s prowess. How easy to imagine there was some truth to the theocratic propaganda of his sword, seeing it used with such impossible strength. How tempting to actually feel some whisper of hope, witnessing such a potent creature fighting on his own side of the conflict.


    But no man could kill forever, and the army feeding itself into Galukar¡¯s corridor would have crushed five or more times its number of conventional attackers. He was a creature, in the end. Not a god.


    With each new blow, the King¡¯s fatigue was apparent. Movements made slower, weaker, clumsier all in degrees which would have been fractional and near imperceptible in another man, but proved stark reductions of the near-perfect might he¡¯d been so recently doing battle with. Where before he had slain undead by the dozen with each passing moment, he now killed precious few, ceding ground as their numbers swelled before him, rotting masses climbing over the piled up corpses to force him ever deeper into the tunnel of stone. Others made to dig through the walls, testing their strength against the ancient architecture and creating their own passages with its yielding. The siege was over, and the slaughter was drawing near.

 Chapter 71

    Sphera was exhausted, in every way she believed a woman could be. Her magic was drained, from hours of emptying her mana out into one newly-retrieved carcass after another and directing them all back to the front lines. Her body was drained, from the mild physical element that came with the rituals needed to make her Necromancy reach the heights of its power. More than anything else, her mind was drained. She¡¯d not slept in almost forty-eight hours, and had only been even kept conscious by her new Master taking an incredibly irritated moment to touch her forehead and work some unknowable Fleshcrafting upon her brain to purge it of its fatigue.


    Some of its fatigue, not all. Apparently leaving her entirely sleepless was an alteration more than he had time for. Most things, other than his damned research, were more than he had time for.


    Her work, in the siege, had been a purely support role. That was not a surprise, it was by far the best way for any Necromancer to serve in any capacity. She had conjured undead, imbued them with all the power she could, and sent them on to fight the enemy. Rested when necessary, paused when forced, and did precious little else.


    Of course, Sphera knew there must have been at least one Ranger using that preternatural perception of theirs to watch her servitors. Had even a single one turned against her new allies, she doubted it would have perished fighting in the front lines before she herself had been put down behind them. Amusingly that fact would have made a rather promising strategy for Venka in having one of his own undead disguised as hers, if only for the slim chance of actually fooling a Ranger, but she supposed even the greatest generals could only work with the information they had.


    And Venka was a damned imbecile, too.


    For the first day that had been all Sphera had worried about, nothing more than the most unpleasant twenty four hour stretch she had ever found herself subjected to. By the second, it was worse by far. By the second, she¡¯d understood what the Ranger was there for.


    Her undead died, and Sphera felt each one. They¡¯d always been dying, of course, but suddenly their expirations came rapidly and easily. On no less than a dozen occasions she felt her creations destroyed within moments of reaching combat, and the carefully built-up surplus she¡¯d been flooding the keep with for the past day rapidly withered as enemies found, seized or made new paths into the building to bring the full force of their numbers to bear. It was scarcely even a massacre, more akin to the sight of her creations being crushed beneath some natural disaster. A flood of bodies, a hurricane of blades, a storm of ruin.


    Sphera¡¯s fears worsened as the siege did, enemy approach keenly felt with the growing proximity of her slain undead. Soon enough, Sphera realised, she was sending her creations out to be destroyed without even leaving the corridor adjoined to her Master¡¯s laboratory where she raised them.


    After that, Sphera stopped sending them out entirely. She simply focused on the pile of bodies still left beside her- which had long since halted its replenishment as defenders were killed in the fighting- and began concentrating undead directly by her side. It did nothing to smoothe over the turbulent waves of her strengthening horror, and the enemy were scraping at their doors shortly.


    It was the second thing Master Silenos had taken the time to focus on, if only briefly, that door. Its wooden frame had been removed, its bands of reinforcing iron replaced, with the same inexplicable materials he worked into his other creations. Sphera had no reference for how strong they might be, she¡¯d not seen much of the grotesqueries in battle. She had only hope, and that was a fool¡¯s comfort.


    A thud shook the door, sending dust to drift from the stone into which it was built. She jumped, stepped back, swallowed and turned to her Master.


    ¡°They¡¯re coming, Master.¡±


    Silenos Shaiagrazni did not even look up. Sphera might have whispered the words to him, or giggled them, and elicited no less perturbment or shock. He simply continued his work on the latest of numerous orcs, replying without so much as a glance her way.


    ¡°Hold them.¡± He instructed. ¡°Falls ought to be returning soon, once he does we will galvanise and prepare to flee from this city. Assuming my work is not done beforehand.¡±


    It was comical. What work could possibly turn the tides now, of all times? He might have obliterated the entire city in a single, great blast akin to the one he¡¯d used to destroy so many of her own undead, and Sphera doubted Venka would even have been left with an army too small to besiege another. No, they had failed, they had lost. And her Master, it seemed, was falling towards outright delusion in his refusal to accept as much.


    More impacts struck the door, then yet more. The noise was almost beyond belief, like hearing trebuchet stones break against the surface mere feet from her. Each time Sphera expected to see the curious construct break and fall away, but instead it held. She almost found a scrap of hope welling up, then saw the cracks appearing.


    They were in the stone, not the material of House Shaiagrazni. A wall made carefully thick and defensible- and chosen as the Necromancers¡¯ base of operations for just such a feature- was being broken apart long before the door it held. Sphera had gauged the thickness at two, even three or four feet. A sturdy structure, but far from invincible. It would not have withstood a Hero, and she had no doubts its span would be short as the assault continued.


    Of course she had no doubts, she could see it shortening with her own two eyes each time another blow came upon it.


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    ¡°Master!¡± Sphera cried, in a tone which might have left her feeling embarrassed to portray such weakness, were it not for the significant fact of her standing mere yards away from a visceral end.


    ¡°Silence.¡± Silenos snapped, as if she were some petulant, whinging infant at his feet. ¡°My work is nearly done, and Falls is not yet here. I need but minutes, less than an hour, then we will be ready to meet them.¡±


    It was laughable, insane, and- worst of all- something Sphera was utterly without the means to contradict. Venka would know that she had sent her own undead against him, now, such traces would be provable in their bodies, and there would be no mercy for her in the Dark Lord¡¯s army.


    She had gotten herself killed in a momentary impulse of ambition, and there was nothing more to be done about the fact.


    The wall screamed in agony as cracks lengthened, thickened, widened. Chunks of stone the size of a man¡¯s fist fell from the space between them, then those architectural discardations grew until they were almost head-wide and landed with an audible crash. A minute passed, five, ten. Then Sphera saw images through slits in the wall, shadows and forms shifting behind, barely perceptible through the wafting cloud of dust-clotted air. Her body felt suddenly disconnected from the rest of her, as if the terror unfolding was happening to someone else. Someone distant, someone whose death would have no bearing on her.


    And then the largest piece yet was smashed from place, and Sphera¡¯s frightful dissociation was halted by the sight of an undead scrambling through the newly made gap.


    Her first instinct was barely resisted, and very nearly killed her. Sphera had prepared a globule of shadestuff, somewhere, and had she loosed it then it might well have spattered the walls and widened the gap already made. Instead she curtailed herself, sent undead on with a thought and watched as a reanimated orcish Elite split the invader¡¯s skull like firewood beneath an axe. Its corpse remained in the hole for all of a second before being violently shoved free, exposing another reanimate which perished in much the same way. This time Sphera had another orc shove back at the carcass, aiming to keep it lodged in the gap.


    It was a functional tactic, for the next four or so holes that emerged. Soon enough, though, the wall was being eroded from so many points at once as to begin collapsing. She felt her heart lurch at the sight of so many rotting faces coming on, even as her own surged forth to meet them. Within the close confines, the violence felt somehow enhanced. As if it were forcibly compressed, intensified, by being denied the room to expand. She felt putrid flesh and the reek of sweat and combat-stench, pressed herself back against a far wall and watched as her forces were slowly taken apart.


    The quality of her undead was greater, there could be no doubt. But they were finite, and the enemy, functionally, was not. One by one they fell, even as Sphera started hurling shadestuff into the enemy masses and melting off limbs and heads. Soon she was virtually alone, and then the horde was upon her.


    It was a streak of fire which stopped them, and a tendril of meat. The latter came down first, forming a new wall, impeding them long enough for the broiling chemicals to wash over them and ignite with an intensity she recalled perfectly well. Recalled, and recognised the improvements to. Steel had not melted from flesh, when last she¡¯d seen Silenos Shaiagrazni unleash his fire magic, but it did now.


    ¡°I have finished.¡± Her Master proclaimed, striding forth with nothing more than that word alone. He looked around at the room, curled lip illuminated by the flickering blaze he¡¯d set among the enemy ranks. ¡°So many corpses, and most untouched by magic. Your mana capacity is not so impressive as Falls¡¯.¡±


    Sphera didn¡¯t have the chance to reply, nor was she even certain she would have, before her Master raised a hand, and gestured. The world moved around him.


    It was a large chamber, they were in. Large enough that a full company of one hundred soldiers might have occupied its centre and still found room enough to manouver and march with space to spare. Despite this expansivity, it had been filled almost to its totality with corpses. Orc corpses, human corpses, even the occasional other species who had somehow found themselves conscripted into Venka¡¯s army or trapped in the slaughter of Kaltan. Some were undead themselves, beyond reanimation for a second time, but those were pooled near the entrance, and elsewhere the place was practically choked with dead meat.


    Thousands, at a glance. Too many for Sphera to have possibly animated in her weakened state, perhaps too many for her to bring back at all. Her Master did not even change his expression as he shattered both her sense of scale, possibility and pride all in a single flourish of magic.


    Everywhere Sphera saw, corpses rose. Not the lumbering behemoths made by hours of Shaiagraznian genius, nor the half-possessed vessels stuffed with some ancient Hero or abyssal force, but reanimates nonetheless. Imbued with all the power their bodies could hold without bursting apart, each lurching forth with the physicality of a Knight and the savagery of a rabid dog. All crashing into the incursive enemy like a tidal wave.


    It took less time to force the undead out of the room than it had for them to force themselves in, and Sphera stood on trembling legs as she watched. Turning to her Master.


    ¡°...So that was your weapon.¡± She croaked. He slapped her, hard. Hard enough that she hit her knees again, head rocked by the blow, eyes staring up confusedly at him.


    ¡°Idiot.¡± He replied, good mood apparently dissipating. ¡°As if such a pathetic reanimation as that would take me even a minute of work. No, that was the contents of roughly one quarter of my mana capacity. Ugly work, crude, but it had to be done. It wouldn¡¯t do to be savaged just as I finished sealing our victory.¡±


    At a gesture, his arm was that strange, cylindrical weapon he called a cannon. The wall burst apart, revealing the cityscape out beyond. Sphera¡¯s heart lurched as she saw just how thickly the orcs crawled across it, light spilling in, hope spilling out. But only for a moment.


    Because then she realised that the orcs swarming outside the keep- swarming in their tens of thousands- were not standing, nor climbing, nor holding formation. They were lying around, rolling in the dirt, convulsing. Their noises were not hungry war cries, but agonised squeals. Their bodies were not moving with victory, but with death.


    All of them, without exception. As if the general Venka himself had ordered his men to die. Sphera turned to her master, stared, and saw him smile.


    ¡°I will admit their biology was strange enough to delay even me.¡± He mused, good mood apparently restored as some great beast lurched around beneath them. It was no more or less terrible than any of his other abominations, disparate only for the fog difused out from its body. Sphera saw, now, that it was this mist that set the orcs to dying. For those who lay in the most thickly congealed clouds were already still and stiff.


    ¡°Now tell me, apprentice.¡± Her Master continued. ¡°Where is the fighting exactly?¡±

 Chapter 72

    Silenos¡¯ newest grotesquery was more finely made than the others, so far as he¡¯d been able to manage. There had been no true function to such a feature, but he had expended the effort to work it in such a way as a kind of artistic flourish. It was not often, after all, that one introduced a new kind of warfare to the world. Such occasions called for some drama.


    It was an impressive thing, and he took pride in it. Standing affixed to the top of his creation¡¯s scalp as it slithered up around the keep¡¯s largest tower, almost buckling the stone structure beneath it with its fifty tonne weight and convulsive motions. From such height, Silenos could see the entire battlefield, and see it well.


    There was no doubt how things were going, and he was not surprised by the fact. Orcs overwhelmed defences, innumerable and potent. Undead, too, intermixed with their numbers, but mostly orcs. It seemed those reanimates amongst Venka¡¯s forces were near-entirely serving in an elite fashion, the bulk of his army were the creatures. Just as Silenos had thought.


    ¡°PEOPLE OF KALTAN!¡± Silenos called out, feeling the musculature of his throat and tissues of his lungs tense with force enough to rend apart normal flesh. His voice came out so powerfully that he had no doubt a man might have been deafened for life, hearing it from too close. It was an intriguing prospect for future weaponry, but for now served only to announce his glorious presence. Sure enough, the words cut out over the chaotic sounds of killing and dying, soon drawing eyes up to stare vacantly at him. ¡°BEHOLD ME.¡±


    He considered saying more, but decided against it. Why bother? What could words possibly do to convey any more than was seen by simply gazing upon him. Silenos felt a smile curl his lips.


    He had been attacked, in this world. Savaged by mindless cavemen, beaten and wounded by grunting apes fighting him on a level he¡¯d never before had to learn or master. Now, at last, he had turned the tables on them. Now, his vengeance was nigh.


    ¡°Exhale.¡± He ordered his creation, and felt the movement of its body beneath him as lungs worked to project the mists his carefully crafted organoids were so efficiently synthesising.


    Breeding, perhaps, would have been a better word. Cultivating certainly would have found use, for the substance was little more than a sustaining home made to keep Silenos¡¯ true creation from death. The virus he had worked so tirelessly to engineer, designed carefully around the alien orcish biology he¡¯d been studying for days, moved like a breath from the grim reaper itself. It was heavier than air, its medium, and so came to settle down below in broiling clouds which further unfolded one way and the other where gusts of wind pulled at them. Washing out to engulf yet more orcs, and infect their bodies just as it had the first few rows.


    They fell, convulsing, coughing, clutching and clawing at their primitive flesh just as the rest of their kind did. Bodies eaten from within by a work of destruction more deadly and invasive than anything natural selection was likely to produce. Silenos watched the blood oozing from orifices, heard the strained gasps for breath that wouldn¡¯t come, and smiled again.


    It was all good. All appropriate. All a serviceable step in his plans for the world.


    Motion underfoot, and Silenos glanced down to see his grotesquery quivering. It was eager, he realised, hungry to kill. That had not been in its design, but he¡¯d anticipated the effects. It had, after all, been fleshcrafted from the arcanically infused tissues of orcs, and he had expected some measure of their nature to move over. Their will, culture, dying thoughts. He would have to further experiment in removing them later. For now¡­


    Well, for now he saw no reason not to indulge his creation. Silenos ordered the grotesquery on.


    The grotesquery descended, body moving with a feline grace and lithe delicacy that left it seeming almost to glide above whatever surface it drew near. Silenos was quick in Fleshcrafting as he rode it to the battlefield, configuring his cannon promptly, then awaiting the chance to use it.


    A Fomori gave him one soon enough, then fell as its head was torn almost from the neck where his shot hit. More were coming, Dullahan and other undead around them. Silenos decided to let his grotesquery play.


    Barbed and thick with muscle, its tail came around like some aerial bombardment and clove an entire row of them in half with the same stroke. Before it had even halted its momentum, the grotesquery was opening its maw and exhaling an acrid streak of new gas. A single click rang out at the back of its throat, and the fluid ignited.


    So help him, Silenos actually had to cover his eyes from the nitrous as it detonated. The overpressure would have killed him where he stood, even shielded by the shaped crest of his monster, had his body been of lesser composition. There was no barrier to protect the enemies.


    Bodies ripped, burst, tore to shreds as the shockwave bellowed out to crack stone and clear square metres by the thousand from before Silenos where buildings were blown back and carcasses sent sprawling. Silenos examined the blast, and studied the damage to his grotesquery¡¯s crest. It was less than he¡¯d anticipated, no doubt due to the Vigour now reinforcing it, but apparently he¡¯d been optimistic in constructing the stuff. A note for later.


    A scream, a rush of air, and an imminent impact that Silenos just barely turned in time to intercept. His cannon ripped the orc¡¯s arm off at the shoulder and converted its flight into a twisted, off-kilter fall that left it bouncing off the hard plates of his grotesquery. The creature tried to take hold, but perished beneath another shot, skull coming apart much as a normal creature¡¯s might under musket fire.


    So some of the orcs still lived, even this close to the grotesquery, inhaling such a potent concentration of Silenos¡¯ virus. He felt the irritation gnaw deep. His work had been careful, and ingenious as ever, but time had not been an ally. Silenos had cut vital steps of his process to avoid the inconvenience of death. Now, it seemed, he was seeing the limits left by his decision.


    Another glance around showed him other orcs still active and moving, now that he knew to look for them. Some seemed half-affected by the virus, others entirely immune. In total, however, they were but a small fraction of the full number of their kind. Silenos would have to satisfy himself with killing only eight or nine tenths of their masses.


    With the virus, at least. Silenos¡¯ grotesquery shifted again, preparing to destroy the remainder of Venka¡¯s forces through more clumsy and traditional means.


    ***


    It was not easy to notice the mist, at first. A subtle thing, insubstantial, barely even something Ensharia was aware of. That all changed when the deaths started .


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    They came on suddenly, almost instantly. As if coordinated, as if planned. As if God himself had reached a hand down from the heavens and started plucking out lives. Ensharia found herself smiling, first, as she saw Venka¡¯s men fall and bleed. Then the mists washed over her own, and she realised no distinction was being made in which orcs dropped.


    ¡°Wh¡­What¡­?¡±


    Ensharia might have been embarrassed to respond so stupidly and simply, in any other circumstance. Instead she felt her focus snatched by the moment, by the ruin spreading outwards. In minutes the clouds had covered everything, even herself. She hadn¡¯t tried to run, hadn¡¯t even thought to. How could one escape from an act of nature? How could one flee from mist?


    She awaited her own death, and when it didn¡¯t come her next thought was as natural as the breaths she felt so relieved to still experience. Ensharia began searching her men.


    Her heart broke with each new carcass she moved past, orcs rolling around, coughing and gasping, hands clawing at nothing in particular as agony spun their bodies into sickening spasms. She had to keep from being grabbed in a blind frenzy by the men dying around her, had to bite back the shedding of her tears at the sight of it all.


    Garutan. It was the only thought in Ensharia¡¯s head, and a desperate one. She had to find Garutan. Sweet, kind, innocent Garutan. Garutan, who she¡¯d forced into a fight, who might well be dying in the middle of a battlefield because of her. Ensharia¡¯s panic, her terror, grew with each moment that passed without her finding him. He couldn¡¯t be dead, not now, not like this. His last moments couldn¡¯t be this.


    ¡°Ensh-a!¡±


    She froze, then spun. Ensharia was not so used to speaking with orcs, but weeks and daily hours of familiarity had been enough for her to recognise the voices and words of her friends without the slightest chance of failure. It had been Garutan who spoke, and it was Garutan her eyes now fell upon.


    Thank God, he was alive. Garutan was kneeling, though almost as tall as Ensharia even in spite of it. His body was stooped, miraculously unharmed- though that may have been more thanks to the Elite armour now encasing it- and folded with concern as he stared down at something. No, someone. Ensharia¡¯s guts lurched as she realised his gaze was focused upon an orc.


    Upon Shargon.


    ¡°Ensh-a¡­¡± Garutan croaked, looking up with her, face unhelmeted and eyes wet with tears. His lip trembled, throat tightened, body quivered with all the panicked, weeping fear of a little boy grasping for understanding.


    Ensharia was down beside him within the instant, almost reluctant to turn her focus onto Shargon, even as her friend spasmed like the other orcs.


    ¡°Shargon, Shargon, do you hear me?¡± Ensharia reached out, touching the orc with only a moment¡¯s hesitation- deciding quickly that if she hadn¡¯t yet been plagued by whatever pestilence was taking him it was unlikely she¡¯d suffer it through contact- and gently shaking him to try and capture his focus. It worked quickly, keen intellect peering back at her from behind a thick fog of agony.


    ¡°I¡­Hear.¡± He grunted, speaking in flawlessly polysyllabic Common even in spite of the agony clearly blossoming with every word. ¡°What¡­Is¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Ensharia cut in, answering hastily to spare him the exertions of speech. ¡°Hold still, I¡¯m going to see what I can do.¡±


    Her hands warmed up as the divine magics flowed through them, seeping down into his skin, then past it. Sinking into muscular tissue, the wafer-thin fat deposits so rarely found in orcish flesh, even the bones and organs. Infusing every scrap of his biology until Ensharia felt as though she were holding his entire, living body all within the span of two hands.


    It was a sensation she¡¯d grown well used to, the feeling of flooding a body with God¡¯s light. Of healing it. Usually, Ensharia felt a change near instantly, but this time she could tell within moments that something was wrong. Very wrong. Where there ought to have been a reversal of death¡¯s inexorable touch, she instead felt only a slowing, a delay. As if she were merely digging her heels in and offering resistance to a cart as it slid downhill. Shargon¡¯s groans lessened, fractionally, but his pain was still clear as day, and the slow decay of his body was something she could feel all the more keenly for her efforts.


    Ensharia pushed herself, desperately willing the light into Shargon¡¯s body with ever more intensity. She¡¯d felt this before, or something similar. When the Toxicologist had left Arion Falls dying from his vicious blends, and her power had been stripped apart in the effort of repairing him. But there were differences. It felt alive, this new killer, somehow. Like an animated, breathing thing, or a swarm of maggots infesting the blood and tissues of her patient rather than merely some inert substance.


    Like disease. It was impossible, ludicrous, but it was undeniable. Ensharia was feeling the miasma of adaptive, pestilent evil infesting the wounds and eating them from the inside out. The divine healing of a Paladin was not so great as to purge natural rots, and this decay was something beyond any she¡¯d ever encountered. Almost malignant in its consumption of Shargon, it was to ordinary disease as an edge of sharpened steel was to a jagged strip of iron. Evolved, perfected. Terrible.


    Tears were welling up again as exhaustion started to rear its head, and Ensharia tried to blink them back. It was a futile effort, she saw the recognition bloom in Shargon¡¯s face almost as soon as her despair started. Always quicker than the other orcs, he was. Quicker even than most humans.


    ¡°Is¡­Okay.¡± He croaked, grunting, gasping. Blood built in the corner of his lips, then ran down his cheek in a thin streak as the movement of mouth and tongue left it slipping free. ¡°Ensharia, it is okay.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t okay, and it was laughable to even say otherwise. Ensharia didn¡¯t even answer him until Shargon¡¯s voice rang out again.


    ¡°Ensharia, look at me, please.¡±


    So help her, she almost failed to even do that much too.


    Shargon looked worse than when Ensharia had started, and not by a small degree. His face was paler than its usual grey, skin clammy with sweat, eyes tight with agony. There was a resolve to them that hadn¡¯t been there a minute earlier, and it shattered Ensharia¡¯s last, dwindling sheet of hope.


    That resolve was not found in living men, she knew. It was something she¡¯d seen born before. Always in the last few moments of a brave man who¡¯d finally realised he was dying. She¡¯d yet to find it anywhere but in a person soon left a corpse.


    ¡°Listen, please.¡± He continued. ¡°Keep healing me if you must, but listen. Garutan is alive, fine even. And I am dying slower than¡­Others.¡± He made to glance, at that, but seemed unable to quite manage it. Ensharia didn¡¯t need to follow his attempted gaze. She could hear the other orcs around them, and more specifically she could hear where the dying groans just yards away had fallen silent long before. Shargon continued. ¡°Vigour keeps us alive, I think. Other things too perhaps. Some of us may¡­May live.¡±


    Some of them, Ensharia realised the meaning instantly and almost cursed herself as she looked up to Garutan.


    ¡°Leave.¡± She hissed. ¡°You need to-¡±


    ¡°-Go with him.¡± Shargon gasped. ¡°Please, Ensharia, leave me and go with him. Take care of him, he¡­He needs you.¡±


    ¡°I need you.¡± Garutan groaned, tears now falling openly. It seemed he¡¯d realised what was happening, and like so many others the knowledge brought him nothing but heartbreak and misery.


    ¡°I cannot come, my friend.¡± Shargon replied, forcing a smile, then coughing as even that motion seemed to send a new wave of twitching pain down his body. ¡°I am sorry, but I cannot. Now go, both of you¡­Please.¡±


    Ensharia¡¯s vision almost failed her, so clotted by tears had it become. She got to her feet, seized Garutan by the wrist, turned and then froze.


    A monster was bearing down on the armies, tearing apart hordes of orcs that, as she could tell, still futilely obeyed Venka¡¯s orders. It was a new thing, not one she¡¯d seen before, but the philosophy behind its body was something she recognised well. Careful, scrutinous, perfectionist and aligned in ways far too flawless and delicate to be the product of nature or God. One of the Saviour¡¯s grotesqueries.


    She cleared her eyes, and looked back to see that Silenos Shaiagrazni himself rode the top. Orcs dangled in agony at the end of great spearing limbs as the thing fought, and from its mouth came a blasting cloud of mist.


    The mist that was killing Shargon.


    ¡°STOP!¡± Ensharia roared, putting every ounce of her body¡¯s might behind the cry, and watching with relief as the Saviour heard it. Her relief turned to horror as he failed to so much as pause.


    The carnage continued, blood running in rivers and pools, all while Ensharia stood to watch in impotent powerlessness.

 Chapter 73

    There came a time when a man had to accept his fate, and Venka was not such a fool as to deny that of all things. Not when it was his own being stared down.


    He had assembled his armies, trained them well and wielded them like razored scalpels against Collin Baird¡¯s idiot defences. Aside from a single trick, which he had repaid tenfold, his stratagem could not have been more perfect, his successes could not have been more definitive. By all measures, he was a credit to battle and a great man among mere sheep.


    But he could not have won a battle against the sun. He could not have held ground against a falling sky, or splitting earth. Could not have out-planned a shower of meteors or a flood. Some things were just nature, or God.


    And some other things were neither natural nor divine, but something altogether more terrible and potent. It was one of those rare, wicked few that he gazed upon now. It made him shiver.


    Whatever foul magic had made it, Venka saw nothing right in the workings. It was elegant, ingenious, but twisted and abhorrent. Like a sculpture made of human viscera. The lumbering thing moved, and as it did great plates of either chitin or bone shifted and rattled along it, all interlocking with a perfection in their overlap which left precious little area exposed, all thick and dense enough that he had no doubt they¡¯d have staved off blows able to skewer an armoured Knight.


    Below there was a dark flesh, bundled and tight like ropes about a sailing ship. They moved its great weight as if it were no mass at all, leaving the towering creature to slither, almost to glide, like some serpent. It was before him shortly, coiling, drawing back. The head came down just enough for Venka to meet the eyes of its rider.


    It was not a man he had ever seen before, and he suspected he would never see him again. Never see much again. There was no pity to be found in that gaze, only molten hatred and fury.


    Like gazing into the face of the Dark Lord. He realised, with a start that left his guts writhing.


    ¡°You are general Venka?¡± The man asked, with a tone of one who did not do much asking. For a moment Venka actually considered lying, but he steeled himself. How would he even be believed? He was the only human in his army, and his face and appearance had been well seen during the parley. There would be no fleeing from this. Better to face his fate like a man than scramble back like a rat.


    ¡°I am.¡± He replied, forcing his tone to remain hard and edged. ¡°And you are?¡±


    Venka saw the motion, but it was a near thing. The creature upon which his enemy sat sprang into movement so quickly and instantly that it had almost reached him by the time Venka noticed. His blade was flashing out, sabre coming down hard between the skin-thick gaps separating armour plates, biting deep through the softer tissues below. It was a stroke which would have bissected an orc.


    It did not take off the tentacle, though, and he was grabbed before he could step back to try again.


    There was a strength to large creatures that Venka had learned well. Oftentimes it was fragile, as if their bodies¡¯ size forced whatever power lay within to be spread thin, and only sheer mass kept them forceful at all. None of that was felt now. Somehow, despite measuring thicker than his own shoulders, the great limb boasted more proportional power than a panther, hualing Venka through the air as if he weighed nothing and ignoring his struggling even in spite of the Vigour infusing his muscles. He was like a rat caught by a viper, and he¡¯d seen that dance play out enough to know how it ended.


    Within moments Venka had been drawn close to the man atop the creature, his kicking legs and thrashing arms failing to move its grip an inch. The caster continued speaking, as if he were watching nothing more eventful than the assembly of a shelf.


    ¡°I am not surprised that you do not know me.¡± He sighed, sounding almost irritated, suddenly, rather than wrathful. ¡°I did not arrive in this world with the circumstances needed for my genius to find its use. But now I have the means to demonstrate my power, I only wish you could see what will be done with it.¡±


    Venka spat, glaring his defiance. Every man had to accept his face, and he had long made peace with his.


    ¡°Do what you will.¡± He growled. ¡°I don¡¯t fear death, I have established my legacy and fought my battles. Thirty victories will be remembered with my name, thirty for each of my deaths.¡±


    He hadn¡¯t expected his words to make much of a crack in the caster¡¯s smile, heroes rarely had much effect upon their villains after all. What unnerved Venka was how he seemed only to widen the twisted grin already splitting his enemy¡¯s features.


    ¡°Kill you?¡± The caster echoed. ¡°How unimaginative. No, I will not kill you. You see, general, you have crossed me, and crossed me dearly. Delayed me, attacked me, killed-¡± He paused, inhaling, exhaling. Mastering himself for a moment before continuing. ¡°-Killed precious opportunity for my progress through this world. And I am well aware of your proclivities¡­No, I will not kill you. I am not so simple as that.¡±


    More tendrils wrapped around Venka, pinning his limbs entirely as he was drawn nearer, and then he saw the blade raise up. It was a sharp thing, rounded and edged, bound into some curious limb which pulsated with musculature. A bizarre noise rang out from it, and it took Venka a moment to realise that it was some circular, serrated edge spinning so quickly he could scarcely even see. The caster spoke over the sound, calm as ever.


    ¡°This is a circular saw, it is not something your idiotic people will likely develop for some time now. My own people use it for cutting, precisely and against hard and durable targets. Like a skull.¡±


    Venka¡¯s fear was an engulfment of frigid water, squeezing the breath from him, leaving him panting and kicking as his eyes widened and throat choked with horror. There was no use, though, he might have been King Galukar and still failed to break such a hold as the abomination now enveloped him with. His desperate spasms seemed only to amuse the enemy.


    ¡°Ah, comprehension. It took you some time.¡± The caster breathed, and then with a gesture the mechanism- the saw- was closing in. Venka felt a stab of pain as it cut the skin of his forehead, then yet more. Wider, as the slice ran the length of his head. There was a deep agony as he felt his scalp lifted, sickeningly and wetly, from the surrounding tissue to be peeled back. His skull was exposed. Venka knew it, and he felt the fact burn around within his mind like an arrow coated with searing oil.


    ¡°What¡­What are you-¡±


    ¡°Be silent.¡± The caster interrupted, crushing his panicked speech with speech no louder or more hurried than before. ¡°Be silent, and relish this. It will be the last sensation you are ever equipped to consider.¡±


    Before Venka could even wonder what that meant, he felt the saw touch his skull, and screamed as the bone yielded. It was quick work the caster made, opening his cranium and exposing the interior near-instantly. He was panting and sweating, all the time, by its conclusion. Never had such a torment touched him, and never with such a confusion alongside it.


    ¡°What are you going to do to me!?¡± Venka cried, panic flooding his words with volume. He didn¡¯t care about composure, not now, the uncertainty was stronger than anything else.


    But his uncertainty was left to fester, because no answer came but the sensation of parting skull and the feeling of sudden, cold air on some place of him that oughtn¡¯t to have ever been touched by a wind.


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    ¡°Hush.¡± The caster replied, looking at- no, looking through- Venka. As if he were glass. ¡°As I said, I will not kill you.¡±


    The sensation of touch caught Venka¡¯s head again, and he gasped. His body kicked, jerking without thought, as new limbs wielding other, smaller instruments disappeared over the top of his sight and began jostling atop his exposed head. His mouth flooded with a bizarre sensation, taste. Minty, somehow, and the air filled with a grotesque, pungent reek of bloody iron.


    ¡°The cerebral cortex.¡± The caster began, as if he were giving a mere lecture. As if he were speaking to some hall of students, and not a man gasping and gurgling under his power. ¡°


    You have not, I assume, heard of it. It is a region of your brain- of most brains, for that matter. So named due to being the seat of what might be called higher cognition. In short, those measures of thought which humans overwhelmingly do, and most other creatures overwhelmingly do not.¡±


    Venka was enraptured, in the way that was perhaps only possible for a man receiving speech while feeling his brain probed and sliced.


    ¡°This is a simplification of course. There are very few cognitive functions which a human categorically can do which most other animals categorically cannot, but there are, of course, enormous differences. What is less enormous of course is the difference between a human¡¯s cerebral cortex, and an orc¡¯s.¡±


    A gasp left Venka, and he blinked as the caster continued talking.


    ¡°Theirs is not so far from ours, rather less dense in neuron composition but otherwise similar. What I am doing here will leave you roughly as far from them as they are from a normal human. A normal human, mind. You will¡­Well, you will no longer be that.¡±


    Venka tried to think of something he might say, but nothing seemed to occur. Somehow he was having trouble focusing, blinking at his confusion as the¡­The things. The things on the big arms, they kept coming, kept poking. Cutting.


    ¡°I imagine you¡¯ve noticed already.¡± Said the caster. ¡°But don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not done. For what it¡¯s worth you¡¯re now roughly as intelligent as an average ten year-old. I will be further reducing this, and doing so uniformly. Historically speaking, lobotomies tend to be rather unpredictable. My people have learned from that history, and have turned them into something of a science.¡±


    It was all so exhausting, so difficult to pick through, but Venka managed. He was a clever man, always had been, the smartest, even. This was an enemy, and he fought against it as well as he could. If he just wrestled the limbs harder, surely they would break apart. Big things were easier to hurt than small ones, he thought, and he was a Hero.


    ¡°Around now, you should be finding your grasp of language somewhat reduced.¡± The mean man said. ¡°Vocablibrary dimished, compensation reduced. You may grow confused at curtain words, miff them up or mishandstand them.¡± He smiled. ¡°Ah, I see by your face that it is happening already.¡±


    What was he talking about? And why did Venka¡¯s head feel so¡­So¡­Hard to see through.


    ¡°You are now as intel gent as a chimp.¡± The mean man said. ¡°All be hit, with the able tea to speak and handstand speech. How do you feel? I took care of a few member trees as well, those apple pie-ing to me at least.¡±


    Venka stared, trying to know what was being said, frowning. His head hurt, and he was tired. He wanted something to eat, and he wanted somewhere to lie down too. He didn¡¯t like this man, he looked all mean and spoke corn fussedly.


    Opening his mouth, he tried to reply, frowning deep her as his lips did not do as it were told.


    ¡°Want go home.¡± Venka mum bled. The mean man smiled, maybe not so mean.


    ¡°Of course you can go home.¡± He nodded. ¡°In fact, I will take you there. How a boat we get you some paper and ink, too? I know you love to write.¡±


    <hr>


    General Venka did not look much changed once Silenos was done with him, his scalp repaired, hair regrown. He stepped back from the lobotomite, smiling at his own handiwork.


    ¡°Perfect.¡± Silenos nodded. ¡°Now nobody will see anything wrong, they won¡¯t worry about you, they won¡¯t judge you. They¡¯ll know that everything you say comes from you, and they can enjoy your new books while you write away to your heart¡¯s content. What would you like to write about next, Venka?¡±


    The moron thought for some time, about as slowly as might be expected of a man missing roughly two thirds of his cerebral neurons.


    ¡°War.¡± He said, confidently. Silenos nodded, smiling.


    ¡°Of course, war. You¡¯re good at war, aren¡¯t you Venka?¡±


    ¡°The best.¡± The imbecile replied, speaking with the kind of certainty which nature reserved for the truly, stultifyingly stupid. Silenos thought for a moment whether he¡¯d gone too far in stripping away his cognition.


    Then he smiled again. No, this was just as he liked him. This was perfect.


    From the corner of his eye, Silenos caught movement. Not the sluggish, twitching kind of a dying creature melted from within by his virus, nor the rapid, explosive kind of an imminent attack. It was slow, purposeful, deliberate. A woman walking, and as he turned to the source, he felt a sensation too strong and unfamiliar for him to even identify washing through the reconstructed centres of his brain¡¯s emotional processors.


    Ensharia, the Paladin. The first face he¡¯d seen in the New World, and the body that seemed ever between him and danger.


    ¡°You live.¡± Silenos breathed, taking a step towards her before he¡¯d even realised he was moving. She surprised him, then, by stepping back just as he did, flinching and gazing up at him as if he were something dangerous. Something unpredictable.


    ¡°You did this.¡± Ensaharia whispered, speaking with a tone left hoarse by emotion and¡­Something else.


    Silenos only frowned, his confusion blooming instantly.


    ¡°Did what?¡± He asked.


    ¡°THIS!¡± She snapped, gesturing at the sights around her. The dead and dying, the ruin Silenos had made of the battlefield.


    ¡°Ah.¡± He understood instantly, then. ¡°Yes, I did. I used a virus- imagine a grotesquery too small to see and able to feast on flesh to multiply its number by the moment- to infect the orcs and kill them. It was the easiest way of destroying the army.¡±


    Her stare was the sort he might have received from Venka, had he not known better than to try polysyllabic communication with the man. Pure incomprehension, followed by rage, and then¡­Then it was disgust.


    ¡°These were people.¡± She snarled. ¡°You¡­Silenos, you didn¡¯t kill animals, whatever they say, you killed people. They were capable of kindness, compassion, they could learn-¡±


    ¡°-I am well aware.¡± He cut in. ¡°Yes, I examined their brains. Less intelligent than humans, but not by so much, I know.¡±


    ¡°Then why did you do it?¡± She snarled. ¡°How could you do it?¡±


    Silenos frowned at that.


    ¡°I did it because they were a threat to my plans, and as for the how¡­Well, my Fleshcrafting provides many-¡±


    ¡°-HOW CAN YOU BRING YOURSELF TO DO IT!?¡± Ensharia screamed, her fury, apparently, reaching a critical mass and boiling over entirely. ¡°Every one of these people had friends, hopes, they¡­They had lives!¡±


    It was then that he realised the miscommunication between them, and sighed. It was such a simple thing.


    ¡°I see.¡± Silenos replied, calmly. ¡°You still cling to your simple ideological quirks. I really had been hoping to avoid truly conversing on this, it was my wish that you might simply learn a better way yourself by watching me, but if we must discuss it openly then I will start by telling you that there truly is nothing about any of what you just described that holds moral weight to House Shaiagrazni. I needed them dead, and so I killed them.¡±


    She stared, as if the ground were falling out beneath her. Speaking slowly, quietly.


    ¡°...Could you have spared them?¡± Ensharia asked. Silenos thought about it.


    ¡°Hm. Yes, I suppose I could have, if I¡¯d been so inclined. A less deadly virus would still have incapacitated them, there would doubtless be deaths in the fighting but they would not all have perished. I achieved plenty already, in any case, and have more biomass to be used now that more of them have perished. It would not have saved time to make a weaker pathogen.¡±


    Ensharia took another step back, and just stared at him. Stared like he was a man she¡¯d never seen before, like he had just told her his name was not Silenos, and his House not Shaiagrazni.


    Silenos felt a stab of irritation at that, and was not certain where from.


    ¡°I have a lot to explain.¡± He continued. ¡°You have missed much during your¡­¡± He considered the facts. Ensharia had seemed rather attached to the orcs. ¡°Imprisonment.¡± Silenos decided. ¡°We will soon be moving on from Kaltan, whenever I have finished mustering our new army, come with me and-¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    That single word halted him, like a jutting strip of iron choking the gears of his speech.


    ¡°No¡­? No what?¡± Silenos frowned. ¡°What do you mean no?¡±


    Ensharia stared, and for a moment he wondered whether she¡¯d even heard him.


    ¡°No.¡± She said at last. ¡°I will not be coming with you.¡±


    Now it was Silenos¡¯ time to pause, mind halting, somehow, delayed and clicking precious moments late as some new flash of emotion ran through it and slowed the cerebral brilliance like thick tar in a mechanism.


    ¡°Be serious.¡± He replied at last. ¡°You summoned me to this world, you knew you would have to-¡±


    ¡°I have made up my mind.¡± Ensharia spat, and Silenos saw tears, now, glistening in her eyes. ¡°I¡­Took too long to do it, spent far too long denying what was right before my eyes. But now I see. Kill me if you want, but I¡¯m leaving. And I¡¯m not fighting alongside you again for as long as I live.¡±


    She turned, at that. Storming away from Silenos and leaving him alone. He watched her go, trying to think of something to say, to do. Something to give him direction towards anything but the internal storm leaving him near-wittless.


    Nothing came to mind, and the Paladin was out of sight before he next moved.

 Book 2: Chapter 0

    The old King ran, and his lungs burned. They burned because he was an old man, as well as an old King, and had been forcing his body into a sprint for far longer than was comfortable. They burned because the air had grown hot and putrid with undead reek around him. They burned because his panic was turning to a fearful flush under his skin, and each breath felt sharp and cramped.


    Around him, his palace was a ruin. Walls fractured and caved inwards like helms struck by warhammers, floors beget by cracks spanning the width, sometimes even length, of the corridors themselves. The old King was careful as he ran, for each way he turned there seemed some new tripping hazard where mortar or stone had been driven up and displaced by the fighting.


    From outside he heard what was left of his men, either dead or dying. They were good warriors, the best. Knights, all of them, and a cut above their peers to have been selected as personal guards to his palace. It was all worth nothing. The old King had seen the invaders¡¯ monsters, and undead of that calibre could scarcely even tell the difference between Knights or mere men. The ruin they made of bodies seemed unaffected either way.


    A tremble ran through the building, and the old King stumbled, almost fell. One of those spells, he realised. The mysterious, impossible ones this dark caster had started unleashing, that engulfed the world in a fire so brief and bright it felt like a second sun was touching the earth within the span of a single eye¡¯s blink. A moment later the sound reached his ears, like mountains crashing together. The old King hurried, pace increasing and carrying him through to the safe room.


    They were all there, thank God. His sons, his daughter. Not a one of his mistresses were present- that much needled him- but he barely noticed such trivialities next to the sight of royal blood unspilled and well preserved behind the safe walls of his retreat. He hurried in, hearing the door driven shut behind him and finally letting his aged lungs exhale in relief as the foot of solid steel lining every surface of the room fully enclosed them.


    ¡°Folami.¡± He gasped, hurrying to his eldest son and embracing the boy. More a man, now, and the old King felt as much in his grip. Strong with size and bodily maturation, invigorated by youth and made tightly desperate by the fear of their situation. He squeezed back, as best as his withered muscles would allow, to offer what meagre reassurance the gesture would.


    ¡°Father, how goes the defence?¡± His son asked.


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t be here if it had gone well.¡± Ado noted, not meeting either of their eyes. The old King resisted the reflex of chastising her, finding himself too weary and too beaten to bother correcting such improper things as her razored tongue now of all times. What use would it do her to speak more appropriately? She would not charm her way out of their situation.


    ¡°Quite right.¡± My dear. The old King breathed, pulling back from his son and taking one last look at his face, etching the sight into his memory. He closed his eyes, sighed, and got down onto his knees.


    Prayer. It was all he had left, all anyone had left. If God Himself would not smite the attackers, then there wasn¡¯t a force in all the world that could.


    The old King did not commune with God for long, because soon enough the impacts started. Weak at first, barely audible through the layers of stone and steel. They grew quickly, soon intensifying in noise, then in force as even the metal was buckled and dented, bulging out in great mounds as it deformed before the strikes pounding against it from beyond.


    He turned, watching the ruin progress and clutching his children tight. It didn¡¯t take long for the door to fold inwards, smashed apart, jagged lengths of metal falling away from the ripped opening like so many sword blades mangled by hard use. There was little dust or debris in the air, such things were typical of holes made in stone rather than steel, and so the beasts responsible were seen almost instantly.


    Monsters, there was no other word for them. Like great machines of meat and bone, bowstring tendons and support-beam limbs, bodies covered in articulated plates that looked to be made by a genius armourer and moving with an unseen musculature of impossible strength.


    But it was not the mere mountains of flesh that drew his eye, it was the abomination atop them. The caster was a creature unrivalled among any other of his kind the old King had ever seen, a beacon of magic to engulf the greatest of court wizards and the eldest of magi. He was tall, taller than man-height, standing easily eight or nine feet, and lithe as a fencer. His body was covered with plates of a similar composition to those that protected his creations, though more finely worked and made by far. Atop his head, a crest seemed to grow from his skull, protruding in such a way as to resemble a great crown. His body was wrapped in a great robe, and it was that that the stories had spoken of the most.


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    It moaned, that robe. Groaning and weeping with every movement, low hums of agony that seemed unrelenting in their projection, and heightened by every fractional movement. The caster came down from atop his mount, drifting slowly to the floor and making his way to the group.


    ¡°You resisted.¡± He said. He had a soft voice, almost deft in its touch against the old King¡¯s ears. It was like the hand of a surgeon, but it still sent a chill down his spine all the same.


    ¡°How could I not have?¡± He asked, trembling, feeling a humiliating tear roll down his cheek. ¡°You demanded total surrender. What kind would simply give that?¡±


    If the caster was moved by his despair, he betrayed no hint of it.


    ¡°Clearly a wiser one than you.¡±


    The old King couldn¡¯t argue with that. How could he? It was right. He had been a fool, a stubborn, proud fool. And now his people were slaughtered, his nation in tatters. Everything he cared about ground up as food for some dark magus¡¯ machinations.


    He opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to plead or persuade, but fell silent as his eyes caught something more behind the caster. A towering figure, though still far shorter than the caster himself. A figure he knew better than almost any other. King Galukar.


    ¡°You.¡± The old King gasped. ¡°Galukar, what¡­¡± For one moment he feared that his old comrade had been killed, that he now gazed upon some reanimate. The Godblade dispelled that fear. It was still there, by his side, and still brimming with the divine light it always did. No undead could have held it, none could have even tried.


    Galukar looked up at him for a long second, then turned his gaze away. Shame or regret, the old King couldn¡¯t see. It did not, he supposed, make a difference.


    ¡°Surrender now.¡± The caster spoke up, commanding suddenly, voice hardened and edged. ¡°Or I will further my already wrought destruction.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t a choice at all, the old King simply heard his words and nodded.


    ¡°I surrender.¡± He scowled, shaking with humiliation and regret. ¡°By God, I surrender, my Kingdom is yours, my people yours, just spare them more of your barbarity.¡±


    The caster did not reply at once, waiting until the old King had raised his gaze to meet the man¡¯s eyes before he did so.


    ¡°My barbarity?¡± He asked, voice level, quiet. ¡°You sit atop a feudal pyramid, suborning your people with delusions of divine sanction and birthright. You leave geniuses idle and unutilised, treat magic as a secondary concern at most, and work only to hoard what you already have, rather than create yet more and innovate. You do all this, and dare to call me the barbarian? I am the liberator. I am the hand of civilization caressing your savage empire, an enlightened man would be thanking me for what I intend to make of your world.¡±


    He listened, more for fear of what might be done if he dared interrupt than any true fascination with what was being said. The old King had expected madness, when he heard the dark caster speak, but what he heard now was worse. It was blasphemy of the highest order. He spoke of providence as if it were some foolish delusion, called God Himself a liar.


    This is the beast I am to deliver my people to. He realised. A cruel heretic, caring only for power.


    The old King was deflated, all his strength slipping away in a single, hard breath as the realisation finally sunk in that this was truly the end. Nothing now existed that might save him, or perhaps even that could.


    Better the Dark Lord than this, surely. Better anything.


    The caster eyed him for a second, then sighed.


    ¡°I should not bother, your kind do not understand the truth of House Shaiagrazni. It must be drilled into you from childhood for your limited minds to grasp it, I am simply wasting my effort.¡± His gaze grew cold, at that, and final. ¡°I have your surrender, that is all I ever required.¡±


    The caster¡¯s hand raised. It was a simple gesture, sluggish and lazy, but it sent the old King stumbling back a step.


    ¡°What are you doing!?¡± He demanded, eyes wide and bulging, jaw tight with horror. ¡°I surrendered! We surrender!¡±


    It was fascination and surprise that moved the caster¡¯s face, not pity or hesitation.


    ¡°And I will, as agreed, spare your people. But you must be punished for your resistance.¡±


    The old King took another backstep, looking around the room now. There were Knights with him, of course, and each had their weapons drawn and bodies tensed for activity. He had no illusions that they would serve to impede the caster.


    ¡°I am a prisoner!¡± The old King snapped. ¡°Not a soldier, not a peasant, you cannot do this-¡±


    ¡°There are very, very few things I cannot do anymore.¡± The caster cut in. ¡°My armies boast a combined biomass in the thousands of tonnes, my own personal equipment improves by the day, and even your divine magic is now mine to wield. You have no power here, and your world has nothing to offer me anymore. I will do as I will, and never again shall I be shackled by your idiotic customs or diplomatic procedures. Superstition does not rule me, however much it rules you.¡±


    Trying to speak, to say anything at all, the old King found his voice had abandoned him. Lips moving silently, dry with stress and fear, throat convulsive and fist-tight as the panic crept ever deeper into his wits. Finally he managed an answer, though it was barely any sort of answer at all.


    ¡°I am a King.¡± He breathed, feeling his eyes suddenly grow very wet, his legs suddenly very weak. The caster seemed almost to smell the enfeeblement of his resolve, and relish it.


    ¡°We do not have Kings in my land.¡± He replied, calm as if he were commenting upon the weather. ¡°Nor do we believe in anything so trite as providence or divine rule. All I see, now, is the man more responsible for this waste of resources than any other. If you will not bear the consequences of your role in it, then you should never have been a leader at all.¡±


    The caster¡¯s body changed, at that, great tendrils of bone and muscle protruding from both shoulders and shooting towards the old King. He didn¡¯t even have the time to scream.

 Book 2: Chapter 1

    Ado had seen executions. She wasn¡¯t supposed to have, such things weren¡¯t the place for a woman, but she¡¯d always been fascinated by all things forbidden, and so she¡¯d snuck her way into watching more than one. They were gory affairs, as might have been expected, and she¡¯d secretly prided herself on having that fraction more exposure to the darker side of ruling than any of her brothers would have thought.


    It had, she saw now, been an illusion. She had not inured herself to cruelty or death, nor had she grown world-weary or prepared for the cruelty of man. The fate of her father taught her that lesson well enough to never be forgotten.


    The caster¡¯s creations, those long, flexing spears of meat, stabbed clean into him. One struck the centre of his chest, the other his throat. In moments their work began. Her father¡¯s body seemed to¡­Fall in on itself, as if its insides were suddenly gone, and all that was left was skin and soft meat. Ado watched the caster¡¯s tendrils withdraw as rapidly as they had shot forth, and stared in silent horror as they began to caress his cloak.


    She saw it all happen so slowly, so precisely. Tissues, grey and stringy, wrapped and compressed, made dense, compact, carefully stitched into the mercurial fabric of the garb. Skin came next, stark against the pink and beige colours woven around it. Her father¡¯s skin, dark as coal and writhing until it shaped his very face into the material. Then came the groaning. The moaning, the low, humming exhalations of an unspeakable agony. It joined with all the others, just as her father joined with the cloak. The latest contribution to a chorus of human torture.


    Folami keeled over, his vomit sliding out in a volume which might have been impressive, were it not so pungently grotesque. His skin was greyed and ashen with sick by the time he finally stopped, sluggishly rising to his feet, staring at the caster- more particularly at his garb- with a horror Ado could only imagine was no less visible across her own features.


    ¡°You.¡± The caster said, turning to Ado.


    Her mind sort of spasmed, at that. Thoughts scattered as thoroughly as if they¡¯d been bashed from her skull with a warhammer.


    It was all she could do not to piss herself then and there, holding as steady as was possible upon her trembling knees and forcing out the most dignified response she could muster.


    ¡°...Me.¡± Ado nodded. ¡°Yes, what¡­What would you ask of me?¡±


    She hesitated, considering the use of some honorific, then realising she hadn¡¯t the faintest idea which- if any- would be preferred. Instead she just tried to keep her tone as non-combative as possible. That, always, was the trick to dealing with men. They wouldn¡¯t accept a threat, but they wouldn¡¯t so readily see one in a woman either.


    This one didn¡¯t have that usual, disinterested look to him though. He seemed to focus on her no less intently than any other, and without any of the typical scorn Ado would see. No more than he held for everyone else present, at least. It was like being watched by an undead, or a bloodhound.


    ¡°I do not ask.¡± The caster told her. ¡°I give voice to the way things will be, and then watch to see if the world requires any correction before conforming.¡±


    It was quite a typical sentiment, Ado found, for a magus. Certainly for one of his power- though her family hadn¡¯t managed to find any history of education or even activity for this one. Nor any bearing a resemblance to him. Ado hadn¡¯t either, and she¡¯d taken her own investigation a step further by looking into any other magi who didn¡¯t resemble him throughout history, all too aware that a Fleshcrafter might choose to simply make a new name and face for himself as any other, more invasive transformations.


    None of those had fit either, however.


    ¡°I understand.¡± Ado nodded, earnestly. She knew nothing about this man- if he was even a man at all. She was not her father or brothers, Ado had never been gifted with the Vigour. Her own body burned with true magic, inherited from her mother. And it was this that let her see the caster for what he was.


    A volcano. A hurricane, a falling star. Something larger than a man, as if his body were merely some shadow cast on a wall. Cast short, by something far, far larger whose form she could only glimpse between mountaintops from the corner of her eye.


    For all she knew, it was some Pagan god standing before her merely wearing the skin of a man. However much the grotesque approximation of human form she saw now could even be called a man¡¯s skin, anyway.


    If her fear and wondering caught his notice, he made no mention.


    ¡°You will become the ruler of this kingdom.¡± He told her.


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    Ado paused at that, taking a second to let his words sink in, not quite believing them.


    ¡°I¡­Beg your pardon?¡± She asked.


    ¡°I said you will become the ruler of this kingdom, you will answer to me and I shall rule it through you. Or do you dislike this state of affairs?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Ado hurriedly replied, finding her eyes glancing back down to the caster¡¯s cloak, where she found the face of the last person to convey such a sentiment. ¡°No, I do not, I¡­Thank you, sir.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± The caster nodded, then turned. ¡°Follow me.¡±


    Ado paused, risking a single glance towards her brothers. Tears were most of what she saw, staining cheeks and running live rivers as so many eyes fell helplessly upon the barbaric garb that had become their father. Some, though, landed on her. Pleading, judging, demanding. Ado forced herself to look away, following the caster sheepishly.


    Her throat was tight as they stepped beyond the confines of the old King¡¯s shelter.


    Fadaka was a proud nation, near as old as Arbite and the crowning jewel of a vast kingdom. It covered more than an entire horizon in buildings, many small and squat, but numerous others towering and proud. It broke Ado¡¯s heart to see the state of them now.


    The caster¡¯s monsters had proven a terror in battle, great mountains of death which moved like vipers despite their size. Ballista bolts had glanced from their armour plates like nothing, trebuchet stones had shattered to pieces and barely even irked them. Even Rochtai, the court magus, had proven too little.


    Rochtai, who¡¯d supported Ado¡¯s mother when she pushed to act out her own people¡¯s customs and train her daughter in magic. Rochtai, who¡¯d never so much as flinched at the thought of his student being a girl. Rochtai, who¡¯d always laughed at her genius and told her she was the greatest talent he¡¯d seen since Walriq the windmage or Arion Falls.


    She saw Rochtai, now. A crippled thing, body sluglike and smooth, limbs dysfunctional and useless. He writhed around on the ground with everything about him ruined and deformed, save his face. Clearly he recognised her, for he made so great an effort to avoid Ado¡¯s gaze that it could only have been borne from the deepest of shames. She avoided his likewise, as much from disgust and squeamishness as pity.


    ¡°You are disturbed by my work.¡± The caster observed, eying it all with an apathetic stare.


    His work was ruin. Buildings crushed, streets shattered, towers toppled and outer walls left crumbled ruins. A horde of giants might have trampled through the city for weeks on end and not done such damage. There was no battle, Ado thought. Only a slaughter. It hardened her thoughts against the groaning mass of misery and regret her father had become. He had been a fucking fool to ever try standing against such monstrous power.


    ¡°Why did you have to do this?¡± She asked, surprising herself with the question. Surprising herself more with the lack of fear. She turned to see the caster eying her, as if she were some ant he had found demanding answers of him in his food.


    ¡°Who are you to ask me such things?¡± He replied, predictably. Ado still wasn¡¯t afraid. Why was that?


    The answer was obvious, he was simply too big a thing to fear. She might as well worry about the prospect of being struck by lightning or swallowed up by the ground as his rage, such a thing was beyond the scope of petty human survival instincts.


    ¡°I¡¯m someone you¡¯ve decided to put in charge of a ruined city.¡± Ado answered. ¡°And if I¡¯m to rule, I would know what the motives are behind my doing so. Does this place lie destroyed because you want it to, for example, or was there some other goal in the deed.¡±


    He did not seem angry, that was something. Though Ado imagined that, had he actually been irked by her words, the first indication she¡¯d have received was being killed. Killed, or¡­Changed. She suppressed the shudder that birthed just as the caster spoke.


    ¡°Very well then. I destroyed much of this Kingdom because I ordered that it surrender without question, and was questioned. This ruin will serve as incentive for the next I encounter to more carefully heed any warnings I feel inclined to offer them.¡±


    Ado considered that. It wasn¡¯t such a surprising thing to learn, certainly she could see the logic in it. In stark terms, at least, perceived from far away and held to a slight scale.


    So long as she kept herself from considering the simple humanity of it all.


    ¡°What are your plans for us?¡±


    This time, the caster did look annoyed. Slightly.


    ¡°To improve your petty excuse for a civilisation, and absorb it into House Shaiagrazni. In the long term. In the short term I intend to continue my research, I have learned much from this world already, and begun to master your magics for myself. But only begun. I suspect that, with time, I will find ever more means of empowerment from among you.¡±


    ¡°Like divine magic?¡± Ado dared to ask. ¡°You mentioned learning to use that yourself, is¡­Is that true?¡±


    She¡¯d have laughed at the idea a month ago. Even an hour ago, really, but laying eyes upon this creature had made the implausible and inconceivable suddenly seem horribly likely. If God could wield the heavens for His ends, then why not the Devil? And if the Devil had ever appeared as any creature in all the world, it was surely this one.


    ¡°It is true. I will not be explaining more than that, however, it is not my custom to hand knowledge out to those outside my own Household. Impress me, earn my favour, and I may see fit to gift you with it.¡±


    Ado looked back out to the city, where one of the roaming abominations was starting to coil and sleep in the midst of an amphitheatre. Its body was so great in size as to almost fill the arena and reach the seating areas, despite there being easily space enough for a thousand.


    She wasn¡¯t sure whether the knowledge of such a creature¡¯s creation was something she had any business or want in learning.


    ¡°He¡¯s still conscious, you know.¡±


    Ado turned, instantly, to see the caster speaking to her once more, though not looking her way.


    ¡°Your father I mean.¡± He continued, casual as ever. ¡°I was very particular about keeping the minds of all those trapped in my coat, ensuring they remain intact and capable of pain.¡±


    Her mouth was dry and acidic with sick at once. Ado barely choked out her reply.


    ¡°...Why are you telling me this?¡± She croaked.


    That, at last, had the caster glancing towards her.


    ¡°To motivate you into a high quality of service.¡±

 Book 2: Chapter 2

    Of the Necromancers Swick had met, all two of them, he had to say the Sphera woman was probably his favourite. Certainly, she was the best adjusted. Which wasn¡¯t hard. She didn¡¯t wear a coat made out of human pain, and that was more or less where the bar was.


    All things considered, though, he might have preferred Shaiagrazni as a companion. They were back in the darklands, surrounded on all sides by pitch-coloured dirt and dying air. There was a sinister touch to everything that made him remarkably eager for the most potent ally he could get at his side, and recent events had rearranged King Galukar¡¯s position on that particular pecking order, even in terms of single combat.


    Ideally he might not have been there at all, and most certainly wouldn¡¯t have been were it not for two simple facts. The first was, of course, his pay. There were very few things Swick wouldn¡¯t do for money, very few things anyone wouldn¡¯t do for enough.


    The second factor, possibly the larger, was that they were in the plains in search of repairs for his ship. The moment he¡¯d heard that particular plan, he knew he¡¯d had no chance of escaping it.


    It had been quick work in retrieving the wreckage from where they¡¯d crashed and having it hauled back to Kaltan, thanks to Shaiagrazni¡¯s monsters. Quick work, and borderline useless. Swick had been impulsive when he¡¯d crashed it into the Flying Fortress, and more than half drunk. The speeds involved in such an aerial collision had left little to salvage.


    Little, but more than nothing. The most important, valuable pieces were all functional, more or less. The inertial core and most of the flight magics at least. That meant little when most of the superstructure was destroyed, and much of the connective constructs allowing the entire vehicle to function as a holistic piece, but it was a big leap in the right direction.


    It was by far the most irreplaceable aspects they¡¯d salvaged, after all. And there was every chance of scrounging what more was needed from the various cities and towns around them. Thus the fucking trip.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t travelled with Master Shaiagrazni any longer than I have.¡±


    Swick blinked, having grown so used to the silence that it took him a moment to realise the Necromancer had spoken. He turned, eying her, blinking. He hadn¡¯t had a drink in weeks, kept himself carefully sober and sharp. It was the most miserably agonising experience of his life, like trying to lever his own brain out through the top of his skull, and upon asking the Fleshcrafter for some help he¡¯d been informed that it was only the Vigour in him that had even kept him alive through the experience of withdrawal.


    But somehow, Sphera still had him on edge. She had that sort of feel to her, like a big pile of knives waiting for the nearest back to turn.


    ¡°No I haven¡¯t.¡± He grunted in response, studying her from the corner of his eye.


    ¡°But you¡¯re a man.¡±


    What? What was she on about? Swick had to resist the urge to just grunt and leave the conversation there.


    ¡°Well noticed.¡± He grumbled, ¡°What are you getting at?¡±


    The woman hesitated a second.


    ¡°Well, I was wondering if he¡¯d expressed any sort of¡­Interests to you. In women, I mean. Preferences, that sort of thing.¡±


    Swick understood instantly, and decided that he wanted no bloody part in that of all conversations within the same moment.


    ¡°As far as I¡¯m aware, he never has, and has none.¡± He replied, quickly. With a stroke of luck it seemed the Necromancer was satisfied to leave things there.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like the look of that city.¡± She breathed, changing the subject with about as much subtlety as her Master¡¯s larger creations. ¡°Rather similar to the one you all got ambushed by Venka in, easy to approach with a big force and little warning.¡±


    Swick agreed, and chewed at a lip in thought. He glanced over his shoulder to the contingency he and the Necromancer had arrived with. There were certainly stranger things in the world, these days, but it was still quite novel to be taking reassurance from a mass of waiting undead.


    Not such a great mass, mind. There were apparently limits to Necromancy. A man like Silenos Shaiagrazni could haul out thousands of powerful reanimates potent enough to crush even a Fomori. His apprentice was somewhat less impressive. The hundred or so at their back was a sizable fraction of her potential, and not a one would have been even a match for the lithe monstrosities which had caused Kaltan so much trouble.


    But a hundred undead were a hundred undead, one way or the other, and these ones were still strong enough at least that their combined might was more than Swick would have even tried fighting. Just another reason to be very bloody wary of the insane woman controlling them.


    ¡°I say this time, we bring some more muscle.¡± Swick decided. She scoffed at that, as if he¡¯d suggested they call for backup from Shaiagrazni himself.


    ¡°We¡¯re trying to remain covert, you realise?¡± The Necromancer sighed. ¡°Covert, not overt. A hundred undead of this level are the sort of thing you march to an army, not a shopping trip.¡±


    There was a certain logic there, Swick had to admit, but it wasn¡¯t enough to sway him because there was simply no actual logic behind his urge. Just a simple, vague belief- no, knowledge- that things would go wrong and that he would need an extra hundred axes swinging away at whatever problem emerged.


    ¡°We¡¯re almost finished gathering the supplies.¡± He noted. ¡°This will be one of the last towns we try for, possibly the last. And your Master is building up his forces by the day. Soon enough it¡¯ll be a moot point whether we attract the Dark Lord¡¯s attention or not.¡±


    And the quicker they got their work done, the sooner he¡¯d have his beautiful vessel once more. And when that happened, Swick would be once more watching danger unfold as an abstract thing from high above, just as God intended.


    ¡°If you¡¯re so concerned with speed,¡± Sphera replied, ¡°Then surely you realise we¡¯d be a lot faster if we weren¡¯t driving everyone away from us in a blind fear of the undead horde marching at our back.¡±


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    Swick had been worried most about hearing what she¡¯d just said. A logical argument, he sighed.


    ¡°Fine, let¡¯s go.¡±


    It was a tedious search, long and thought-demanding. The scrounging of skyship components often was.


    For one thing, Swick needed bracing. Ordinary ship making would render you a sky vessel capable of making all the usual turns, at the cost of snapping itself in half. He didn¡¯t want that, for obvious reasons, and so he took the extra time to search for some arctenite. It was a rare material, made by the dwarves- or perhaps only mined by them- and impossibly light. No good for weapons or armour mostly, but excellent in construction for how much could be used while only adding the same amount of mass. Perfect for anything skyborne.


    Well, he¡¯d been ready for a difficult task in tracking it down. Having searched every city he¡¯d already passed through for the stuff, Swick was beginning to grow convinced it would never reveal itself to him.


    Sometimes surprises came, and very occasionally they were actually nice ones. Swick found his arctenite after only an hour of asking around.


    The stuff was held by some metallurgist, expectedly, and put on display only behind a thick wall of steel-braced glass which looked as though it might have resisted a catapult. Though refracted by the sheer thickness of its guarding display, he could still make out the metal¡¯s texture well enough. Lighter than iron, lighter even than steel. Almost a silvery colouration as if the lack of grey pigmentation to its sheen were some indicator of the stuff¡¯s lack of weight.


    ¡°A fine eye for quality you have there, sir.¡± The owner grinned, clocking instantly that Swick had come for the metal in particular, and no doubt raising its price the very instant he realised as much. He sighed, and did business.


    By the time Swick left, he had gained around one tonne of the precious metal he¡¯d come for. And lost almost its weight in gold. It was a stinging swindle to be wrapped up around, but one that had its bite reduced by the knowledge of what it meant. Soon enough, he¡¯d be a skycaptain again.


    Sometimes, though, surprises came. And only very occasionally were they actually nice ones. He and the Necromancer had not gotten even halfway through the town when they caught sight of a familiar group, and had to resist bolting at that very instant.


    All dressed in dark armour and uniforms, walking with raised chins and arrogant sneers, a coterie of the Dark Lord¡¯s thugs made their way down a street. There were a dozen in all, and behind them marched a half dozen more men. The latter group were not dressed in their clothes, so much as vaguely hovered around, and had the tattered features and states that Swick had seen so often in Venka¡¯s camps. The back men were manacled, the front holding their chains.


    Slaves, he¡¯d bet anything on it. He turned to the Necromancer and found her staring daggers at him.


    ¡°You want to do something stupid.¡± She guessed. It was a lucky hit on her part.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen too many slaves in my time, not in a mind to watch anymore carted away.¡±


    ¡°Give it a few weeks then.¡± She snapped. ¡°They¡¯ll be taken back to the Dark Lord and make the transition from slaves to undead.¡±


    Swick¡¯s pulse spiked, and he took a moment to identify the blend of anger and surprising desperation now giving his heart such a racing pace. He forced himself into as close a proximity to calm as was possible before answering her back.


    ¡°We¡¯re saving them.¡± He said, sharply. Swick didn¡¯t think of his men, how they¡¯d died in the crash. But their faces hit him all the same.


    Apparently Sphera had a sense for when she wasn¡¯t going to be persuading someone, because she only sighed.


    ¡°I can direct my undead to circle the town.¡± She growled. ¡°Hit them from one side just as they exit it, hopefully leave some confusion as to what happened.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s.¡± Swick nodded, already turning to follow the men- subtly of course- to the point of ambush.


    It was not a difficult fight, and that was a nice change from the recent pace Swick had found in his conflict. Within moments the Dark Lord¡¯s servants were either dead or surrendered, all of them well trained and powerful, but none the equal of such a battle as dropped onto them then. Undead were circling their kneeling forms when Swick swaggered over to make himself known.


    ¡°Alright, alright.¡± He grinned, with all of the calm arrogance he didn¡¯t feel. ¡°That¡¯s enough, everyone can calm down now. It¡¯s over. Now, Sphera, would you mind having our friends here freed?¡±


    An undead was already moving to obey when he asked, cutting free one of the bound slaves, then the rest. Soon enough all of the men were standing, hesitantly flexing wrists and testing their bodies in the unaccustomed freedom now upon them.


    It was not the most heartening sight. Swick had expected, if not gratitude, then at least some healthy joy at such an unforeseen liberation. Instead these men seemed even more nervous than before.


    Something, he surmised, was wrong.


    ¡°You¡¯ve changed nothing.¡± One of the Dark Lord¡¯s thugs snarled, then groaned as Swick hit him. The man fell into the dirt, spitting blood and coughing at the shock of his strike. Swick turned to the slaves.


    ¡°What does he mean?¡± He asked. The men looked worried enough to know what he was talking about, he had a strong wager that whatever was gnawing away at their relief was likewise fuelling their captors¡¯ confidence.


    He was proven right with the first answer.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t heard?¡± One asked, looking more confused than Swick. ¡°The Dark Lord¡¯s coming. This changes nothing, you haven¡¯t saved us, only doomed us to another bout of struggling.¡±


    None present seemed to disagree, but Swick had to see for himself. He got the details quickly; direction, speed, size. Then he headed off to take a look at the nearing army and confirm what he¡¯d been told.


    There were plenty of hills in the region, the source of Swick¡¯s fear of ambush just short hours ago. Now they were a boon, because he was quick in scaling one to get a better sight of the horizons.


    What he saw was a punch to the gut.


    There was, indeed, an army approaching. An army big enough to rival, even exceed the scale Venka¡¯s had boasted when it marched on Kaltan. He felt a chill as he peered through his telescope, better sighting the density and width, identifying individual undead within. Fomori, Dullahan, plenty of lesser reanimates. There were liches near the front and Winged Reavers circling overhead, as well as some even he had never encountered before.


    And ahead of them all, leading the entire procession, was a single figure that he didn¡¯t mistake for undead even an instant. Towering over most everything around it and clad from head to toe in armour too blemishless and pure in its dark lustre to be the apparel of mere Dullahan, over his back there lay strapped a sprawling mace, by his side a short staff.


    Swick counted himself lucky enough to never have actually seen the Dark Lord before that moment, but he¡¯d heard stories and read accounts enough that he didn¡¯t take even an instant to identify the man. He was the scourge of the continent, perhaps the most dangerous creature alive.


    And he was heading right his way.


    With no hesitation, Swick scurried down the hilltop and scrambled back for the slaves. They had a while before the Dark Lord reached anything of note, even the town Swick had just shopped in was a good ten miles or more from his army. Ten miles, with a force that size, meant maybe a day. Accounting for marching speed.


    There was time to get ahead of it, to report, to warn, to plan. Granted there were only so many plans a man might make when the Devil decided to insert a mace in him, but Swick was eager to at least get a start in the making. He seized one slave rather less gently than before, grabbing the man by his collar and hauling him off his feet to interrogate the poor bastard from mere inches away.


    ¡°Who are you, and what do you know of the army?¡±


    He was a big man, this one, towering over Swick and well built. He didn¡¯t seem half moved to be plucked so easily off the ground, only empty.


    ¡°Kaltan.¡± He replied. ¡°Soldiers of Kaltan, all of us. And that¡¯s where the bastard¡¯s going if his men were to be believed.¡±


    Swick tossed him aside, turned his focus to the Dark Lord¡¯s men and started asking his questions more harshly still. The answer didn¡¯t change, though. The truth didn¡¯t wilt.


    The Dark Lord was heading to try Kaltan a second time.

 Book 2: Chapter 3

    Silenos felt a stab of anger at the tedium of directing his grotesqueries to simple reconstruction, when he might otherwise be spending his time rebuilding the arcane defences once at his disposal. Then he remembered why. His cape moaned its agony, as if to an unheard cue, and he allowed himself to bask in the satisfaction of having punished the one responsible.


    He saw the King Galukar stiffen from the corner of his eye, and smiled ever deeper. It had been a long time since that particular monkey had dared say anything about Silenos¡¯ methods. Evidently, even his dull mind had finally realised the obvious facts of their new stations. How long would he last, were he to attack Silenos this instant? A minute, perhaps two. There weren¡¯t so many grotesqueries within immediate reach of them, it would take a while to call in the forces needed to properly crush him.


    Silenos buried the thought, having better things to do than continue swilling the taste of progress around his mouth, and turned to the girl.


    ¡°You are to prioritise being seen conducting the reconstruction.¡± Silenos informed her, watching her jump at being addressed in that satisfying way she had. ¡°It won¡¯t do to have the impression among your people be that you are some simple puppet for my whims.¡±


    Quite apart from the fact that she was, and Silenos generally disliked being fully understood in his actions, it would damage the morale of the people if they perceived themselves as fully beneath an external force of conquest. Best to let simpletons think of themselves as free, they chafed at management.


    ¡°You will focus on minimising further death, to start with, and then once the city is properly stabilised you will push further into rebuilding efforts using renovations and changes detailed in the report I had sent to you. It contains the plans for a city made in the image of House Shaiagrazni¡¯s, and I will see it followed to the letter.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± She replied, nodding with all the haste of one who had the image of Silenos¡¯ new coat fresh in her mind. But then she paused, swallowing, licking her lips nervously, and speaking again without prompting.


    ¡°May I ask you a question?¡±


    Silenos braced himself for exposure to the depths of human stupidity, and nodded.


    ¡°You may.¡±


    The woman delayed only a moment before finding the courage to do so.


    ¡°You made me your puppet here, put me in charge of your new Vassal state. Why? Why not my brothers? You must surely know how women are perceived in these lands.¡±


    He¡¯d known as much, of course. It had in fact been why he¡¯d selected her. Better to have a vassal who was not entirely certain in her standing, and could not turn her back to her own court, than one who was confident and secure within the city he¡¯d left them to rule. Silenos had no interest in facing a rebellion, nor finding out the Dark Lord or some other party had subverted his latest conquest out from under him.


    But he did not say as much, instead keeping a cool face and meeting her eyes more openly.


    ¡°Because I saw a considerable potential in you.¡± He lied. ¡°You have a quick mind, a dynamic intellect, and a manner of considering things that I suspect will lead to considerably skilled leadership in the future. I intend to cultivate that, and give it the opportunity to blossom. In my people¡¯s homeland it was considered standard for women to receive all the opportunities of men, and refraining from such a state is mere waste.¡±


    Her eyes could not have grown brighter, even if Silenos had set the woman¡¯s brain on fire. He drew satisfaction from the sight of a manipulation well executed, then noticed her smile. It was a soft thing, wide and easy, unguarded. It reminded him rather of Ensharia¡¯s.


    ¡°Now begone.¡± He continued, gesturing her away. ¡°You are consuming too much of my time, and I have more important matters to attend to than you.¡±


    She seemed rather confused for a moment, but nodded dutifully and turned to take her leave.


    <hr>


    Galukar watched the girl take her leave, frowning as she went. He felt a stab of pity for her. Losing a father and a Kingdom in one day was bad enough, finding herself under the thumb of Shaiagrazni¡­He shuddered.


    But not so much. After all, he was under that same thumb now, and found himself chafing at it far less than he ought to have. In his youth he¡¯d no doubt have been killed already after heroically throwing himself at the caster, all roaring vigour and flailing swings. Maybe he¡¯d even have wounded him. Maybe not. He was too tired for such puerile indulgences anymore.


    ¡°Was there any reason in particular you decided to dismiss her so bluntly?¡± He found himself asking, not entirely expecting the caster to turn and reply.


    ¡°She must not learn to see me as anything less than a superior, not until my grip here is cemented.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Galukar replied, studying the caster. ¡°Well, you¡¯ve taken the kingdom, at least. Taken it well, and with the losses suffered I doubt any among it will have both the means and inclination to seize it back. For now at least, I¡¯d call this a victory. What say you to a drink? In celebration.¡±


    That had the caster turning around at last, affixing Galukar with a look that harkened back to when they¡¯d first met. All frosty and jagged, edged like some barbed thing of natural armour.


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    ¡°I was not aware I had said anything to indicate that I might indulge myself in such primitive a pastime as recreational cognitive impediment.¡±


    Galukar understood even less of the man¡¯s words than was normal, but he was able to gauge the rough gist of what had been said. He felt himself bristle at the obvious contempt on display, but felt himself shift more at something else. Something hidden beneath the surface.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for such hostility.¡± He replied, trying again, despite himself. ¡°This is a time for anything but that, surely. You did well, you made progress. Relax.¡±


    ¡°The last time I relaxed, I found myself hurled through dimensional walls and into a realm of silly little apemen forcing me to fight in their silly little wars out of self preservation.¡±


    It was difficult not to match the rage, but made easier by the recollection of those damned flesh abominations.


    ¡°These are hardly comparable circumstances-¡± Galukar tried, then fell silent as the caster snapped again.


    ¡°What is your motive in asking me these incessant questions?¡± He growled. ¡°You¡¯ve never been particularly curious before, not about anything and least of all about me. And you¡¯re far from friendly to practitioners of my arts. I¡¯d think you simpering for self-preservation, but I know you care too little about your own death for that. So what in the world is your motive in this petty attempt at subterfuge?¡±


    Galukar was not a politician, really. He had always been a ruler more fit for battle than peace, and had left the governing of Arbite to his advisors and hands since long before any sought to turn against him. Even so, he was canny enough to realise when his pretences had fallen away.


    He gave them up with relish, never liking the sensation of hiding behind a mask of any kind at all. Not even to a Fleshcrafter.


    ¡°Very well then.¡± He replied, not flinching as Silenos Shaiagrazni affixed him with that demonic gaze. ¡°You have changed, and not in the way you think. You were always callous, cruel¡­Always evil. But never so drastically as this. What you¡¯re doing, with the coat, with the cripplings¡­It¡¯s performative. Ever since Falls died.¡±


    Shaiagrazni¡¯s eye twitched.


    ¡°Falls is not dead.¡± Was all he said, in a brisk tone unreadable as any singular emotion at all, but certainly conveying something.


    It would have been a small thing in a normal man, but Silenos Shaiagrazni was not normal by any stretched definition. His denial was obvious and uncharacteristic, something Galukar knew all too well was a sign of some deeper crack in his emotional stability.


    Whatever the caster claimed, he was not some ineffable bastion of knowledge and logic. He felt, just as any other man did, and Arion Falls¡¯ death had him feeling. Feeling enough to deny that it had ever even occurred. Feeling enough to discover some moral line, at last, that he would not cross, and keep him from reanimating his apprentice.


    Galukar keenly recalled the abominable constructs roaming around the city, feeling some whisper even then of the awe he had been struck by upon first seeing it. If the master of things like that were to lose his senses entirely, it might well spell the end of the entire world.


    ¡°If you¡¯re sure.¡± He said, slowly, carefully. Well aware that he was not speaking with the most predictable of creatures.


    Silenos Shaiagrazni snapped, but not violently. His anger came out as a contemptuous scoff, and a sidelong glance edged to a skin-opening point.


    ¡°Begone, I am tired of this conversation.¡±


    It had been a long time since anyone had seen fit to order Galukar around like that, and just for a moment he was half-tempted to disobey. But he didn¡¯t, climbing to his feet and taking his leave with only the barest reluctance. It would be foolish not to.


    The relationship between himself and Shaiagrazni had been rather dramatically rearranged, of late.


    <hr>


    It was a strange sort of silence that followed Silenos after Galukar¡¯s exit, the kind that made room for contemplation and thought. The kind that made room only for the contemplation and thoughts that were most unwelcome.


    His mind drifted to the past, the favoured refuge of any rebelling cognition, and revisited recent victories. They had been many, and easily won. But perhaps not as easily as they might have been. The more he scrutinised himself, the more imperfections Silenos found in his past reasoning, the more errors stuck out at his appraising eye.


    Many things had occurred before him, many horrors and atrocities, no small number of which had happened at his own behest. But none had ever disturbed him the way he now stood disturbed. To feel the treachery of one¡¯s own intellect was not of House Shaiagrazni, and he found himself hastily scrambling for long-forgotten lessons learned as a mere apprentice to rectify the issue.


    The answer, in the end, could not have been mistaken. It was Silenos¡¯ brain. His rewired, mangled intellect made pliable and intuitive where it ought to have been mechanical and pneumatic. He had recrafted it for politicking and emotional prediction shortly after arrival, to better plan around the unpredictable nature of humanity, and in doing so had introduced something¡­New.


    Rationality, on occasion, surrendered to impulse. Sentiment infested him like calcifying tumours, growing with tendrils running deep and parasitic into the meat of his brain. It was distracting Silenos for one thing; but what was worse was how it influenced him.


    He had felt a sense of annoyance, even regret, upon hearing of Arion Falls¡¯ loss. Silenos had intended to one day see the boy rise through the ranks of House Shaiagrazni, and had fully believed him to hold potential enough to become one of their finest- with enough centuries of honing and study. To see his great talent snuffed out the way it had been was¡­Beyond wasteful.


    And then there was the matter of Ensharia. She had been a useful ally, and his first in the New World. But it had been her own stupidity driving her away, not any error of Silenos¡¯.


    To let either of these misfortunes distract him as he had been was a fallacy beyond description, and would lead to disaster sooner or later.


    Emotions.


    That was Silenos¡¯ problem. That was his curse. The petty, unpredictable little synaptic spasms he¡¯d unknowingly set upon himself by reconfiguring his cerebrum. Well, he knew what the aberration was now, and he knew just how to fix it. He raised his hands to gently touch fingertips down atop his scalp.


    Then hesitated.


    It would be a time-consuming work, but not one he couldn¡¯t afford to devote his attention to. What truly stayed Silenos¡¯ hand was the recollection of his work earlier the day, how he¡¯d plucked at the strings of Queen Ado¡¯s mind to ensure she moved in accordance with his plans.


    That was not the sort of thing one managed with logic alone. Like it or not, Silenos had found his skill in moving others enhanced by the empathic knowledge of how they were feeling and what they might be inclined to do. It was, after all, the entire reason Collin Baird still remained by his side.


    Could he¡­But no, Silenos had already created a strong enough region, and that strength would be improved faster with his full, untainted genius directed to crafting yet more engines of war and infrastructure. His hesitation was folly.


    Silenos¡¯ focus was broken by the opening of a door, and he turned to see Collin Baird hurriedly scrambling into the room. The boy had more than just his usual look of dull panic about him, eyes hot with frantic urgency and adrenal potence. Silenos got to his feet even as the words reached him.


    ¡°It¡¯s the Dark Lord.¡± Baird gasped. ¡°Another army, led by him personally, sighted heading this way.¡±

 Book 2: Chapter 4

    Ado was not unfamiliar with the work needed to govern a city; she had, after all, sat in on most of the decisions made regarding her father¡¯s rule for as long as she could remember.


    Which wasn¡¯t to say she was an expert.


    She¡¯d been given plenty of exposure, but that was not the same thing as actual instruction. She was cleverer by half than any of her brothers, but Ado would have gladly accepted knowledge in favour of wits any day. Had she been working entirely alone, she would have been quite in over her head. Fortunately, she was not.


    Whatever might have been said about Silenos Shaiagrazni from an ethical standpoint, Ado had to admit¡­The man was a better ruler than her. Better than her brothers, better than her father. Perhaps better than any other she¡¯d seen.


    His plans were unorthodox and bizarre- something she mistook for ineptitude only briefly- but implied a philosophy of design for her nation which might actually have worked in its integration, despite being entirely alien to everything else about it.


    It was, of course, a gradual set of changes being prepared. No alterations as large and invasive as the ones he had planned could have ever been done quickly, Ado was to let her nation¡¯s culture and infrastructure slowly mutate over years, even decades.


    She¡¯d heard stories of Vampires or Demons, Demigods and Archmagi sustaining their lives through many centuries and manipulating the world from behind the scenes with plans that outlasted an entire human life. Reading through the schematics prepared for her felt like being on the other side of those stories. The villain¡¯s side.


    Well, that was fine too. Ado had grown up on other stories, stories of Grecascnia, from her mother. A land where women studied whatever they wanted and ruled when they were best suited for it, of learning and knowledge. It was hard not to see everyone around her as a villain, with that sort of comparison. Silenos Shaiagrazni at least had plans to stop people starving in the street, peasants included.


    Her thoughts, and her work, were interrupted by the same thing. A runner, hurrying into Ado¡¯s new office with sweat painting their face and exhaustion animating their chest. They spoke through deep heaves, clearly not one born with Vigour- most of her father¡¯s actually swift messengers had been shot from afar by that barbarian Baird during the invasion.


    ¡°Your¡­Presence.¡± The wheezing peasant gasped. ¡°It¡¯s¡­Requested by¡­By Master Shaiagrazni.¡±


    Ado could see the physical effort he was putting into spitting out the rest of her new ruler¡¯s ridiculous title, and she spared him the effort with a gesture and a quick motion to her feet. ¡°In the throne room?¡± She asked, receiving confirmation with a nod, and hurrying to make her way there.


    It was not a long walk. Just a month ago, it would have been. Ado¡¯s father had always kept his administrators and counsellors relatively far from the throne room, feeling more comfortable with some appropriate distance between the merely powerful and the divinely-ordained.


    The contents of the throne room had changed, too. All the old heraldry torn down, and the ancient throne newly crowned by growths of bone and sinew shaped around it by Shaiagrazni himself. Ado still felt slightly queasy looking at them, even after all the days she¡¯d had to adjust. She felt queasier still seeing the caster himself standing by them.


    He seemed to have gotten taller, and certainly fouler of mood. It was almost enough to distract from the statuesque figure of King Galukar, just a few feet from him. Or the weasel on the other side.


    Ado had never met Collin Baird, but she¡¯d heard descriptions and seen renditions enough to recognise the murderous rat. It appeared that he made a habit of sitting in on the occasional meeting of import, when he wasn¡¯t busy murdering her father¡¯s bannermen and Knights from a horizon away.


    The boy was already speaking when she entered, and Ado steeled herself to listen. Bracing for whatever seditionist nonsense would slop out of his mouth.


    ¡°They¡¯re a month from Kaltan, and closing fast. Big army, but moving like you¡¯d expect of an undead force. Faster than you¡¯d expect, really.¡±


    He looked worried, not petulant. That surprised Ado for two reasons. The first, of course, was that she was well familiar with the dull, smug arrogance inherent to all Kaltans due to generations of poor breeding and management.


    The second was because she¡¯d heard reports from just a handful of assassins and warriors who¡¯d managed to close into melee with the boy, and not one of them had ever described so much as a nervous swallow. As they told it, even when he was staring down his own death, he¡¯d been unflinching as a statue and sharp as a razor.


    She didn¡¯t see that now, only a pale face made clammy with sweat.


    ¡°...What is happening?¡± Ado asked, managing to just barely keep the words from escaping her as a girlish squeak, fear eroding what little composure and certainty she¡¯d managed to claw back for herself since Shaiagrazni¡¯s conquest.


    All eyes fell upon her, and it was a testament to the evident danger of her situation that not a single pair did anything at all to further scatter her wits.


    ¡°The Dark Lord is approaching Kaltan, and possibly our current location.¡± Silenos Shaiagrazni replied, speaking with uncharacteristic¡­Gentleness. No, not that. With uncharacteristic uncertainty.


    ¡°The Dark Lord himself.¡± Ado whispered. He could have punched her and not done so much to inspire confusion and fear. ¡°I¡­How, what sort of forces is he bringing to bear, what-¡±


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    She was interrupted in her questioning, but by an explanation. It was not a long one. Apparently there wasn¡¯t much known about the Dark Lord, though Shaiagrazni conveyed what had been confirmed so quickly that Ado almost struggled to keep up regardless. By the time he was finished the conversation had naturally progressed a shade.


    ¡°What sort of forces could be mustered from the Kingdom?¡± Shaiagrazni asked, gesturing to a map Ado had somehow missed, laid out beside the throne just barely peeking from its shadow. It covered the city, and the regions surrounding it.


    He was indicating several towns and larger villages, all within a dozen leagues of the city. All wholly exhausted of able-bodied fighters during the desperate attempts of Ado¡¯s father to repel the initial invasion. She told Shaiagrazni as much, then winced as he raised his hand and gritted teeth in anger.


    For a moment she was certain he would kill her, or change her. Instead he simply jabbed a thumb into one of the numerous moaning faces etched across his cloak, sneering as he twisted the digit deeper into the soft tissue and elicited ever heightening pitches in the agonised cries it let out.


    ¡°Inconvenient.¡± The caster said, with all the emotion of a turnip. ¡°But not unexpected, we have other options available to us.¡±


    Ado was so fixated on the effort of trying to confirm whether it truly was her father being tormented, that she almost made the near-fatal error of letting Shaiagrazni¡¯s words breeze her by unnoticed. She hastened to rectify that particular mistake.


    ¡°I beg your pardon, sir.¡± She breathed. ¡°What, uh, what options exactly do you speak of?¡±


    She thought back to the abominations which had stormed her city¡¯s walls, and found herself wondering whether he was intending on making more from the non-combatants among their citizens. Surely not, it was people like that who would sustain the Kingdom for years to come in times of peace.


    ¡°The dead of this nation are numerous, and many thousands are fresher than a single year. If we excavate them from the various mass graves and battlefields scattered around the countryside I will be able to add to the undead already among my forces.¡±


    Ado was quick in speaking up, but not as quick as King Galukar.


    ¡°That is a guaranteed way to spur your new subjects into open rebellion, and that would make it impossible to muster any kind of defence against an external attack with your rule so poorly established. However many monsters you have, if a hundred thousand people fight from a hundred thousand shadows they will be an inconvenience you cannot ignore, or fully remove for some time.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d know all about the inconvenience of rebellion.¡± Collin Baird murmured, affixing dark eyes on King Galukar. The giant did not seem to hear.


    Shaiagrazni paid no heed at all to the interaction of his subordinates, his focus apparently consumed with the problems at hand and the barriers encasing their solutions. His eyes were holes, leading to some immeasurable pit.


    ¡°I do not need to raise them as undead.¡± He breathed, slowly. ¡°I could simply utilise their biomass. I need living, sentient matter to create a functional grotesquery- but that is only for the core of its mind. I can expand the body by reshaping any tissue, even necrosed.¡±


    ¡°That would be no better, in the public¡¯s eye.¡± King Galukar noted, and Shaiagrazni¡¯s jaw tightened ever further.


    ¡°Then I¡­I see.¡± He sighed, face contorting with an orchestra of emotions. For a long moment, nobody spoke. Then Shaiagrazni broke it.


    ¡°We will expand to new territory.¡± He said, with finality. ¡°Most rulers, I suspect, are not so stupid as this Kingdom¡¯s monarch was, and his fate will stand as the warning I intended it to. There ought to be at least one nation nearby we can absorb without significantly weakening in a tedious conflict first. They will serve to bolster our strength, particularly if we begin negotiations before word of the Dark Lord¡¯s approach reaches them.¡±


    It made sense, though Ado found herself rather queasy at the thought of boxing in another monarch in so shameless a way.


    ¡°That might put you in a difficult political situation, if nearby nations see us as a growing power, and believe that you intend to continue expanding as a result, they may well view you as the larger threat than the Dark Lord. There is, after all, a great deal more distance between his territory and theirs than yours.¡±


    Shaiagrazni considered that, but it was Baird who provided an answer.


    ¡°So pick one who''s already made alliances with the Dark Lord.¡± He suggested, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Ado felt a stab of irritation as Shaiagrazni looked consideringly at the boy while he grinned away.


    ¡°You have such a city in mind then?¡± The caster asked, instantly vaporising the smugness from Baird¡¯s expression and leaving the scoundrel to falter.


    ¡°Ah, uh, no, I don¡¯t. I¡¯ve been a bit busy since arrival-¡±


    ¡°-But I believe I can help you there.¡± Ado interjected, seeing her own chance. ¡°I was never groomed for ruler, but I made sure to study all the relevant details about my nation regardless, including our neighbours. You, I think, would benefit most from allying with the Staligans, their capital of Ironbane is not so far from here.¡±


    Galukar¡¯s lip curled at that, face twisting as if he had something rancid on his tongue.


    ¡°Demon-worshippers.¡± He spat.


    ¡°So some of the rumours say.¡± Ado shrugged. ¡°Allies with the Dark Lord, in any case, and years-old ones at that. You¡¯ll find no perceived threat among the locals should you choose to crush them, you may even be thanked.¡±


    Shaiagrazni eyed Ado for a moment, suddenly considering.


    ¡°Why did you go to such lengths in learning so much about your surrounding area? Were you, by chance, planning to overthrow your father?¡±


    She had never in all her life answered a question so instantaneously, at least not without any deception.


    ¡°No!¡± Ado assured him, heart turned to a wardrum within moments as she realised how close she was standing to an abyss. ¡°No, I would never, you must-¡±


    Shaiagrazni raised a hand in silence, and it silenced her. He sighed.


    ¡°I see, a pity. I had dared to hope you¡¯d possessed the morals to recognise your duty of dethroning such an inept ruler. Nevermind then.¡±


    Ado decided, then, that she was going to have a very tedious time in working out exactly what it was which drew the man¡¯s ire, and resigned herself to it. He was speaking again before she could dwell on the issue.


    ¡°Where is this Ironbane city?¡± Shaiagrazni asked.


    ¡°The mountains.¡± She hurriedly explained. ¡°Near a large natural crest to them, surrounded on all sides by peaks and sort of¡­Sheltered, if you can picture it. They¡¯ve never been a terribly strong nation but they¡¯ve never once been successfully invaded.¡±


    ¡°Natural defences?¡± Baird asked, demonstrating his idiocy once more with the sheer obviousness of his question.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Ado replied, patiently. ¡°The city surrounded on all sides by mountain peaks has a lot of natural defences. It¡¯s impregnable. And it¡¯s surrounded by Vampires, which make crossing the few passes that might lead you to it treacherous. I would recommend at least trying diplomacy first, it is far more likely to succeed than an attack, however potent your forces.¡±


    Shaiagrazni considered that quickly, then nodded.


    ¡°I see. Then we must send envoys, small in number and potent in combative power.¡±


    Ado was nodding for almost a full second before realising what was being implied.


    ¡°I-¡±


    But it was too late, Shaiagrazni¡¯s face was already turning to Baird.


    ¡°You will accompany her, you have already proven yourself a skilled negotiator when it comes to the Dark Lord¡¯s servants.¡±


    The bastard didn¡¯t seem half so bothered by it as Ado, which she imagined made sense. Rats didn¡¯t worry about filth when they crawled over a human.


    ¡°Any questions?¡± The caster asked, and Ado slumped.


    She had none that would change things.

 Book 2: Chapter 5

    It took Ado some time to prepare herself for travel, and would have taken a lot more if the damned bastard she was moving with hadn¡¯t been so blase about the whole affair.


    She was concerning herself with representing Silenos Shaiagrazni, and by extension House Shaiagrazni itself. Whatever that was. She ensured to dress herself well, properly, to cut as fine and commandeering a figure as could be managed, knowing full well that her sex alone would undermine any inferior efforts of diplomacy she might make. It was hard work, demanding hours seated and still while servants worked on preparing her, and Ado did not appreciate being hurried in its progression.


    ¡°You¡¯re wasting time.¡± Baird said, as if he were speaking to someone less than a hundred steps above his station in the natural order. ¡°Slowing us down, time means more than making an impression.¡±


    Ado bit back her annoyance, forcing herself to explain things slow enough for him to grasp. It was difficult to even realise where his confusion lay, with that ridiculous accent. Every syllable from his mouth sounded thick and swollen, as if his tongue were bloated.


    ¡°We are embarking on a diplomatic mission,¡± She said, slowly, ¡°Nothing matters more than making an impression, doing so will save our Master-¡±


    ¡°-Shaiagrazni isn¡¯t my Master.¡± He interrupted, and Ado hesitated, stewing a moment longer in her annoyance.


    ¡°Our associate.¡± She corrected. ¡°It will save our associate a great amount of resources and wealth.¡±


    He nodded, then shrugged.


    ¡°But it probably won¡¯t work, and the longer we waste trying, the more reckless we¡¯ll have to be in assaulting Ironbane.¡±


    Ado found her temper fraying further at that, but simply moved past the issue. There would be no reasoning with this one, she decided, and only a great deal of irritation to be found in the effort.


    They set off soon enough, thanks in no small part to the rat¡¯s incessant whining about any given delay. Departing by carriage, they were dragged along the road through the muscular strength of a smaller one of Shaiagrazni¡¯s creatures, barely double or triple the weight of a warhorse.


    She almost missed how laughable it was to consider such a thing smaller, but even that was quickly eclipsed by the pulling power of the creature.


    It moved as if it were accompanied by ten more things of equal size, hauling the thousand-pound carriage along like it weighed nothing at all, accelerating to such an extreme velocity in so slight a span that Ado felt rather queasy for a few moments. It was like falling horizontally, an exponential rise of speed and momentum that lasted far longer than instinct told her it ought to have. Finally they reached a plateau for it, moving perhaps as fast as a sprinting horse might have unburdened.


    ¡°Not used to working with grotesqueries?¡±


    Ado glared at the man seated opposite her, lounging back along the carriage¡¯s cushions and no doubt dirtying them with those mud-crusted boots of his. Baird seemed altogether too relaxed, and far, far too pleased with her disorientation.


    ¡°And I suppose you were perfectly composed in your first close interactions with them.¡±


    Ado saw the man hesitate a moment before his smile widened.


    ¡°As a matter of fact, I was. My first close encounter was fighting alongside them to crush a coup within Kaltan, and I can honestly say I adjusted within seconds ¡±She felt there was something being left unsaid there but she couldn¡¯t exactly place what it was. ¡°They¡¯re really no more than just big animals, are they?¡±


    In the way orcs were, she thought. Or giants. Or even dragons. Ado¡¯s temper was growing shorter every time this man opened his mouth, and it seemed he¡¯d finally found the last straw.


    ¡°Baird.¡± She replied, sharply. ¡°Your name is Baird. And you are a Kaltan. Is there any relation to Finlay Baird?¡±


    Ado had wondered whether he might deny it, but he didn¡¯t. Seemed proud of the fact, even.


    ¡°There is, I¡¯m his son.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯re the son of a murderous lunatic.¡± Ado told him. She¡¯d not expected to actually gain any effect from the accusation, but had hoped to at least see something in the way of a reaction. He only met her gaze and shrugged.


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    ¡°It¡¯s definitely what people say. Stupid people, that is, whose parents were brother and sister.¡±


    It was the disregard that finally burned away what was left of Ado¡¯s patience.


    ¡°And how about the people who lost loved ones to his murderous rampage?¡± She snapped. ¡°What about-¡±


    ¡°Every single fucking one of them deserved to die, and I wish I was old enough to have seen it happen. I¡¯m half tempted to ask Shaiagrazni to reanimate the stupid bastards so I can kill them again myself.¡±


    The burning vitriol in Baird¡¯s voice actually gave her pause, stunning her into silence as she felt those cold, cold eyes fall upon her. Ado was suddenly left very aware of the fact that she was alone with the man, and in too confined a place for her magic to be of much help against his strength.


    ¡°I suppose we¡¯ll just have to agree to disagree.¡± She said, by way of peace offering. He snorted.


    ¡°Until such time as I¡¯m under your power, at which point I¡¯m back to being a semi-civilised moron who needs a firm guiding hand to keep from upturning the natural order.¡±


    Ado wasn¡¯t entirely sure how to react to that, so she chose silence instead. Their journey was prolonged by the lack of conversation, but it was shortened much more by the ingenious efficiency of their motion. Leagues disappeared in minutes, and their pace remained tirelessly consistent as the beast pulling them along moved without fatigue or falter.


    But Ado hardly noticed, because her eyes never wavered from where they rested upon Baird. She¡¯d regarded him as little more than a simple beast before, and saw now what a mistake that had been. He was the worst kind of creature she knew of. A thing, not a man. A weapon that killed on its own. Such individuals were seen in court, from time to time. She¡¯d heard tales of them, because they invariably did things to inspire tales.


    Respect a man who can stomach battle, her brother used to say, because only one in three have that killing spark. But fear a man who can learn to love it, because not one in a fifty acquires that taste, and the ones who do will follow it far.


    Baird had everything else about the other ones-in-fifty, she saw it all clear as day now even as he shifted in his seat to re-bury the tells. Ado¡¯s mouth was dry.


    What in the world was at the front of his thoughts, she wondered, to leave his gaze so dark and bladed in its focus?


    ***


    It had been a while since Galukar had actually done anything in the way of ruling, and he¡¯d almost forgotten what a damned chore it all was. There had always been a reason, after all, for his leaving Arbite to such a lengthy string of hands and councillors. He had always been a better King on the battlefield than in the court.


    His thoughts were interrupted briefly by the opening of a door, hinges gliding apart with barely a creek, and rapid footsteps.


    ¡°I¡¯m busy at the moment.¡± Galukar muttered, forcing his attention back to the document before him. What the bloody hell even was ¡°requisitioning¡±, in the first place?


    Something shifted behind him, and the air hissed for a moment. He heard a grunt of exertion, the strain of wood flooring bearing a sudden redistribution of weight, then his shoulder itched. Galukar hardly noticed, so work-laden was he, merely scratching the annoyance as he continued his mental exertions. It happened again, this time with a slight twitch at the back of his neck, and his slow mind finally stumbled upon the obvious.


    Galukar turned, then frowned at the sight of a boy perhaps as close to ten as he was twenty. He was tall, though had yet to gain the breadth of manhood at his shoulders, and was holding a sword which seemed better sized for a man double his weight.


    Two dents lay in the edge of the weapon, where, Galular imagined, the steel had struck his flesh and surrendered before its hardness. Not magical then, he was not so resilient as to break magical metal against his flesh. He sighed.


    ¡°What is this?¡± Galukar demanded, in no mood to be bothered during his work.


    ¡°King Galukar.¡± The boy snarled, as if the name were a curse. It was strange to hear so appropriate a reaction to himself. ¡°You were¡­I looked up to you, my whole life you were my hero, and now you¡¯re just some fucking dog of Shaiagrazni. Standing by while he kills my people, ruins my nation, steals my brother¡¯s birthright and hands it off to a damned woman! Were you always a coward, or have you just fallen from grace?¡±


    Galukar waited for some rush of guilt or shame, but none came. None had come in a long while, not really. Not for what he was doing now. He let his exhaustion show, watching the boy raise his oversized sword as slow as anything and bring it down with all his insubstantial strength. It was halted by the force of Galukar¡¯s finger meeting his thumb, steel pinched between skin and almost snapping with the grip.


    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± He replied. ¡°I am no hero at all, but I am afraid that I never was. You looked up to me for my deeds, I take it?¡±


    Tears fell down the boy¡¯s cheeks, perhaps as much for the physical exertion he was placing into wrestling Galukar¡¯s fingers as the emotions at play.


    ¡°Of course I did!¡± He snapped. ¡°Who didn¡¯t!?¡±


    Galukar met him with as honest and open a look he could manage, which wasn¡¯t saying much. One couldn¡¯t be an honest hero anymore than one could be a righteous villain.


    ¡°Then I have never been anything but a coward and scoundrel for so long as you have heard tell of me.¡± He told him.


    It was that, at last, which stunned the boy into some semblance of coherence. He released the sword, letting it clatter to the ground as he stumbled back with wide eyes.


    ¡°You lie.¡± He gasped.


    ¡°I am telling you the truth.¡± Galukar corrected. ¡°All the stories you have heard of my battles fought and won¡­They are true, for the most part at least. Those things happened. But I am not a hero for them. Just a powerful man prone to wanton destruction and killing. I became a hero when people approved of my murderous rampages, that is all.¡±


    The boy looked torn between disbelief and yet more hatred. Galukar decided not to try and sway him one way or the other, just affirmed the facts as they were.


    ¡°Find yourself a new hero,¡± He sighed. ¡°Or better yet, realise that they don¡¯t exist. It¡¯ll save you a lot of pain, and save anyone under your command a great deal more, if you face the reality of things instead of wrapping everything in fantasy and wishes.¡±

 Book 2: Chapter 6

    Ado Mortascia was not the sort of person Collin had expected to like. By her background, and by the way she¡¯d spent all their time together glaring at him even before either of them had exchanged a word with the other, he had assumed that their relationship would be about as pleasant as the one found between undead and a bonfire. But, as was so often the case, she had managed to surprise him.


    She¡¯d been far worse than he could have possibly imagined.


    Beyond snooty, or arrogant, and beyond merely abrasive. Ado Mortascia was less a person and more some grand, larger-than-life congealment of aristocratic values and traditions. It was all Collin could do to keep from strangling her with his bow string.


    It wasn¡¯t enough for her to hate Collin, oh no. She had to be justified. Had to prove herself right at every turn, and thus look at every word from his mouth or act from his hands through whatever lens was needed to render it yet more evidence against him.


    Collin was the son of Finlay Baird, and thus a murderer. He was from a family only one generation removed from the peasantry, and thus an idiot. He was a soldier, which meant he must be sneaky for having subverted so high a rank in his military, and surely prone to drunkenness.


    And of course, he was Kaltan. All Kaltans were known to be an inherently rowdy and uncivilised bunch, ever since they started complaining when made to starve in the street or live in their own open sewage. Fucking nobs.


    Their journey was among the slowest Collin had experienced, or at least among the ones he¡¯d experienced at a constant rate of thirty miles per hour. It took them less than three hours to close in on their destination, and yet those three hours felt like three years. There was an ice to the air, a static tension to the space between them, and every passing moment left Collin shifting uneasily as he expected some barb, spell or fist to come flying at him. Motrascia would hardly even have been to blame- she couldn¡¯t help but hurt poor people, it was what she¡¯d been selectively bred to do for hundreds of years.


    It was a relief when Ironbane finally poked itself up ahead of them, and Collin found the effect only slightly ruined by the instant, visceral dread of realising just how horrible a bitch it would be to try and attack en masse .


    Ironbane was a city of tall buildings and broad foundations, built into shapes he could best have described as three dimensional triangles. They reached high, foundations clinging sturdily to the ground in such a way as to make it clear with only a glance they would not be yielding easily.


    There was an outer wall, of some sort, but it seemed a small and insubstantial thing compared to the mountainous peaks ringing the entire valley. Collin could barely imagine himself fitting a thousand men through for a coordinated attack, and the actual fortifications looked the equal of ten or twenty times that number at minimum.


    Natural defences, indeed.


    ¡°Edmari.¡± Mortascia muttered. ¡°This architecture, it¡¯s like Castle Edmari. The flying fortress.¡±


    Collin blinked, frowned, then slowly nodded. It was, at that. Not the same- not at all- but similar. A sort of aged, ancient style quite unlike virtually everything around it. He remembered some vague details about a long-gone civilisation, and how they¡¯d spanned a surprising scope of the continent, but no more than that.


    ¡°It¡¯d be too much to hope that meant it¡¯s aged and vulnerable.¡± He muttered, feeling a sudden urge to espout that most classic of philosophical musings among the soldiers of Kaltan. ¡®Why was everything always their job?¡¯


    ¡°It would be.¡± Mortascia agreed, coolly. ¡°Which is why it¡¯s vitally important that we succeed in our diplomatic efforts, rather than start an inevitably protracted and difficult conflict.¡±


    Collin wasn¡¯t sure about protracted, there¡¯d certainly be losses but most of Shaiagrazni¡¯s grotesqueries were best measured for body mass in multiples of an elephant.


    Hundreds of them storming the place would flatten it, but even just a few dozen would have good odds of breaching it. The only thing he found himself worried by- the thing he kept an eye out for- were those cannons the Dark Lord had unleashed in Kaltan.


    He decided not to contradict her though, seeing no reason to drag her into another argument when they had far more productive things to be doing. The two of them set off, Mortascia moving calmly and with a diplomatic poise, Collin trudging along just slightly behind as he scrutinised their surroundings for anyone who might plan on suddenly murdering them from behind.


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    ¡°You know of Staliga¡¯s relation with the Dark Lord?¡± Mortascia prompted, once they were halfway to the entrance ahead. It was a tall, squared opening in the walls affixed with a clearly modern portcullis and a towering gate that was only fractionally less so. Collin wondered whether King Galukar could have brought either down.


    ¡°They¡¯re cunts who sided with him.¡± He shrugged, in answer. The woman¡¯s face was drawn tight in frustration at that.


    ¡°If you head into this with an attitude like that, your oversimplification will jeopardise this entire mission.¡±


    ¡°Which is why I have you.¡± He countered. ¡°To do all the talking while I scope the place out and get ready to do the murderous bastards when it all goes tits up.¡±


    Collin saw a flash of disgust across her face, quite possibly from his language alone, and then the woman inhaled sharply, continuing after a moment later in a tone that seemed carefully measured for speaking with fools and children. Probably, it was her ¡°lower class¡± voice.


    ¡°You have served Shaiagrazni longer than me.¡± Mortascia continued. ¡°It is important that you be ready to-¡±


    ¡°I am ready.¡± Collin cut in, biting back his sudden annoyance. ¡°If you think my acknowledging that we¡¯re going to need to kill these fuckers means I¡¯m not then you¡¯re even dumber than they are, I parlayed with the man responsible for killing my father the day after his death, I¡¯m not going to go berserk at this of all things. I¡¯m just being realistic, talking is fine as long as you¡¯re not the last one to stop.¡±


    Mortascia eyed him seeming less convinced than she did¡­Wary.


    ¡°You hate them.¡± She noted, and he spat.


    ¡°Of course I fucking hate them.¡± Collin had to resist the urge to laugh at hearing so stupid an observation.


    ¡°What¡¯s not to hate? They¡¯re cowards, rolling over for the biggest bastard alive just because he has more men. I did read up on this place, you know. They turned to the Dark Lord in a big fucking wave, barely any hesitation at all. He extended his hand, extended his territory farther East, and they were too busy pissing themselves to even consider whether it was right or not. The nobility didn¡¯t even wait a day.¡±


    Her eyes grew frosty and hateful in an instant, but not with the usual, casual contempt he¡¯d grown accustomed to.


    ¡°They were scared.¡± She snapped.


    ¡°They were dictators.¡± Collin snapped back. ¡°You can choose to be scared, or you can choose to unilaterally control the lives of thousands. You don¡¯t get both. Either you have human foibles and weaknesses or you stay in your fucking place and leave the rest of us to make our own decisions too.¡±


    Somewhere along the way, he¡¯d started talking to her, Collin realised, but he didn¡¯t back down and didn¡¯t waver. It all felt right. He¡¯d been towing the line for years, letting people look at him as some fucking rat, remind him with those silent looks that no amount of pomp or privilege would mitigate where his family had been a single generation earlier. He¡¯d swallowed it, because he¡¯d needed support for Kaltan and his father.


    And that was over now. The world was changing, things were finally kicking off, and Collin would rather spit his venom every place he could than keep his eyes down and feet shuffling away. If any of the narcissistic babies ruling his world had a problem with that, he might just cut their fucking throats. That¡¯s what a King did when spoken out against, why not a peasant?


    Mortascia might have sensed just how eager he was for her to give him such an excuse, because she bit her tongue at that and the remainder of their walk was had in silence. That was fine by him, Collin was getting sick of hearing the words from children of incest.


    The space behind Ironbane¡¯s walls was little different to the exterior, save that the ancient architecture was far more expansive in its influence across the area. Collin saw lots more of the curiously stacked shapes, though smaller than the largest, and others in more cuboidal dimensions. The place seemed almost multi-layered, with paths cutting up and throughout the higher levels, adding an entire dimension to its space. It was oddly chilling.


    Many more could be contained within than he¡¯d first thought, he realised. Perhaps the diplomacy really was a vital effort. Soon enough they were at the central structure, and quickly ushered in once identifying themselves and their business.


    Collin found a chill down his spine as he realised how tight the interior was.


    Not a good space for a Ranger to be in, not at all. He seemed to have been doing a lot of close quarters killing these days, and Shaiagrazni¡¯s physical enhancements were not so great a benefit that he felt any more confident in the fact.


    ¡°Nervous?¡± Motascia asked, grinning smugly as Collin glared at her sidelong. How he loathed that, the way aristocrats could waddle around like dumb toddlers, so convinced the world would do nothing to hurt them. He kept his anger to himself and moved on, reaching the place¡¯s throne room within the minute.


    It was a more expansive area than the rest of the structure, but not by much. Its ceiling was maybe twenty feet from the ground, its walls perhaps forty feet from each other, and the throne sitting back against the far wall was so big as to almost make the chamber cramped. They weren¡¯t alone, because a score of Knights stood at large pillars lining the place, and a tall, wiry man lay across the damned chair ahead.


    He was thin, very thin. With a pot belly, an excess of chest hair and oddly pale skin around his inner thighs. Collin knew all this, because the man chose to receive them wearing nothing but a robe, cock dangling out for all to see as he laid back in his seat and grinned at them. White teeth flashed as a luminous contrast to his raven-black hair, while eyes that were bloodshot with pipe glinted in the warm firelight.


    ¡°Welcome!¡± The King declared, as if he were not presenting his genitals like some posturing ape.

 Book 2: Chapter 7

    Silenos had called on his apprentice the moment he heard of her return to the city. She had, however, been late in answering his summons. Late by an entire minute, no less. Such a transgression was unheard of from her, and not a thing he had any intention of humouring. He made his way sharply to her quarters at the turning of the sixtieth second following her time of arrival, storming through the expansive building and letting his displeasure show to frighten servants and administrators from his path.


    Her quarters were not far from his own place of work, and that much was by design. He had barely resisted the urge to dedicate an entire afternoon worsening the old king¡¯s punishment, after discovering the unforgivably inefficient layout of his palace, and ensuring as many people of import were within easy reach of him at all times had been a priority in their restructuring.


    Silenos knocked once upon the door, waited barely half a moment to be granted entry, then pushed his way in. The sight awaiting him inside was something even he had failed to anticipate.


    Upon her bed, Sphera lay strewn longways. She was uncovered and unclothed, save for a few thin strips of fabric which clung tightly to the more intimate parts of her, chocolate skin on full display and eyes luminous in the dull light. She smirked at the sight of him, stretching legs and pushing her chest out in quite a deliberate way.


    ¡°Forgive me for not answering your summons, Master.¡± She purred. ¡°I thought it more fitting to await you more properly like this.¡±


    Silenos held her gaze for some time, watching as the woman¡¯s face slowly shifted. First to uncertainty, then confusion, then worry. He saw the humiliation slowly bubble up, relishing its infancy before finally speaking.


    ¡°Are you attempting to seduce me?¡± He asked, deciding to leave the question simple. He could aim more particular points at her upon hearing a response.


    ¡°I¡­Thought that I would¡­Would show my gratitude, Master, for all you have done¡­¡±


    Sphera was sitting up, and not-so-subtly drawing in covers to hide her body. Silenos let the sight of her embarrassment stew a moment longer.


    ¡°Because you believed I was in any way attracted to you.¡± He finished, watching her humiliation deepen. ¡°Well then, let me clear matters up now and inform you that I am not. Some in my Household continued to indulge the primitive stimulations of biological impulse, but I was never among them even before being taken on as an apprentice.¡±


    Had her skin been lighter, Silenos knew he would have seen the pink tint of her shame. Instead he sensed it only through the biological triggers as blood pooled and flesh warmed. Sphera did not meet his eyes, merely nodding.


    ¡°I understand, apologies¡­Master Shaiagrazni.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Silenos nodded. ¡°Now we have work to do, stand and aid me while I assemble a new undead.¡±


    She climbed from her bed, and made for a drawer beside it. Silenos realised that his apprentice intended to clothe herself.


    ¡°No.¡± He said. ¡°You will not waste any more of my time, work as you are.¡±


    He could sense the embarrassment and fury in her as they walked, but none of it was directed towards him. The sure signs of a valuable lesson going well learned. Silenos was not certain what he¡¯d have done if he¡¯d detected contempt in her, he was not, after all, within House Shaiagrazni¡¯s territory any longer. And after¡­


    Blinking, he turned his thoughts to more important matters.


    Silenos¡¯ new laboratory was not so far, and it was no great thing. Back in his homeland he had laid claim to a workspace so large that ten thousand people might have lived within it, fit to display even the greatest of grotesqueries and fit every millimetre of their volumes inside. He was making do with rather less, now, but it was still far better than the open fields he¡¯d conducted the majority of his New World research in. Silenos found it oddly, disgustingly luxurious.


    Today he was not working on any creature large enough to require such space, in any case. He needed something with a touch more subtlety. Ironbane, from what he had gathered, was a region protected by great walls and tight passes in the surrounding geography, which meant efficiency and ergonomics were vastly more important than maximising sheer destructive potential.


    Fortunately, Silenos had already surpassed anything he might have managed in the past. There were few advantages to finding himself in the New World, but none were so great as Vigour. That ephemeral, mysterious magic that allowed creatures like Galukar to wield the physical potency of a grotesquery dozens of times their weight. If it could make a humanoid weighing mere hundreds of kilos so strong, Silenos suspected the true potential of it in a properly made body would be fearsome indeed.


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    But there were natural limitations, too. Diminishing returns came in combining both Biomantic perfection with excessive Vigour- Silenos had found himself able to bolster Collin Baird¡¯s strength far less than he had Ensharia¡¯s, and found a negative correlation between the benefits gained by fleshcrafting and the presence of Vigour within a subject. Something made with both would always be stronger than was possible using only one, but the difference was additive, not exponential.


    The second limitation was one Silenos suspected would prove less immutable, though for the time being he had yet to find a way around it. Vigour was difficult to handle, a power not native to his homeland or, apparently, his people. Silenos had no innate ability to manipulate it as he might ordinary magic, and even his Entity-granted power to see the stuff of the arcane only provided him knowledge, not influence.


    He could not bolster Vigour, nor could he control, combine or redistribute it. If he wished a creature he made to boast magically-augmented tissues, he would have to make it entirely from organic matter which was already magical in nature.


    His experiments to take a small sample of flesh from a Vigour-boasting creature and simply grow more of it through standard Fleshcrafting proved futile.


    Fortunately, neither of these limitations were things Silenos found himself entirely halted by. For one thing, simply knowing the presence and density of Vigour in any given sample allowed him to carefully mix it with tissues from others, keeping a roughly constant level as he grafted one set of Vigorous anatomy onto another.


    Sphera could not see the magic, which came as no surprise. Rare enough to possess such an ability even in House Shaiagrazni, Silenos would have almost been offended to see it manifest in a primitive. What she could do, however, was serve as an extra pair of hands. Clumsy ones, albeit, but still sufficient to ease the process of Silenos¡¯ own work and keep his genius fully free to manipulate the finer details.


    It was a successful campaign in which Silenos took his new nation, and so few of his own forces had been lost. None among them had been Rangers, but he had carried the hindsight to keep the corpses of those previously lost well preserved. He ordered them brought through, each contained in large Fleshcrafted pods designed to stave off bacteriological cultivation and decay until such a time as he had use for them.


    Collin Baird had taken some time to convince, but the sheer utility of reworking their bodies proved well worth the effort of twisting his hatred back towards the Dark Lord. Silenos decided to use only one Ranger for each of his new creations, having only a few dozen to spare, and wanting to maximise their efficiency.


    He armoured them, taking the time to make plates of the very same material as his own body was protected by. It would not have been possible, were he not leaving them with such light and thin amounts, but there were benefits to foregoing quantity. Once they had been encased in millimetres of the stuff, he moved to their general anatomy.


    The human form was rather inefficient, locomotively. Silenos went about correcting it, finding no small measure of satisfaction from being able to finally exceed the simple limits of aesthetic normalcy imposed upon him when he worked on Collin Baird or his other subjects. He altered joints, improving angles of movement, adding additional elasticity to limbs and elongating tendons and connective tissue about restructured bones. He broke down neuronal tissues, diffusing them into clusters of rudimentary cogitators serving as relays between myosin-sheathed nervous pathways to allow for a near-instant processing. That, above all, was something he could not have managed in other subjects. The price was dispersing his creations¡¯ neurons so thinly as to leave their reanimated intellects more bestial than human.


    More bestial, but not entirely. Silenos ensured he left a sufficient fraction of higher cognition to keep the creatures crafty and unpredictable, estimating by the time he finished that their intellectual prowess would have been comparable to Venka.


    He felt a flash of amusement at the memory of the imbecile continuing to scribble his lobotomized drivel out, blissfully ignorant to the damage each new publication did to his legacy.


    The muscle fibres required no great creativity, merely some mechanical engineering in regards to which angles and dimensions would best generate an explosive strength of movement. Silenos compounded them with natural weaponry, covering his creations with blades of keratin and nacre, carefully hardening their edges and treating their structures to leave weaponry able to slice apart steel without so much as a nick to their faces.


    He added tails, too, deciding that the opportunity for added killing power was worth the added weight and recycling slain Knights to make the limbs from slower, more powerful Vigour. If any defence proved more than a match for the talons and claws already tipping his smaller grotesqueries¡¯ limbs, Silenos estimated the great lance affixed to their tails would prove able to punch through all the same.


    Silenos altered balance, enhanced sensory prowess, added in instincts towards stealth and ambush-fighting and, of course, bolstered their aggression as best he could manage. By the time the first creation was finished, it was unrecognisable.


    None were larger than they had been as men, but their bodies were made lean and sinewy, almost serpentine in their lithe efficiency and hardened with armour plating and wire-dense muscle. Both limbs ended in scythed blades, and smaller gripping blades protruded from the feet where they might climb, or else disembowel a target via kicking. The tail was of particular note- every bit as destructive as he had envisioned.


    He took a step back, then smiled in appreciation as he watched the creature exert itself in tests. It passed them all, and passed them well, with only a scant few flaws revealing themselves, all of which were rectified quickly.


    ¡°It is perfection, Master.¡± His apprentice breathed, seemingly so enraptured by the creation as to have forgotten about her own near-nudity. Silenos hummed.


    Once he¡¯d worked with materials produced by others of his Household, tungsten-based metals and steels of the strongest order. Once, he¡¯d made creatures able to bathe in fission-fire and live. This was¡­


    ¡°Acceptable.¡± He decided. ¡°Given my limited circumstances, but one creature does not make an army. Let us produce more.¡±


    Sphera blinked at that, but solidified quickly with a more certain nod.


    ¡°Of course Master.¡± She grinned. ¡°You have some means of producing them more quickly?¡±


    Silenos allowed himself a smile. She really was quick, this one.

 Book 2: Chapter 8

    ¡°It is an honour to meet you, King Alfonso.¡± Ado managed, finding it remarkably difficult to speak suddenly. There were many things she had been prepared for, upon entering this meeting, and on that long list of nasty surprises and jarring offsets, somehow a man¡¯s bared cock had failed to appear. Her mind was slowed, churning by as she tried to blink back her surprise and simultaneously recall all the carefully woven plans it had scattered from her thoughts.


    If the King¡¯s intent had been to cause her distress, he did not seem to extract any satisfaction from the obvious sign of his having succeeded. He merely sat there, legs, if anything, widening slightly while she spoke.


    ¡°I am here on the behalf of Silenos Shaiagrazni.¡± Ado pressed. ¡°It is his desire to establish diplomatic relations with your people, and perhaps even have you join him.¡±


    Alfonso seemed more amused than thoughtful, which was never a good result when offering a proposition.


    ¡°Really?¡± He mused. ¡°Interesting, and why would I accept? I¡¯m quite well off now, you know. I don¡¯t suppose Shaiagrazni has mountains of gold, or jewels, hm? No secret trove of riches or ancient relics?¡±


    Ado felt her irritation bubbling up, it was bad enough that she be forced to prove herself the superior of her idiot brothers- bad enough she work with the fear of being replaced by one hanging over her neck like a guillotine blade- she just had to get the stupid pervert as her first task.


    ¡°No,¡± She replied, ¡°But he has- oh my God.¡±


    There was really nothing more to be said, the sight of King Alfonso peeling back the skin around the tip of his cock, scratching the flesh under it and sniffing the fingers involved just about shook all the coherence from Ado¡¯s thoughts. She scrambled to get them back, even as he got to his feet and walked across the room.


    ¡°You know, I receive a lot of these offers.¡± The King noted. ¡°They¡¯re never very appealing, though. Odd that. Everybody would like my assistance, but nobody is willing to pay for it. That¡¯s just poor negotiating if you ask me.¡±


    Ado barely heard him, he¡¯d started smearing some strange jelly from a bowl onto his nipples and moaning.


    ¡°Can you take this seriously?!¡± She snapped, temper flaring. ¡°Perhaps you¡¯d get better offers if you didn¡¯t act like some¡­Some¡­¡±


    He eyed her, smiling still.


    ¡°Oh, no, don¡¯t stop on my account. By all means, speak your mind.¡±


    Ado blinked, trying to pick through the confusing mess her mind had become, vividly aware that she¡¯d somehow lost control of just about every facet of the conversation within the span of a single minute.


    It was Collin Baird who regained it for her side.


    ¡°You know, as impressive a display as this is, I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s really not going to carry you very far here.¡±


    Ado frowned, eying him, confused. Alfonso just tilted his head fractionally, seeming more intrigued.


    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± He asked.


    ¡°I mean,¡± Baird pressed, ¡°That I know what you¡¯re doing. Don¡¯t get me wrong, it¡¯s a fine strategy. Nobby nobs are plenty squeamish, and if this one was on her own I¡¯m sure you¡¯d be running rings around her while she tried not to screech the word ¡°degenerate¡± as loud as she could. But I¡¯m a Kaltan, and my dad was a peasant. I¡¯m a bit less¡­Prim. I know what it looks like to use that against an aristocrat because it¡¯s one of my favourite tactics too, though with a bit less¡­Skin.¡±


    The King met his eye, staring long and hard while the dreamy smile remained plastered across his face. Then he sighed.


    ¡°Ah, bugger, very well then. It was worth a try.¡± He shrugged, pulling his robe closed without a moment¡¯s hesitation and clapping his hands. A wash bowl was brought through, complete with soap. He used both liberally on his hands.


    Ado was too stunned to say anything, but King Alfonso was far more talkative all of a sudden.


    ¡°Well then, let¡¯s just cut to the meat of things. I know why you¡¯re here. The Dark Lord is approaching and you¡¯ve realised that you need more meat for Shaiagrazni¡¯s monsters, and you figured the best way to get it is by absorbing a nation already proven to be morally flexible in terms of allowing such evil magics. And if that leaves the Dark Lord with one less ally in the neighbouring regions than he expected upon arrival, all the better. That about cover it?¡±


    She nodded, guard raising. He was sharp, very sharp, and well informed. Ado was far more used to dealing with that sort than the perverted sex fiend she¡¯d walked in to first meet, but she knew it was far more dangerous too.


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    ¡°I think you¡¯ll find Silenos Shaiagrazni is the better choice, diplomatically speaking.¡± She noted. ¡°You¡¯ve already heard of how effective his grotesqueries have been in crushing the Dark Lord¡¯s forces.¡±


    ¡°I have, and have you heard of how defensible a location this is?¡± The King grinned. ¡°It¡¯s perfect for running interference in other conflicts. Say, between Kaltan and Arbite. Breaking up supply lines, for instance, and starving the former out when they¡¯ve just gotten through a siege already. That sort of thing brings a lot of favour and rewards. Why, General Venka was made one of the Dark Lord¡¯s commanders for less.¡±


    Baird¡¯s face twitched at that, a grin plucking at his lips.


    ¡°And have you been doing much reading on the General, lately?¡± He asked.


    The King shivered.


    ¡°I admit, your master may have the Dark Lord beaten out in cruelty, that much is true, but the test of military might still remains against him, and by no small margin.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s assuming you succeed.¡± Ado noted. ¡°Do you really want to risk drawing the ire of Arbite on top of everyone already against you?¡±


    The King sighed. ¡°My dear, half the world turned against me the moment my nation joined the Dark Lord.¡±


    ¡°And the Dark Lord will be rewarding you only if you manage to disrupt Kaltan supply lines.¡± Baird countered. The King frowned.


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°And,¡± The mudboot continued, ¡°I think you should consider the practicality of doing that very, very carefully. Most of our Knights died in the purges, know who we have left? Sneaky fuckers, like me. Rangers. Fast, stealthy, accurate bowmen who can take a head off from one thousand paces and have recently started developing quite a disturbing fondness for Shaiagrazni¡¯s strange blasting-fluids.¡±


    The King swallowed, thoughtful now, but not backing down.


    ¡°Are you suggesting that it¡¯s somehow impossible to interfere with Kaltan supplies?¡± He sounded cocky again, amused. It all bounced off Baird like arrows against steel plate.


    ¡°I¡¯m not suggesting anything.¡± The boy replied, smiling now. But not smiling like a man. His grin was too wide, with far too many teeth. Too hungry. Like a wolf staring at the sheep pen. ¡°I¡¯m telling you that if you move against Kaltan, we¡¯ll send some nasty, horrible Rangers to break into your city. We¡¯ll kill you, then we¡¯ll go looking for your family, all the women, all the cute little kiddies, and we¡¯ll cut their fucking throats in their sleep. Start on us, and your entire fucking family dies. Maybe we lose after, but you lose first.¡±


    It was there again, the hatred. Like a blast furnace with its door left open, Ado had to resist the urge to wince and turn away from the glare of human malice on display before her.


    ¡°Are you threatening me, boy?¡± King Alfonso asked, sounding caught between the twinned extremes of fascination and fury. Baird just shrugged.


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you my boys¡¯ll kill all your children if you move on us, you can consider that a threat if you want. It¡¯s meant as a promise.¡±


    Silence, silence so thick it might have stopped a trebuchet stone. Ado felt a chill run down her spine, found herself half-certain she was about to watch one or both men charge at each other in a maelstrom of sharp edges and violence. But nobody moved.


    ¡°Fascinating.¡± The King breathed, at last. ¡°I¡¯d heard that Kaltans were a contentious bunch, heard your father called a butcher, but from all my actual research you always seemed a fairly cautious, even moderate group. More concerned with survival and sustaining your new little republic than actually killing your enemies. You, though¡­You seem to be something different. What do you suppose the great Finlay Baird would think about you now?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter what my dad would think.¡± Baird replied. ¡°He¡¯s dead and rotting, and dead people don¡¯t know what the living ones are doing. If you think my father¡¯s memory is something I¡¯ll hesitate to cross then you¡¯re dumber than the brainless moron who killed him.¡±


    More silence, which Ado reckoned was fair enough given the horrific exchanges that continuously interrupted it.


    ¡°As intimidating as you are, Mr Baird, I really must refuse. It¡¯s not that I¡¯m not afraid of your people, you understand. I¡¯m just a great deal more afraid of my own.¡± Alfonso seemed downright chirpy, despite everything, while Baird looked at him the way a cat might a cornered mouse.


    ¡°That¡¯s your final answer?¡± Baird asked. Ado didn¡¯t even bother speaking more, finding herself entirely lost and suddenly devoid of control in the conversation. This wasn¡¯t diplomacy, it was a threat of violence, and that was something she had no business in bolstering with her own tongue.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid it is.¡± The King replied, solemnly. Baird just kept staring.


    ¡°Then it¡¯s war.¡± He replied, and Ado sensed no small whisper of relish in his voice. ¡°I¡¯ll see you soon.¡±


    Ado half expected to be ambushed on their way out of the castle, and then again as they made it through the streets. They were not, but her anxiety was barely abated by the fact. It wasn¡¯t until they were almost at Ironbane¡¯s outer wall that she finally felt confident enough to actually speak, and her fury was too great to be hidden as she did.


    ¡°What the fuck was that?!¡± She demanded, glaring at the damned caveman she¡¯d been assigned to. For his part, Baird seemed to consider her displeasure as important as he did everything else about her, meeting it with no more than a blank, level gaze that spoke of tedium and irritation more than regret.


    ¡°I saw things weren¡¯t going well, you were cocking up the negotiation, so I moved things into easier territory. That didn¡¯t work either, but it was worth a try.¡±


    ¡°You threatened him in the middle of a diplomatic meeting!¡± She snapped, and he shrugged.


    ¡°Some people need a bit of threatening, didn¡¯t pan out this time but you¡¯d be surprised how often it does.¡±


    ¡°Not with Kings!¡± Ado almost snarled, they were past the gates now, and her need to control the volume of her lungs was diminishing with every extra step. ¡°Never with Kings!¡±


    Baird eyed her, shrugging again. He seemed no more concerned than if he¡¯d been told he ate with the wrong spoon.


    ¡°Now I know.¡±


    For one long moment, Ado found herself staring at him. It occurred to her that Baird¡¯s rage had been altogether too big to remain buried, and that now he had exactly what he seemed to have wanted from the start. A massacre with the Dark Lord¡¯s men on the other side.


    Was it all on purpose? Had she been sabotaged by the bloodthirsty thug? She couldn¡¯t say, and that was more disturbing than a definitive answer.


    They continued on their way, reaching the carriage soon after and taking off at the ridiculous pace which had carried them so quickly to the city. Ado found herself unable to appreciate it, suddenly. Unable to appreciate much but her own failure.

 Book 2: Chapter 9

    It was not as long a journey to reunite with Shaiagrazni as Ado had made to actually reach Ironbane, for he met her halfway between the cities. That had been the plan, of course. She would go ahead whilst he prepared the forces and marched, and Ado felt a fearful shiver run down her spine as she laid eyes on them.


    New, all of them, and numbering in the dozens. She shouldn¡¯t have been surprised, she¡¯d seen the man create monsters big enough to swallow a bull whole and each of the bladed abominations now lined up behind him could have had their weights combined without equalling a single one of his largest creations. Still, it struck her.


    ¡°...Sir.¡± Ado croaked, suddenly feeling the unseen blade of his displeasure hanging over her. ¡°I¡­We have returned, and I am sorry to say that our mission was a failure.¡±


    Shaiagrazni eyed her, head tilting fractionally as if he were studying some bloody specimen laid out across a laboratory table. Then he sighed.


    ¡°It is no matter, I did not truly expect you to succeed in any case. There is a reason I spent so much of my precious time preparing our¡­Contingency.¡±


    Her eyes flitted back to the creatures, and her blood ran cold all over again. They really were revolting. Like some bizarre cross between a cat and a snake, all long and lithe, limbs jutting in bizarre angles and coiled with thin musculature that bound their bones as tight as ship rigging. The look of the blades protruding from their arms made Ado feel rather queasy, she knew full well how viciously sharp the edged weaponry of House Shaiagrazni¡¯s monsters was.


    ¡°We will be attacking shortly.¡± Shaiagrazni announced, looking to the few humans alongside him. Among them was his apprentice, Sphera. Ado had tried to make friendly with her before, knowing how rare it was to find another woman- let alone another woman of foreign-black skin- so high in any order as them. It had not worked, and she looked decidedly less friendly now than she had before.


    ¡°You did admirably enough, in any case.¡± Shaiagrazni continued, drawing Ado¡¯s attention back in much the same way any extinction-level event¡¯s speech would. ¡°Consider this a mark in your favour, the very act of marching so fearlessly into such dangerous territory has proven you possess a degree of mental resilience not common to this world.¡±


    Ado felt a smile blossom on her face, surprisingly enough. She wasn¡¯t certain why, wasn¡¯t certain, still, that she didn¡¯t hate Shaiagrazni, and yet somehow his praise touched some part of her that had gone long ignored. Her eyes flitted back to his apprentice.


    Sure enough, her glare had only intensified in its hatred.


    <hr>


    Collin wasn¡¯t surprised to be called on by Shaiagrazni for a personal chat, the man tended towards compartmentalisation when it came to his subordinates. Probably it was a legacy of the great, ever-underdescribed betrayal which had first left him stranded in their world.


    He answered his calls, standing before him and feeling his back straighten on reflex. Collin didn¡¯t know so many ways of interacting with a superior, he supposed, and the military ones seemed most appropriate here.


    ¡°You were inside the city.¡± Shaiagrazni noted. ¡°You studied the interior?¡±


    ¡°¡®Course.¡± Collin replied, almost offended at the fact that his ally had even asked. ¡°Got a good look, nice and proper. Even peeped around the insides of the palace a bit while the princess was drawing everybody¡¯s eye.¡±


    Shaiagrazni nodded, not seeming particularly surprised or impressed, but certainly pleased. That was about as close as he ever got to either.


    ¡°What did you make of them?¡± He asked, eagerly. Collin took a moment to gather his thoughts.


    ¡°The defences are more primitive than the natural barriers around it, the place definitely lets its location do a lot of the heavy lifting. That said, it¡¯s not exactly run by cavemen. There are city walls, battlements, siege engines placed in defensive positions too. And the king struck me as a sharp bastard, probably there¡¯s a couple of extra surprises he had stashed away and out of sight before letting us through. Expect a fight, a tough one.¡±


    The Necromancer was impassive as ever, as impassive as he might have been upon hearing that his enemy¡¯s gates were guarded by drunkards. It was strangely reassuring to work with a man so adverse to the basic treachery of expression and tone.


    ¡°Any other observations?¡± He asked. Collin thought about it, then sighed.


    ¡°I may have implied we¡¯d be coming for his family, the Rangers I mean. So¡­You know, they might make a good intimidating aspect. I reckon his forces¡¯ll focus on anywhere they have reason to believe we are, might come in handy for redirecting their strength before you hit somewhere.¡±


    That certainly pleased him, and Shaiagrazni nodded.


    ¡°Excellent. Then get ready, I want you commanding the human element to our forces. Rangers, Knights, the humanoid undead.¡±


    Collin blinked, surprise well and truly unhidden across his features, then nodded.


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    ¡°Understood, we¡¯ll be playing distraction then?¡±


    ¡°You will.¡± The Necromancer confirmed. ¡°As I understand it, you have quite a successful record of luring opponents into fixating too much on particular areas.¡±


    He felt a smile growing.


    ¡°I do.¡± Collin turned, heading off to locate his new men, finding himself eager as he went. It was always a good stroke, finding the chance to kill more of the Dark Lord¡¯s bastards.


    <hr>


    The battle began without any great excess of ceremony, though Silenos heard war drums pounding behind the enemy¡¯s walls. Whether for communication or morale, he could not be certain. It didn¡¯t matter much either way; soon enough they would be silenced.


    It was rather tempting to simply stand back and watch his creations work; Silenos had spent so many decades growing accustomed to indulging just such a luxury. It was because of that past, and not in spite of it, that he forced himself to take part. He was not such a fool as to learn hard lessons twice.


    At the walls, Silenos saw enemies gathering. Most were insects, a few of notable strength. One or two were higher undead, liches. Clearly they had been placed in Ironbane to safeguard it against the local savages- the linchpin of any defence they would take part in.


    Silenos focused on them, first.


    His new cannon was perhaps the most complicated mechanical construct he had yet created, but also a contender for the greatest height of genius. Silenos began its activation by compressing the great, organic pistons he¡¯d had lining its back. They closed in, squeezing the air tight, tighter, tighter still until its volume shrivelled and viscosity skyrocketed, and he held within him a space of gas forced to a water-like density. Then the shadestuff came.


    Ordinarily, shadestuff would fall down and fill whatever container he tried to conjure it into- eating apart biomaterial just as easily as it did stone or steel. Not now, however. Now Silenos left it in the midst of air dense enough that it was simply held aloft, and like always it left the gas untouched. Shadestuff did not leave a popping vacuum in its wake, even if it boiled away water. That had been the observation that made this creation possible. Finally, he encased the mixture in a shell of hard, thin bone and started the firing mechanism.


    His cannon had been tweaked, too, and its projectiles made able to fly faster. Silenos had yet to perfect the secrets of hypersonic flight, and yet that was an irrelevance now. This new kind of projectile could not withstand such intense strain as was generated by that order of velocity anyway, and it hurtled for the enemy at a middling mach two.


    It broke against a lich, sending the undead back a step. Silenos watched through his enhanced vision as the inky shadestuff burst out from its container, pressurised air blasting out the moment it cracked open and letting the liquefied death cling deathly tight to its enemy. Within one second the lich was panicking, scrambling, trying and failing to wipe itself clean. Within two it was coming apart, body surrendering to the unrelenting destruction of Necromancy¡¯s greatest weapon.


    By the third second, the lich was a bubbling pile of sludge just starting to run down the battlement. Silenos allowed himself a smile.


    Had Walriq the windmage re-appeared, he would have no luck blocking Silenos¡¯ shadestuff now. A single shot would leave him just as molten as it had the lich. He¡¯d have to seek out a better quality of enemy to more properly test his new device, but that was a consideration for later.


    Something hissed in the air, an arcing flight which drew Silenos¡¯ attention just in time for his attention to catch the trebuchet stone in flight. It was a remarkable shot, accurate beyond measure, to have been aligned so perfectly on a single, man-sized target like him. He had the blink of an eye to move, and knew he was not so fast. Instead Silenos conjured more shadestuff. The boulder crashed into a wall of it, was enveloped instantly and eroded to nothing before it even hit Silenos where he stood a metre farther back.


    The event galvanised his wits nicely. There was a battle going on, after all, he could admire his own genius once it had been won. Silenos turned his focus back to the fighting.


    <hr>


    Collin wasn¡¯t commanding as many men as might have been inferred by the phrase ¡°all of Shaiagrazni¡¯s humanoids¡±. The simple fact was that the caster wasn¡¯t much fond of using anything even remotely shaped like a man, and had seemed actively irritated for him to request that his own physical enhancement not turn him into some sort of monster.


    He was also, as always, rather generous with what constituted humanoid. The giant snake-like sword creatures certainly didn¡¯t fit Collin¡¯s definition.


    If nothing else, they looked tough enough to go a long way in helping with his endeavour. Collin tried not to think about how there may well have been nothing else to feel thankful for, and got to work.


    His role in the attack was simple- fuck the enemy off. Now, a simple man might have taken these instructions and considered them easy, simple, even mindless. Collin, though, was a Kaltan. He knew full well the vast world of difference that stretched between an annoyed man and a truly, sincerely, incandescently fucked off one. It was his job to ensure the enemy became the latter. The pissier they got, the more predictable and the more fixated they¡¯d be on him.


    What helped this was that Collin had a large pack of, essentially, infiltration units. Human Rangers, and these new ¡°Raboviax¡± of Shaiagrazni¡¯s. Both specialised for scaling walls, jumping unexpecting enemies and cutting open throats.


    The exact sorts of things a careful, fearful commander would watch out for when Collin Baird was on the enemy¡¯s side. Even to the expense of the enemy¡¯s other forces.


    It was all theoretical, which meant that it was very likely to get a lot of poor people killed, but it was about as good a guarantee as Collin was likely to get.


    Other than the guarantee of being shot at, of course. That came with the territory.


    He started for the walls, aiming to come within three hundred yards. It was a smaller range than his own maximum, smaller even than the range of his Rangers, but perfect for letting the enemy know where they were- and if the proximity let them get kills in that much faster then so much the better.


    It didn¡¯t take long for them to take notice, it rarely did when people started watching their Knights¡¯ and Lords¡¯ heads explode. Collin felt the satisfaction that always accompanied his work, bowstring singing and arrows whistling as the iron bolts shot through one skull after another.


    Ironbane¡¯s army was better than most Collin had seen. Nothing compared to Kaltan, of course, that was a natural consequence of Kaltan actually caring when its individual soldiers died, but clearly more used to actually contested battle than was normal for the local region. They reacted quickly, reports moving like wildfire through their ranks, orders moving back down even faster still. He wouldn¡¯t have had it any other way, the sooner Alfonso¡¯s bastards took notice the sooner everything could properly kick off.

 Book 2: Chapter 10

    Things did kick off, and faster than Collin might have expected. Soon enough he spied trebuchets prepared around the walls at his locations, turned towards him, bolstered as archers repositioned and defences bolstered. He saw the bombardment coming a full minute in advance, and knew he barely had time to move from its path himself- let alone his men.


    He smiled, and gave the signal.


    As one, dozens of Raboviax hit the wall, all leaping from bushes and tunnels, clawing apart dirt as if it were nothing but water. Their bladed limbs dug into the stony walls and their climbing started with all the mechanical intensity he¡¯d come to expect from Shaiagrazni¡¯s creations.


    Their position was blocked from the enemy by two walls, one lengthways and the other widthward. It had been design, not luck, on Collin¡¯s part.


    He¡¯d known there was a very specific place best used to attack him on the ground, and sent the grotesqueries to attack it from the most vulnerable flank it had. Like usual, his guesswork bore fruit.


    The Raboviax came down like a scriptural plague, falling on their enemies and cutting, carving, tearing. Chainmail split apart before their natural weaponry, and even plate armour proved too fragile a defence to fully protect the Knights wearing it. For each that died, a score or more enemies died with them. It was like watching Rangers fight children, and Collin felt a curious sense of nostalgia.


    Something about how they moved, how they fought. A particular deftness¡­Surely he was just imagining things.


    He wasn¡¯t imagining their deadliness, in any case.


    Collin watched archers die, then spearmen hurry in and try futilely to stem the flow of blood among their ranks. Then he watched the grotesqueries move on, sweeping across the wall to tear apart siege engines and clear them of defences.


    War had been harder, once. More complex. Collin almost felt a shade unfulfilled to watch how effortless a victory had just been dropped into his lap. Then the feeling was buried as he let the triumph of having weakened their enemy¡¯s position wash over him.


    Something touched his wits. A pressure, a heat. The sensation of magic flooding out in volumes the air was too slight a weight to keep its position against, Collin saw men wincing as great winds rushed over them, and barely managed to force himself to look on at the source. Silenos Shaiagrazni was rising high into the air, body shifting and growing in all the ways he¡¯d learned to recognise as features of a combat form.


    By the time his ascent stopped, he¡¯d already become a thing made of nightmares.


    ***


    Flight was a curious sensation. Silenos had never noticed it before, he had never had cause to. It was not an unpleasant thing to feel- indeed, it was rather delightful. A thing of liberation and freedom, with not even gravity holding sway on him any longer. His wings beat in great cyclonic arcs, powered by musculature strong enough to lift thrice the weight demanded of them, and the ease with which he moved left Silenos to dwell exclusively on the tactility of it all.


    Silenos was not sure how he felt about taking such pleasure in a simple physical impulse, and he knew that he did not care one bit for finding himself even consulting his feelings on much of anything at all. For the moment, those concerns did not exist. He had others of a more pressing nature to be focused on.


    It had been some time since Silenos truly worked to synthesise any great volume of material, at least within a combative scenario. Indeed, the last time he¡¯d emptied his mana so quickly it had been for the very same thing. He created nitrous explosives, letting it all cling to the insides of a great, hardened shell.


    Silenos felt his reserves of power shift, dwindling just a hair. Then he felt the weight of carapace grow more in his hands as the interior filled. Finally it held enough to be ready, and he dropped the sphere of death, watching it fall. Letting a smile dance on his lips as he did.


    Among House Shaiagrazni, the power of nuclear fission was a rarity. It was a perfectly understood technique, of course, but the ability to actually induce it by overpowering molecular forces was beyond all but the most powerful. Silenos was not certain he had the raw power needed, and even if he did he had never studied the fields of magic which would make it possible. His own explosive was no substitute for the atomic devastation unleashed by those who did.


    But it was certainly resting on the second highest rung of that particular ladder.


    The air itself ran away from the detonation, as if fearing the density of energy spat outwards. Silenos watched chemical stores break down into heat, force and light. To his enhanced vision, there seemed a significant second passing between the sight of it all and the sensation of overpressure breaking against his body where it hovered some hundred metres above.


    Four thousand kilograms of sinewy, muscled war-flesh was nothing compared to the sheer kinetic wall that met him, and he spent several moments fighting to retain his balance in the skies. Down below, the devastation was without equal.


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    From where it had landed, just ten metres behind the outer walls, the bomb cleared out everything. Buildings came apart and flew away as clouds of jagged shrapnel, stone and dirt leapt high into the air and cleared a crater measurable in litres by the million. People died so quickly and so completely that they could not truly be said to have lived at all.


    It took far too long for the air to be sufficiently cleared of debris, and Silenos had no patience to await it. He flew around, observing the aftermath from the side and studying the ruin he¡¯d left beneath him for any sign of insufficiency in the bombardment. From what he glimpsed, nothing of substance had survived.


    Around the devastation things were moving just as they had been planned to. One of the liches had been near the epicentre of his blast, that much had been by design, and the other had been too occupied by Baird¡¯s clearing of the far wall to provide any sort of defence for its peer against Silenos¡¯ aerial assault. Now one wall was cracked and the enemy¡¯s defences mangled, the time was perfect.


    He gave the signal, a shrill, air-splitting sound formed by so complex a structure of muscle and cartilage that he almost feared even his skill had made a mistake in its construction. The forces below received it as clear as anything.


    Grotesqueries moved as a wall of keratin and meat, setting the ground aquiver as they stormed along it. Many defences remained, Silenos saw, among the enemy¡¯s positions, and with the tight approach his creatures were slow to cross the distance separating them from victory. Ballistae spat bolts, trebuchets stones, casters magic. It was enough that it may have caused casualties, even in creatures as toweringly massive as his.


    He swooped down to ensure it did not.


    Silenos blew one enemy apart after another, focusing the bulk of his power on those who boasted the largest magics, or operated the particularly fearsome siege engines. His deadly work was sustained for a full minute of strafing attacks, keen eyes picking out movement from his own wake, powerful wings twisting his trajectory back around to leave it still with yet more blasts.


    Close to ten minutes passed before his forces finally reached the walls, and Silenos finally allowed himself to simply watch the carnage. It was an impressive sight, even for one wrought by the grotesqueries of House Shaiagrazni.


    By the time he came down to plant his feet back upon the earth, much of the fighting was over already. Defenders had been dismembered or eaten, fortifications properly widened to make room for his grotesqueries. Numerous Knights lay dead with familiar, iron lances jutting out through their eye holes, or throats cut savagely from behind, and those remaining creations of the Dark Lord were boxed in. Silenos knew no magic to turn a summon or reanimate against its original maker, such things were rare even in House Shaiagrazni. He had them all destroyed instead.


    King Alfonso received him by bowing so low as to almost kiss the ground.


    ¡°My Lord.¡± The monarch whispered, eyes remaining affixed pointedly away from Silenos¡¯. ¡°I must humbly beg your forgiveness, I should never have tried to resist you. Your power¡­In my foolishness, I did not recognise its extent. I know of you, know of your famous cruelty against those who resist, but if you would give me a moment to speak I think you will find it inopportune to punish me as you have others.¡±


    Silenos considered the notion quickly, then nodded. There was little to lose by hearing him out, and the man had already demonstrated considerable mental resilience by even remaining coherent enough to try and persuade him at such a time in the first place.


    ¡°Granted.¡± He said at last.


    ¡°Thank you, my Lord.¡± The monarch replied, speaking with all the haste of a man who had studied Silenos¡¯ reputation before finding himself at his mercy. ¡°Then let me first point out that Ironbane is a city heavily reliant on knowledge, our pathways through these mountains were set out by generations of study and mapping. All of that work was burned when I first saw that your forces would begin to gain the edge in attacking.¡±


    Silenos felt his temper ignite, and it was all he could do not to change the man right then and there.


    ¡°You have more, I suspect, than simple spite to inform me of?¡± He asked, hearing the rage even in his own voice. The king finally looked up, with eyes far less fearful than his voice had been.


    ¡°Of course, because all of those ancient records still exist. I memorised every single page of them before giving the order. If you want to know the best, quickest ways to navigate your new territory, you will need to learn them from me. And I am, of course, willing to offer them to your highness as tribute¡­Provided I am accepted as a subject.¡±


    Silenos had to stop himself from smiling. It was a fine play, a very fine play. Clearly this one had made a very deep study of his reputation, and gleaned that pragmatism was far more important to House Shaiagrazni than cruelty.


    ¡°And how do I know that you are not simply fabricating these routes, buying yourself freedom on a false promise?¡±


    ¡°You do not, yet.¡± The king replied. ¡°But you will know the moment you have finished testing the first of them that I reveal, at which point I will have already proven myself a boon to your nation- and to House Shaiagrazni.¡±


    It was a proposition worth considering, and so Silenos did. If he allowed the king to go unpunished, he would be reducing the incentive of others to surrender without a fight in the future. Furthermore, the king¡¯s status as a previous servant of the Dark Lord would surely work against him. Silenos would be seen as giving favoritest treatment to him, and his diplomatic relations with other nations would suffer.


    The benefits were considerable, there would be ways of gaining the knowledge he spoke of more quickly, but if it truly did require generations of scouting to accumulate in the first place then Silenos had no delusions of replicating that in more than a few years at best. He found himself torn.


    But not for long, the answer was clear.


    ¡°I cannot accept your offer.¡± Silenos replied. ¡°The consequences would be too great-¡±


    ¡°No!¡± The king snapped, then tempered himself. ¡°I mean to say- apologies my liege- but I have more, much more. Information about the Dark Lord¡¯s plans for this region, orders he sent to prepare me for them, and secrets. He needed my people, you see, to prepare for his next plans. I didn¡¯t learn much about them, but I learned enough. Enough to know he intends on doing something which will shift the balance of power completely to his favour in a single fell swoop.¡±


    Silenos eyed him, remaining silent. The king¡¯s panic did his work for him, dragging out yet more from his blubbering lips. Most men only had so much courage, after all. It was the critical failure of emotion.


    ¡°Speak.¡±

 Book 2: Chapter 11

    It was not particularly fun, rebuilding a city, not at the best of times. Ado liked to think she¡¯d gotten rather good at it, on account of having inherited one that was more smouldering crater than building just a few short weeks ago. All the same, that did not make the process easy.


    What made it vastly, exponentially more unpleasant, of course, was that for reasons she could only flailingly guess at, Silenos Shaiagrazni had paired her up alongside Collin Baird for its duration.


    He was useless, of course. That much had been well within her expectations. He was a Baird, with as much sewage flowing through his veins as blood, and the art of building and repairing nations was a thing done by Kings and Queens. Ado supposed she ought to have been grateful not to find him recreationally killing wounded citizens of their new territory.


    ¡°From behind.¡± She breathed, seeing the latest of many dead Knights. His arms were jutting out, clearly flailing in the moments before his death, throat torn open by motions more crude and savage than skillful. She¡¯d learned to recognise the sight of a man whose throat had been cut from behind, and it still sickened her.


    ¡°Problem, sweetheart?¡± Baird asked, looking over with those empty, corpse-like eyes and letting his voice carry a quiet challenge. Ado swallowed her disgust, and let the anger come.


    ¡°Not too fond of murderers.¡± She replied, eying the Knight sympathetically. Baird only grinned.


    ¡°Funny, so it¡¯s noble heroics when they wrap themselves in protection a hundred times more expensive than their enemies can afford, but dirty murder when one of those enemies learns how to sneak well and puts a knife in the gaps.¡±


    Ado just ignored him, finding herself in no mood for the savage bastard¡¯s grunting politics anymore.


    She tried to focus back on her work, but the day had been long, and her attention was slipping. Baird was by no means helping, sat there grinning away like he just knew for a fact he was better than her.


    Well he damned well wasn¡¯t, and if he thought she was some dull peasant girl to be drawn into a rut by that arrogant smirk or those veins twisting along his arms he had another thing-


    Movement, fast movement. Almost faster than she even knew movement could get.


    Ado had studied magic, and she¡¯d studied it well. She had that same, deeply ingrained reflex that all who walked the path of a magus eventually learned. Cast first, think later. Her hands were up, and her power was building before the sluggish muscles under her skin could even begin twitching. By the time her fingers flexed the air was already seized and conducted to her will.


    Water built, froze, solidified into a wall of ice then hardened as magic infused it. It all took so little time that Ado wagered a trained man could not have seen it happen had he been studying the entire process. It was barely fast enough.


    She¡¯d seen arrows move slower than that, she¡¯d seen ballista bolts and trebuchet stones soar more sluggishly through the air. Ado felt her heart leap as the blade dug into the ice, smashed through, then finally stopped just inches from Baird¡¯s face.


    The Ranger was already moving by the time it did.


    Ado had not actually seen Collin Baird fight, only heard stories of it. He proved to her in an instant how true those ghost tales were as he vaulted the ten-foot wall of ice she¡¯d made with a single motion, nocking and drawing an arrow within the same move, then had his iron projectile soaring out the very instant he had line of sight to his attacker.


    It was a woman attacking him, bizarrely, and more bizarrely still- she seemed just as quick as he was. The arrow barely grazed her shoulder as she twisted to one side, then rushed back in as Baird landed to attack again.


    Before Ado could help, more movement caught her. A new wall of ice was all that kept her from being crushed as another attacker came, this one close enough for her to make out more than just sex and speed. He was pale, tall, with dark hair and eyes as red as pooling blood. The man wore clothes of grey, brown and black, and seemed a part of the dusk around them.


    There was an unnatural grace to his every motion, and it was that that finally had Ado¡¯s heart sinking with realisation. The Vampire twisted back, landed a dozen feet farther away, and snarled as more of its kind emerged from crevices and crannies around them.


    One, three, five. Six in total, including the one attacking Baird, three more pulled away to charge at him while two focused on Ado. Any other time she might have taken offence at the disparity, but nothing could have made her regret having less enemies then. She concentrated her magic, shoving out and letting her wall shatter into a spray of jagged death as the shards of ice lanced into undead flesh.


    Vampires were durable, incredibly so. Unlike most undead they bore human-like intelligence as well, but there were few things able to match a magus for destructive power. Ado watched one of her two enemies drop down, shielding itself futilely with arms that were growing more badly mangled with every moment the ice continued cutting deep. Stripes of flesh fell down from its torso as bloody ribbons, ichor mixing with the dirt to make it clotted sludge underfoot.


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    But the second had avoided the attack, and closed in faster by the moment.


    Ado didn¡¯t have time for another wall, and her physicality was to the Vampire¡¯s as a toddler¡¯s was to an adult, so she focused on something smaller. She let a long lance of ice protrude from the air and braced it against the ground, forcing the Vampire to twist aside, then turning to put the construct between them. It took precious moments clawing through- Ado used them to liquefy the lance, blast it over the Vampire as a covering and freeze it with a touch.


    She watched the slowness take her enemy in an instant as every motion was suddenly restricted by close to a finger of ice encrusting its joints and body. The state bought her precious moments, and Ado used them well. By the time the Vampire had reached her again she¡¯d conjured well over a tonne more high above it, and watched as the mass crunched down atop the creature with force enough to drive it a hand-span deep into the ruined cobbles of the road.


    The first Vampire she¡¯d wounded was stumbling up, still gushing out the contents of its veins, while the second twitched and groaned in the newly-made crater. Ado took a moment to conjure more ice, great javelins of it this time, and let them loose. The pounds of material hit with all the speed of an arrow, running through both of the monsters and ending things in an instant. Finally she turned to Baird.


    It was no surprise to see him struggling, but Ado found herself jarred to see a Vampire already dead on the floor with a head hacked almost completely off. Baird had forsaken his bow for the long knives he carried, and both were bloodied. Minor and larger cuts ran across the full length of his body as he danced one way and the other, somehow keeping ahead of even the supernatural speed his enemies were bringing to bear.


    For one, ludicrous moment she considered running. Saw the ridiculous velocities the fight was taking place at, the way the enemy seemed to cross entire fathoms of space within the blink of an eye and barely even move at all before they were upon her. Then Ado recalled Silenos Shaiagrazni, and the consequences of his displeasure. She steeled herself, raised her hands, and searched for her moment.


    Thankfully, it came soon enough. A swing at Baird which looked dangerously close to landing, blocked as the prepared wall of ice emerged in the weapon¡¯s way. The Ranger did not hesitate in taking advantage of the opening; with one slash of a dagger the Vampire¡¯s arm was opened up, its hand opening as the ligaments all frayed apart. The next dagger was a thrust, and it found one crimson eye with unerring accuracy. The metal tip did not fully penetrate its skull, but Ado swore she saw something bulging up under the creature¡¯s scalp at the back of its head. It fell, not spasming like she¡¯d learned living things did when their brains were ruined. Just still.


    Baird didn¡¯t waste any time after that, and neither did the Vampires. Ado had exposed her presence by providing aid, drawing in one of the two remaining ones. This one seemed faster, faster by far, and it was almost on her before she¡¯d even moved her magic outwards. Baird¡¯s knife caught it right in the neck before it reached her, thrown so fast and hard Ado actually heard the wind of its motion just one moment later as a shaking, rushing thing. The Vampire stumbled, righted itself, then flew back as she sent a frozen stalagmite to lance clean into its belly.


    This one, though, really was made of different stuff. Ado broke skin, drew blood, but she did not impale it, and once the Vampire finished flipping overhead it came to land perfectly upon its feet, crouched and not even seeming to notice the wound at its gut. Baird sighed.


    ¡°You know, my dad always hated you lot.¡± He grunted, nodding towards the Vampire. ¡°Had uh¡­A phobia, it¡¯s called. Used to set traps up in his room to keep one of yez from doing him in his sleep. All came back to this one fight, see. You¡¯ve probably heard of it. The Skirmish on Rosar Hill.¡±


    Evidently, the Vampire had. Its eyes narrowed, posture stiffened. If Baird noticed he was not affected, simply continuing to speak as if chatting away to friends.


    ¡°A dozen of you against almost half a thousand men, and he was one of the only survivors. It was fire, wasn¡¯t it, that did them? Well, my dad learned that lesson well. Never let a Vampire go unburned when he-¡±


    It moved like death, like a whisper, like an arrow. Baird moved more quickly and explosively even than that. Just as the Vampire was on him, he was low and rising, his dagger cutting a bloody chunk out of its neck, then coming down to take another. The severed fell and rolled at his feet, then the body was burning all on its own. Baird grinned.


    ¡°...Actually, what he taught me was Vampires have a persecution complex¡­And that they get predictable when they¡¯re angry.¡±


    Ado just stared.


    ***


    The ambushers came on like a swarm of flies; irritating in their speed, tedious in their ferocity, and it was all Silenos could do to keep from cursing aloud as he had his grotesquery tear them to pieces. The fight was not long, but it had been well organised and dangerously planned. It told him something more.


    Silenos hurried to the King¡¯s chamber, hoping rather hard that he was wrong.


    It was not a long journey, his flight and native speed made it rather trivial, and Silenos was there within minutes. He forced open the grand doors, stormed inside and found the chamber¡­A ruin. There had been guards, and now there were numerous pieces of those guards scattered every which way. There had been locks, which were crumbled and rent apart, and of course there had been King Alfonso.


    There was no King Alfonso anymore, just an exsanguinated corpse with a woman standing over it. She was pale, crimson-eyed and altogether too smug as she turned to look at Silenos, grinning and flashing him a gesture so total in its impudence as to demand satisfaction on the spot. He raised his cannon to destroy her, cursing as she turned and surged back for the far wall.


    A moment of confusion touched him, for the wall was many feet of solid stone, then Silenos watched as something congealed at her hands. It was familiar- shadestuff- and she made herself an opening with only a single arc of it. She disappeared out into the night just as his cannon cut the air, and Silenos stormed after.


    By the time he reached the exit, there was no sight of the creature.

 Book 2: Chapter 12

    Silenos Shaiagrazni was not in a good mood, Collin could tell as much and he was quite sure his apprentice and puppet-Queen could too. It wasn¡¯t any great feat for him to have noticed, mind. In all likelihood the worms dozens of yards underfoot had noticed as well. He could¡¯ve sworn the bloody ground was shaking.


    Over the weeks Collin had noticed the caster pick up a habit of pacing when his temper frayed, and today was no different. Their position in the centre of Ironbane¡¯s throne room gave him plenty of room for the pacing, and he was testing its limits by marching wide circuits around its perimeter, fury dripping from him in great, acidic rivulets.


    ¡°Rebellions are popping up.¡± Collin told him, deciding to just get it all over and done with. ¡°A lot, more every day. The King really was the pin to this entire occupation, without him his people are starting to chafe. Particularly because half of them are convinced you went back on your word and murdered him.¡±


    It was, he thought, probably what their enemy had intended. Had Shaiagrazni just executed him on the spot things would not be half so bad, publicly promising his life and then killing him anyway was the worst of both worlds. Not a bad little piece of politicking, he had to admit. Collin made a note to broaden his own horizons and include such tactics, it was the sort of thing his dad would¡¯ve done.


    ¡°It was perfectly timed.¡± Shaiagrazni growled. ¡°Clearly whoever did this was well aware of our coming ahead of time, and likely the motives for why. There is no other way they could have mustered such a force, even as a local power. And that force will have to have been within the city and primed to strike already when I spared Alfonso.¡±


    Collin considered that, and hesitated. It was the princess, Ado, who spoke up however.


    ¡°Not¡­Necessarily, my Lord.¡± She breathed. ¡°Forgive me, but these were Vampires who attacked us.¡±


    Shaiagrazni turned to her, his gaze as intense as ever.


    ¡°I am unfamiliar with those creatures.¡± He replied, frankly. ¡°Explain what they are and why this changes things.¡±


    They exchanged a few glances, all of them. None seemed willing to take the Queen¡¯s place in explaining.


    ¡°Undead, we believe.¡± She said, slowly. ¡°But¡­Different from others, strange. Their bodies are reanimated more completely, emulating life well enough to fool most who are not studied about them, and their minds are left almost wholly intact and independent. Vampires can¡¯t be bound by Necromancy, like other reanimates, and they can propagate their own existence by draining the blood from others, then replacing it with their own. Blood, actually, seems a focus of theirs.


    They hold as much power over it as they do Necromancy itself, feed on it, subsist from it, thrive in it. There seems to be magical elements that only they can take advantage of in the stuff. Sunlight kills them near-instantly, as will a shard of wood impaling their heart. Silver burns them and resists their strength, which is exponentially above the vast majority of humans.¡±


    As far as explanations went, it was a good one. Collin reckoned she¡¯d probably studied them herself, if he remembered right the woman had been trained as a magus after all. Certainly explained that irritating, cocky way she had of looking at everyone. Different, somehow, from the other aristocrats Collin had seen. Demanding a challenge just for the pleasure of smacking it down. He felt a stab of annoyance again as she did that thing with her lips-


    ¡°I see.¡± Shaiagrazni cut in, sounding no more impressed by the explanation than he was by most things. ¡°Then there may have been no need for such careful preparation after all, if creatures of this can muster so easily. This is¡­Troubling, how would you all recommend we proceed?¡±


    It was a rare feature for a man insisting on command to be so willing to accept counsel, Collin let himself appreciate it a moment more before speaking.


    ¡°I say we-¡± He faltered at the sound of an opening door and hasty footsteps on the stone floor, then turned to see a messenger scrambling in. The man looked utterly terrified, and for once it was focused on Shaiagrazni.


    ¡°Apologies for interrupting.¡± He gasped. ¡°But there is a visitor, here to-¡±


    The doors opened again, but this time a different set. The main pair, foot-thick stone designed specifically to demand its team of guards to force apart, multi-tonne weight gliding inwards as if moved by a dozen people at once. From the other side entered a woman.


    No, not a woman. Collin recognised the inhuman glide to her step before she¡¯d even taken three strides inside. A Vampire, tall and lean, pale and twisted like the rest. He saw others make the same realization, because Shaiagrazni¡¯s apprentice and Queen were both quick to raise hands with ice and darkness at once.


    The Fleshcrafter halted them with a single spoken word.


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    They did, the way any sane person stopped when commanded to by that particular man, but eyed him in confusion. Uncharacteristically, he gifted them some elaboration.


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    ¡°If I am correct, our guest is here under a parlay to speak with us peacefully.¡± He noted, and the Vampire nodded with a smirk. ¡°So do not kill it, or it will become far more difficult to manage any kind of parlays at all in the future.¡±


    ¡°Wise words, Lord Shaiagrazni.¡± The intruder noted, continuing into the room. ¡°I was hoping you¡¯d see the wisdom in them.¡±


    ¡°Spare me your flattery.¡± The Necromancer replied, calmly. ¡°I have no time for it.¡± He paused, glancing around, thinking, then continued. ¡°Out, all of you. I will have this discussion alone.¡±


    Collin saw no reason to disobey.


    <hr>


    The Vampire looked at Silenos in a way that no undead had any business looking at a Necromancer of his calibre. Calm, considering. Like they were equals. It needled Silenos, but he did not let the fact show.


    ¡°You are here with terms from your Master?¡±


    As was common among undead, there seemed to be no subconscious twitches of the Vampire¡¯s facial muscles. Silenos could read nothing of its mental state, and so he listened intently to the words with which it answered him.


    ¡°I do not serve the Dark Lord.¡± It replied, rather quickly. ¡°None of us do, we are above such petty states.¡±


    Silenos kept his own features neutral, even as he stored the information. So rapid a response seemed, to him, to indicate a touched nerve. As far as he could guess, the undead was being truthful, and downright offended to have even been implied a servitor.


    ¡°We do work with the Dark Lord, of course.¡± It continued. ¡°For all the reasons you likely think; there are few other humans in this world willing to associate with our kind.¡±


    ¡°The Dark Lord is human?¡± Silenos noted, as much for his genuine curiosity as to keep the Vampire wrong-footed by steering the conversation. It hesitated.


    ¡°He is not one of our kind, nor a conventional undead, that much I know.¡±


    Silenos tucked the information away and answered it with a nod.


    ¡°I imagine it has not escaped your notice that I, too, would be willing to associate with your kind.¡± He observed.


    ¡°It hasn¡¯t, nor has the Dark Lord¡¯s superior forces.¡± Countered the Vampire. ¡°I am, however, here to present you with an offer. Join him. Pledge your fealty and swear your loyalty, there would be a place for you as his second in command, after all you have accomplished, and with your forces and skills combined the entire world would fall before you in short order. His words, not mine.¡±


    Silenos did not laugh out loud, but he certainly savoured his amusement. The fact that he had even been handed such a ridiculous proposition was evidence of a deep-seated idiocy in both the Dark Lord and these curious Vampire creatures.


    He was a better Necromancer by far than this Dark Lord, and had seen no evidence that the man was even able to Fleshcraft. From what he¡¯d asked of Sphera, he focused mostly on direct combat magic, which explained his effortless victory against King Galukar. A formidable foe, individually, but far from the strategic utility Silenos could bring to bear.


    There was a reason he was receiving such an offer, and Silenos would have wagered it was to make the most of his magics, then kill him as quickly as possible to keep from being exceeded later on. Time was his ally, and his enemy¡¯s adversary. All he needed to do was win more of it.


    But there was more to time, at that. It was a crucial component in the equation of distance.


    ¡°Your people live within these mountains.¡± Silenos guessed, and saw the Vampire stiffen. There were no instinctual twitches, but it seemed a psychological shock would still manifest in larger-scale body language. He noted that down as he spoke more. ¡°I could scour them. Find you, eventually, and kill you in retaliation for whatever ruin you may bring to my plans.¡±


    This time it responded calmly, unfazed by his threat, seeing through it with respectable speed.


    ¡°You could, but you won¡¯t. You have a single critical flaw, you know, as a leader. You¡¯re too logical. We¡¯ve been studying you for a while, and it¡¯s been long since apparent that you aren¡¯t prone to acting out of a need for vengeance or retribution. Not when you have other matters that demand your focus, at least. We intend to safeguard ourselves from you by simply being less than your biggest threat.¡±


    It was, he had to admit, a competent play. Silenos was actually left thinking for a moment to try and circumvent it. Evidently, the Vampire was enjoying its momentary advantage, because it was quick in speaking more.


    ¡°You need to commit all of your attention to maintaining stability within your newly stolen territory.¡± It concluded. ¡°And while you do so, your movements are restricted by pragmatism. Unless you would rather face the Dark Lord¡¯s arrival with a fractured, broken territory.¡±


    Silenos eyed her, considered, then shook his head.


    ¡°You are a fool if you think you have trapped me, and I will not be accepting any of your conditions.¡±


    The undead stared, but said nothing.


    ¡°That is all, leave now.¡± Silenos ordered, watching as it made its way to the door, then paused just before exiting.


    ¡°Think carefully before spurning my Lady¡¯s advice.¡± It tried, futilely. Silenos did not even dignify the petty efforts with a further response, just waited for the thing to be gone. Once it was, he called on Baird once more.


    If the Ranger was as bothered to not have killed the Vampire as he usually was at seeing the Dark Lord¡¯s associates retain their lives, he kept blissfully quiet about it.


    ¡°We need Ironbane stabilised.¡± Silenos told him, in no mood to mince words or waste time. ¡°And we shall do so through its royal bloodline.¡±


    The boy was thinking quickly, as ever.


    ¡°The King¡¯s uncle?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Silenos mused. He was an older man, well established and connected, there were better alternatives. ¡°The King¡¯s brother.¡±


    Baird¡¯s confused surprise only reinforced how perfect a choice it would be.


    ¡°I¡­Didn¡¯t know he had a brother.¡±


    ¡°Many do not.¡± Silenos noted. ¡°But his existence is not controversial, merely¡­Irrelevant. Until now. As I understand it, much of his time is spent in isolation, deliberately distanced from national politics.¡±


    ¡°Making him politically weak, but socially powerful, and a perfect tool.¡± Baird nodded, smiling suddenly. ¡°You know, I¡¯m starting to enjoy sacreligiously abusing feudal inheritance for our own ends.¡±


    He was looking far, far too happy for Silenos¡¯ taste, and so it was with relish that he continued.


    ¡°Good, then you are to accompany the Queen Ado in finding this new heir. And do so subtly, if he is still alive it is because the Vampires have yet to locate him, they may plan to do so by following you.¡±


    Baird looked rather quickly miserable at that revelation, but nodded.


    ¡°Right, I¡¯ll be off then.¡± He headed on his way, and Silenos called Sphera and Swick through to replace him.


    ¡°There are doubtless groups conspiring against us already within this city,¡± He said, frankly, ¡°I wish for you both to root them out and if possible dismantle them.¡±


    They, at least, seemed far less irked by their own duty.

 Book 2: Chapter 13

    Swick was rather pleased to have been given the job he had, all things considered. It was one well suited to him.


    He had, after all, a long history with rebellions and freedom fighters. In fact there wasn¡¯t a single uprising in the continent¡¯s South that he hadn¡¯t at least betrayed, it was simply among the best sources of revenue for an enterprising sky captain. Everyone wanted to know where their enemies were, everyone wanted their supplies yesterday instead of tomorrow, and the man with the flying vehicle able to cross continents within weeks could provide both.


    And if that man was paid better to turn on the people hiring him, then that was hardly something he could be blamed for.


    Well, Swick had found himself drifting from that way of thinking, in recent years. Some of the people he¡¯d screwed over had deserved it, others hadn¡¯t. And he¡¯d be lying if he claimed that fact had ever even been an influence on whether he did it or not. If nothing else, the long history of doing so had left him with a fair bit of familiarity in how competent rebels tended to operate.


    It was that same familiarity which told him something was rather off about the ones Shaiagrazni had tasked him and the Necromancer with hunting down.


    ¡°They¡¯re too organised.¡± He breathed. ¡°Too organised, too quickly. Something strange is going on with them.¡±


    It hadn¡¯t taken too long to find some of the dissenters, and not much longer to find ones actually in the know. From what they¡¯d observed in stalking them, the group was disturbingly well connected and equipped.


    ¡°External funding, perhaps?¡± Sphera suggested. ¡°Might be the King had them prepared as a last-ditch effort to keep us from holding his city, if my Master had killed him.¡±


    Swick thought about that, but it didn¡¯t seem likely to him. From what he¡¯d heard the King had been fairly confident in his surrender, though that may have just been bluster. Shaiagrazni definitely had a reputation for brutality which might have encouraged such behaviour.


    There were too many unknowns for his taste, unknowns got men killed more often than edged steel.


    ¡°I say we spook this one.¡± He decided. ¡°With luck, a group as tightly ordered as this will be careful about giving orders to report and refer any problems to their higher ups.¡±


    She caught on quickly.


    ¡°You think he¡¯ll lead us to whoever he answers to?¡±


    ¡°Worth a try at least.¡± Swick grunted. ¡°It¡¯s either that or wait however long.¡±


    The Necromancer thought it through quickly, then nodded.


    ¡°Worth a try.¡± She agreed. ¡°So how do we-¡±


    ¡°OI, DICKHEAD!¡± Swick roared, hurling a rock with just enough held-back strength to be sure it wouldn¡¯t seriously injure the man after clearing the two hundred paces separating them. It missed entirely, in the end, clattering from the floor and spinning him around to stare up in terror. Within an instant he was running, and Swick dropped down to follow.


    ¡°You hang back.¡± He advised, having carefully judged things to ensure only he was within line of sight during the display. ¡°Follow me while I follow him, I¡¯ll pretend to lose him after a while, then you stalk him from the shadows until he¡¯s convinced he¡¯s in the clear and heads to whoever his bosses are.¡±


    She seemed rather irritated to have it all dropped on her so quickly, but did not protest. Swick began the hunt.


    As he¡¯d hoped, it wasn¡¯t particularly difficult to harass a single, terrified rebel. Swick drove him on a merry chase around the city, pursuing maybe two miles before slowly letting him increase the distance, then falling back entirely. It occurred to him, then, that he had no real way of knowing whether the plan was actually working, and that he might be in for hours of waiting to finally receive confirmation if they¡¯d failed.


    Fortunately, Sphera was rather quick in reassuring him. Forty minutes passed before he caught the glimpse of inky black magic reaching high into the skies, visible for a single moment. Swick closed his eyes, concentrated, and translocated.


    He did not reach her, but he got a decent fraction of the way there. Whenever someone was out of range of his translocation it would always take him as close to them as possible along a straight line, knowing where he¡¯d been, and his distance limit, it was a simple factor to continue until he finally came to a rather large warehouse.


    ¡°Over here.¡± Came the Necromancer¡¯s voice, and Swick followed it until he caught her in one of the shadows. Truly in the shadow, as well, because the stuff seemed half wrapped around her body, wreathed like a cloak and leaving her almost imperceptible against the dark backdrop. Necromancy, sometimes, just didn¡¯t seem fair.


    ¡°See anything of note?¡± He asked, hurrying up beside her, trusting in his own well-practised sneakiness rather than any magical disguise. He couldn¡¯t see her expression behind the darkness as she answered, but he could hear an uncertain tone in her voice.


    ¡°Not yet, but I¡¯ve heard a few things. There¡¯s lots of them in there, if they have a large number of fighters then we might actually be in danger trying to hurry in.¡±


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Swick realised only then that she didn¡¯t have any of her undead with her, and why. Most of them were poorly suited for shadowing a target. It was all well and good to leave them for stealth purposes, but now it left them a pair entirely specialised outside of direct combat. Suddenly Swick didn¡¯t feel quite so clever.


    ¡°Alright, stay here.¡± He sighed. If everything went tits-up, Swick had far better odds of escaping. Best to have her closer to their exit and farther from their enemy. ¡°I¡¯ll go and see what¡¯s going on.¡±


    She watched him head in, without so much as an attempt to dissuade him from his heroic risk-taking, and Swick was soon slipping into the warehouse and gliding along its floor. He heard voices within, which grew louder by the step, filling the building in their density. There were a lot. With luck, that meant they¡¯d hit the motherload of whichever group they¡¯d managed to follow. Swick didn¡¯t want to imagine the implications of this just being a standard meeting.


    Once he was through to stand just adjacent to the main body of them, Swick tucked himself away and peered out from behind a few crates. For the most part, nothing of actual organised import was happening just yet, it seemed mostly to be a restless discussion in anticipation for¡­Something. What that was, he really couldn¡¯t say, but if it was responsible for the eager, expectant grins on all the rebel¡¯s faces then he had no doubt it wouldn¡¯t be good for him.


    It didn¡¯t take too long before he found out.


    With more careful quietness than even he had entered with, the Vampire stalked into the main room and silenced it using nothing more than her presence. Swick¡¯s breath caught in his throat as he instantly recognised her. The same one who had delivered the ultimatum to Shaiagrazni, no surprise there. Evidently her people were intent to try a few more styles of subversion than just regicide.


    Red eyes practically aglow, she made her way to the centre of the room, took a moment to peer around it at all the expectant faces, and then finally spoke.


    <hr>


    Shaiagrazni had been quick in sharing what he knew with Ado, discoveries and inferences both, and she had to say she found them rather convincing.


    The first thing he¡¯d noted was the ease with which King Alfonso¡¯s killer had infiltrated the palace. Ado agreed that had been disturbing, and had chalked it up to the preternatural powers of a Vampire. Shaiagrazni had had a different explanation, however. He believed there was a collaborator responsible for aiding them, and a short round of research and consideration left all largely confident that it was his uncle.


    Collin Baird had been rather smug about that, vocalising his opinion that royalty was simply immutably prone to murdering one another, and Ado had ignored him as best she could.


    Truth be told, it wasn¡¯t so hard to find reason to suspect the King¡¯s uncle. Prince Dazarick had already started to consolidate his power, declaring himself the new King and promising to defend his claim by weight of steel. His residence was beyond the city¡¯s walls, for the time being, and easily located by the lines of marching men shuffling towards it in search of employment among his military. Ado saw them all, looking down upon them from above as she rode Shaiagrazni¡¯s curious airship. They looked like ants.


    ¡°Brilliant.¡± Baird sighed. ¡°I was worried we¡¯d only be faced with a few hundred spears, nice to see lady luck hasn¡¯t lost her touch.¡±


    ¡°You thought a royal would have so few?¡± She asked, resisting the urge to laugh in his face.


    ¡°Of course not.¡± Baird replied. ¡°When you lot say jump, the world asks how high. I¡¯m just getting sick of fighting outnumbered.¡±


    Ado turned away from him, suddenly exhausted with his prattling.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaders.¡± She shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s just natural, when we give an order others rush to obey because that is the way of things. Your father might have mustered such armies had he not stolen his power from those with the right blood.¡±


    Baird¡¯s voice was jagged when he spoke next.


    ¡°My father did muster such armies, bigger than this one, actually, and full of men who¡¯d eat these ones alive and spit the bones out. You¡¯d be surprised what happens when you assign rulers based on ability rather than how violent their ancestors were.¡±


    ¡°And your father was assigned on ability?¡± She scoffed, whipping back around. ¡°He took his own throne by killing thousands, that¡¯s not assignment.¡±


    Baird paused at that, then shrugged.


    ¡°Which still makes him more suited than if he¡¯d just inherited it from someone who did the same thing five hundred years earlier.¡±


    Ado turned back around and peered over the side without another word, finding no more patience left in her for Baird and his idiocy. Their journey drifted by, aid frigid and cutting. It was curious, she thought, how cold things got as altitude increased, and how powerful the winds became. Ado had wrapped up warmly in anticipation at a warning from Shaiagrazni, but her thick woollen clothes seemed barely able to deter the frosty breath of the skies.


    Fortunately, she was not left to suffer it much longer. They approached quickly.


    Prince- or, debatably, King- Dazarick had clearly built his city with defence in mind, just as his ancestors had. Thick walls, tall enough that scaling them via escalade would be a nightmarish tedium, and a surrounding area carefully flattened by magic and covered by rows of archers with unbroken sights.


    ¡°Not as bad as Ironbane.¡± Baird breathed. ¡°To attack, I mean. Still, best not to try it. We¡¯d take heavy losses.¡±


    It was ludicrous to hear him refer to the sub-five percent casualties of their last assault as heavy, after weeks of receiving word from her father about the devastation Shaiagrazni unleashed upon their armies. Ado supposed that was the simple perspective shift of standing by him rather than before him.


    ¡°Should we make a show of force?¡± Baird asked. ¡°Let him just see a few grotesqueries, at least, to skew negotiations in our favour.¡±


    Ado was quick in shaking her head.


    ¡°Definitely not, that might set him off entirely. This is a man who almost certainly murdered his own brother for a throne taken by his nephew, and now he¡¯s seeing a second chance to claim it. We have no idea how eager he might be or how violent he could become if he thinks his claim is being threatened again.¡±


    Baird didn¡¯t seem to like the reply, but he didn¡¯t argue either. Nodding along reluctantly, pragmatically, and scowling at the city.


    ¡°You¡¯re thinking he¡¯d murder the Prince.¡± He murmured.


    She had been. If anything Ado feared the boy was dead already. He was their real target, not Dazarick. Alfonso¡¯s rightful heir, and nephew to the newly-emergent contender for the throne. It was not an unheard of tale, there were always ambitious men in any family, and sometimes they had more support than those rightfully placed before the throne they sought. All the more reason to be quick in extracting their target before anything could befall him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get the Prince.¡± Baird announced, as they drifted down to the city. ¡°I¡¯m sneakier than anyone else I know, all I need is entry into the city and a lack of outright suspicion. Can you feign diplomacy enough to make them think we¡¯re only there to talk?¡±


    Ado had started getting used to his way of addressing her, clipped and sharp as if he were barking orders at a row of soldiers. If anything it was rather more efficient than the rambling directions she typically received from others. ¡°Of course.¡± She said, nodding.

 Book 2: Chapter 14

    Ado was surprised to receive such a quick escort through the city. She had half-expected to be shot out of the sky before they¡¯d even landed Shaiagrazni¡¯s new vehicle, and the fear of being taken down some alley and skewered did not quite leave her until she was already making her way up the steps to King Dazarick¡¯s palace. She was, Ado realised, getting quite accustomed to being placed in front of danger. Every conversation with Shaiagrazni was one in which she took her own life in her hands, and Baird often seemed like he might fly into a murderous rage at any given moment. Ado needed a holiday.


    King Dazarick seemed to favour more elaborate decoration than his nephew, for Ado found herself surrounded by an interior almost over-designed with excess. Every step she took brought her past a new tapestry, sculpture or painting, every corner she turned revealed a new corridor-turned-display.


    She wasn¡¯t sure what it told her, but somehow the sight was comforting. It humanised the man, in a way. Made him smaller and less distant. Ado could understand greed, or the urge to show off. She¡¯d spent enough time among her family for that.


    Dazarick was better guarded, though. That much Ado saw shortly, as she was brought deeper into the keep and past thick doors, thicker walls and large men clad in steel and wool. She shivered at their passing, finding an unpleasant sense of imminence hovering suddenly over her. A holiday, one day. But not soon.


    At last she was ushered through a pair of broad doors and into a room just as exhaustively indulgent as the rest, centred on it, seated in a towering chair, was a man she could only presume to be King Dazarick. He had a bathrobe on, legs uncrossed, and his cock on proud display.


    One day, Ado told herself, she would get a fucking holiday.


    Collin did love breaking into the homes of royals, there was just something so satisfying about it. Bypassing their defences, slipping around unnoticed, making himself at home in the place they were most desperate of all to force people like him from occupying. It made him feel all giddy and warm inside.


    There wasn¡¯t so much time for enjoyment, these days, and his father had always said it was important to enjoy the smaller pleasures of life. Collin felt the crushing weight of remembering him, and knowing that they¡¯d never speak again. His smile dropped, and he sped up his path through the building.


    Clearly Dazarick was anticipating some sort of malfeasance; assassination, most likely, or else just spies. His palace was well guarded. Fortunately Collin wasn¡¯t trying to murder the owner, yet, and had an easy enough time getting someone important-looking on their own. The poor bastard almost pissed himself as he dragged him off to pin him against a wall in some remote storeroom.


    ¡°Hello.¡± Collin breathed, smiling in that way he knew always left nobs fearing for their lives. ¡°I have a few questions for you, and if you answer them you don¡¯t need to spend more than a minute in my presence. How does that sound?¡±


    He was scared, this one, but not cowardly. An unwelcome surprise, as Collin saw steely hardness congeal in his eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m no traitor.¡± The man croaked, throat tensing as his lungs prepared a more substantial noise. Collin interrupted them, tapping down on his chest with carefully measured strength to knock the wind from him, and just about leaving all the ribs intact as he did.


    ¡°Yes you are.¡± Collin told him, taking his measure more carefully as he did. ¡°Everyone is, particularly when their family comes into play.¡±


    He was a man in his middle years, and wealthy enough that it seemed likely he¡¯d gotten himself a young wife. Sure enough Collin¡¯s guess proved right, he tensed in that way only family men could, fear suddenly returning, and far stronger than the courage.


    ¡°Okay.¡± He whispered. ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll answer your questions, I¡¯m sorry I-¡±


    ¡°The Prince.¡± Collin cut in, before the man could start panicking. ¡°Where is he being kept, what are his guards¡¯ positions and quality, what else might be relevant?¡±


    Instantly the man froze, caught in a strange mix between confusion, reluctance and horror. Clearly he¡¯d not been expecting royals to be brought into the conversation, whatever answer he gave now was likely to fuck him down the line.


    Collin felt bad for the man, really. But not that bad. Poorer people than him were forced to make worse decisions every day, and nobody spared them any thought.


    He left him there with a headache and a hasty binding which ought to have kept him silent and still until he was found, then tore off to find the Prince.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    <hr>


    Swick watched the Vampire move, remaining stiller than he¡¯d probably ever been in his life. He¡¯d heard stories of them, and as of a day ago seen one himself, but even he was not a man able to claim himself expert upon their kind. Vampires were elusive, dangerous and, above all, paranoid. One of the few mysteries the world still had left for him.


    The quality of Vampire hearing was quickly made rather less mysterious when it paused, tilted its head, turned its face and stared directly at him. Swick had about half a second to make a decision, and he made it in one quarter.


    ¡°VAMPIRE!¡± He roared, as loudly as he could while dragging his thumb along the blade of his knife and flicking his hand out to spray the globules of blood. Something whipped through the air, black and jagged, and he translocated to the flying path of a fleck of his blood just in time to see the shadestuff splash over the floor where he¡¯d been. It ate the stone away within moments, proving in an instant that Swick would not be getting far by relying on his bodily resilience for this of all fights.


    The Vampire stepped forwards, closing in fast as a sling bullet, and Swick translocated again to bring himself at a sidelong angle to her. His lunge was wicked sharp and perfectly aimed, borne from a lifetime of deadly combat, a body full of Vigour and the months-long lapse of so much as a whisper of alcohol. He saw the creature¡¯s eyes widen as his dagger dragged along its arm, snatching a drizzle of ichor out to run down the limb, sending it back.


    Caution, now, shone from those crimson eyes. And the Vampire started circling him. For one moment Swick let himself bask in the satisfaction of having warded off such a predator, if only for an instant.


    Then all the rebels around them started closing in with a vengeance.


    Had Swick fought them all alone, he might have been in trouble. He was a Hero, after all, but not one specialised in direct combat, and not particularly armoured or well armed. One hundred angry, blade-wielding people was less than he¡¯d managed before, but never while fighting a Vampire, and never easily. Fortunately he was not alone.


    The Necromancer Sphera announced herself by barging in through a door and waving an arm out in an arc, where her fingers flexed and dragged through the air they gathered shadestuff, then flicked it out. An entire row of men dropped to the ground, headless, as the magical fluid ate through everything above their necks. One moment later she was gesturing at the corpses, which climbed up to their feet and threw themselves at their former allies.


    It was amazing, the amount of chaos a half-dozen suddenly reanimated corpses could bring about by jumping into a mass of people. As far as distractions went, Swick had rarely seen better.


    The Vampire was focused, though, its eyes remaining heavy and concentrated atop him as they circled each other. Swick lunged, the Vampire sidestepped and he translocated himself to a position just feet away where he¡¯d left spatters of blood a moment prior. The Vampire was quick enough to avoid most of his next swing, but still lost half the lobe from one of its ears. That, apparently, was enough to let it know that a purely defensive fight was not to its advantage.


    Swick was retreating quickly as the Vampire came on, blood coiling out from a newly-opened gash in its wrist, thickening and hardening until it formed a great tendril akin to the ones used for flank-defence on Shaiagrazni¡¯s grotesqueries.


    It came at him, he translocated, and it came on again. An attack of infinitely dynamic length, trajectory and speed, like fighting a whirlwind with teeth. Swick backed off, sidestepped, danced around and winced as he saw the bloody limb gouge chunks of stone out of the floor, even rip a man in half on its backswing at one near-miss. It was all he could do to stay ahead of it, all he could do to keep backing up.


    More were emerging, pooling around the Vampire, congealing and elongating. He had minutes, maybe, before they joined the first and overwhelmed him. Sphera interrupted that.


    Two lashes of shadestuff, one barely missing, the other perfectly on-target. The Vampire had no time to dodge, instead widening and spreading their blood outwards into a broad shield and catching the Necromantic attack. Swick watched the sizzling liquid drop down, eaten away in an instant, then he was running.


    Behind him, the Vampire drew more blood outwards, this time from nearby humans and undead, working it rapidly into a devastating array of blades and bludgeons primed to strike out. He glanced over his shoulder, saw the first attack coming, then translocated just an instant before it landed to close in.


    There would be no more defensive fighting for him than there had been for the Vampire, he knew, and now he had Sphera¡¯s power on his side.


    Swick went low, and the shadestuff went high. It boiled away a length of the Vampire¡¯s gory weaponry just as Swick closed in to stab through the newly made hole, driving it back and into a bundle of reanimates. They fell upon the enemy, forcing its attention back around to batting them away while Swick himself leapt high, then translocated back to the ground. He opened the Vampire¡¯s arm up as it raised to strike where he¡¯d been, cutting deep enough that he might have nicked a tendon and drawing a pained snarl from the creature. Superhuman durability or not, undead flesh or not, that one had hurt it.


    The Vampire slithered back, pausing, thinking. Then it turned, breaking out into a dead sprint for the window. Swick hesitated only a moment before tearing after it, and he heard the footfalls of Sphera joining him. Human bodies fell away, scrambling into and over one another in their desperation to avoid the path of movement, and the Vampire had quite the clear path towards the nearest exit. Swick translocated in just as it dove outwards, both of them breaking down into a corridor leading deeper into the earth with a flight of steps.


    He¡¯d never chased down a Vampire, either, but their speed, Swick knew instantly, was no exaggeration of hearsay and rumour. It was pulling ahead with every extra step, and disappeared down the far corner before he was even close to the bottom.


    He swore, drew more blood from another finger and flicked it out, translocating the distance away and redoubling his efforts.


    This, he thought, was going to take up quite a lot of his time.

 Book 2: Chapter 15

    The Vampire problem was one with innumerable, nuanced issues all emerging from it, but a remarkably universal solution to most of them. Silenos¡¯ fundamental issue was that his forces were designed largely around battles, not skirmishes. The Rangers had always served well enough in smaller-scale, tighter-packed conflict, and their dwindling numbers left them a poor match for any force which operated as the Vampires did on so large a scale. He needed units able to contend with them in assassination, infiltration and subterfuge.


    Fortunately, he was not so far from accomplishing it. His newly-made grotesqueries, built from Rangers, had already come rather close. They merely needed specialisation.


    Silenos had spent much of his sixth century around the oceans, while studying with House Shaiagrazni. He had no great fascination with them, merely suspecting that the extreme conditions to be found in the marine world would surely have produced interesting adaptive features. He had, of course, been correct. It was one of these he now drew on for his creations, derived from the cuttlefish.


    Chromatophores were curious organoids found within the skin of the creatures, and several others. Containing careful balances of pigment, and controlled by precise nervous reaction, they could effectively change the colour of a creature within a fraction of a second, going so far as to mimic patterns and textures in surrounding materials with startling accuracy. Silenos recreated them in the Ranger-based grotesquery he¡¯d acquisition for his work, and made some key improvements.


    Some were made easy, even trivial. The higher-than-usual amount of neuronal tissue in the constructs meant that there was room for far finer control over the organoids, and Silenos was able to inure them to the more common weaknesses of temperature and pressure differentials through simply tweaking their surrounding tissues. Others were more complex. A critical flaw in the tissues was that physical impact could forcibly crush open the sacks containing pigments needed for appreciable shifts in colour, and he spent some time wrestling with that particular problem before finally stumbling upon a solution.


    With a care he¡¯d rarely even been called on to employ to his work, Silenos crafted musculature around the pigment sacks and left them tensing and toughening in time with the nervous signals. It took a lot of trial and error, time dragging irksomely slow, but eventually he perfected a layout which left the delicate tissues protected by layers of stiff, yet sufficiently flexible muscle. Upon hard impacts or great pressure, this would leave the sacks unbroken and protected, and when the time came for flexive movement they could relax and become as dynamic as their surroundings.


    It was not a perfect solution, far from it. In the moments where his creations were required to bend a certain section, their pigment sacks would be vulnerable to impact regardless, and of course any particularly potent blow might depress the musculature enough to rupture them anyway.


    Silenos worked to reduce these shortcomings. He added a honeycomb network of micron-scale keratinous cartilage formed in similar patterns to the steel links used so abundantly in chainmail among the New World, fusing the rings at one another¡¯s edges to avoid the need for uneven distribution or vulnerabilities. With luck it would add a degree of resilience and rigidity at all times.


    Even so, it was far from a perfect mechanism. That fact needled Silenos, but he was forced to compromise once more with his surroundings. They would do, for the time being.


    Silenos got to work on updating the rest of his creations with their new adaptations, and coining yet more.


    ***


    Swick really didn¡¯t like chasing Vampires. It was a reminder, with every step he took, just how many years he¡¯d spent drowning himself in booze. This one was fast, or perhaps they all were, and it was widening the space between them every moment.


    Which didn¡¯t mean it would get away, only that he¡¯d have to get clever.


    A man in Swick¡¯s career learned to get good at tracking exits, turns and navigation just as a rule. One never knew when one would have to flee from guards, debtors, angry husbands- really, there was no shortage of unruly types who lived for the joy of attacking him entirely unprompted.


    The Vampire sprinted, tearing down the tunnel. Faster than a horse, faster than a thrown spear. Faster than a thrown spear thrown from the back of a damned horse, and faster than Swick. But he knew where they were going. He¡¯d been careful to study up on the city¡¯s old sewers and catacombs, always a good habit to get into, going somewhere new, and he knew full well all the turns which would lead them down into a dead end.


    They¡¯d already taken one, which meant all he needed to do was ensure the Vampire couldn¡¯t burrow its way out through the walls and into different tunnels once they reached it. To do that, he only had to remain in sight and close enough to be a threat.


    His lungs burned. That might have proven harder than anticipated.


    Sphera was far behind Swick, and growing farther. Necromancers were casters, after all, and though their reaction times and wits could increase as their minds expanded to channel the energies beyond, that meant nothing for their bodies. She was athletic and trained, which was why the number of yards separating them was still countable in only two digits, but he¡¯d find no help from her until the enemy stopped.


    With a nasty start, Swick realised that he¡¯d likely be fighting the Vampire on his own for a few moments before his ally arrived. Possibly a lot of moments. He buried it, having no time for cowardice- not now- and nicked another finger. He flicked the blood out.


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    Swick was ten feet closer, then twenty, then thirty. He saw the Vampire throw a glance over its shoulder, eyes narrowing, lip curling. The fight was drawing closer even faster than he was; they both knew it. A corner turned, Swick bounced heavily off the wall to keep his momentum, then threw himself down.


    Had he not been such a clever lad, he¡¯d have died instantly. Swick had no delusions to the contrary, the volley of gory javelins which shot for him would have bitten deep and left him bleeding towards a convulsive death. As things were, they missed entirely, mangling the brickwork behind him and spattering the tunnel with arrow-quick globules of semi-hardened ichor which took further chunks out of every surface they hit. A few even caught his skin, stinging where they left cuts and bruises.


    But Swick had expected something similar, it was just the sort of trick he¡¯d have played, and rather than scramble to his feet he just translocated up into the drop of his own blood he¡¯d left in the air before dodging. He landed on his heels and bounced off them, lunging fast. Faster, clearly, than the Vampire had been ready for. Her next barrage was still half-formed and her hand came up too slow to stop him, catching Swick¡¯s dagger clean in the palm.


    Agony flared in the undead¡¯s eyes as the knife dug deep, deep, deeper. It was like trying to stab through iron, and his thrust exhausted its momentum just exiting through the back of the hand by an inch, but Swick had all the advantage he required. As his enemy raised her other arm to lash out, he twisted. Agony again, more now, and the Vampire was twitching and seizing, body plucked from her control by the pain of metal against bone and forced into leaving an opening.


    Swick didn¡¯t manage to do much with it, sadly. He punched her as hard as he could do, but for all his skill and experience he was still, in the end, no warrior. His knuckles might have knocked down a tree, but they only sent the Vampire back a step, cursing and stumbling as Swick followed the blow by ripping his knife free and lashing it out. It cut a nice gash over her brow, leaving blood to trickle down into the eye, but otherwise made no great leap in progress towards his victory.


    The Vampire wavered, caught between the instinct to flee and the knowledge that there would be no greater chance for escape than killing Swick now while he remained isolated. The hesitation bought him precious moments, and his own slight shifting, backstepping and crouching preparation, bought more.


    Finally the Vampire moved, drawing up blood, more than before. Volumes greater than it should even have been capable of holding, all of it becoming edged and hard as sharpened steel, an array of death glinting and twitching in anticipation of contact with him. Swick stared at it, waited for it to begin its rush towards him.


    Then translocated to the drop of blood he¡¯d smeared along the Vampire while slashing her.


    Swick barged into her, knocking the Vampire down and hurriedly moving into a grapple. His arms hooked around her elbows and joints, body tensing as he pitted every ounce of his strength against hers. Even with the position he had her in, it was barely within his capabilities to hold her in place. Like wrestling an elephant, with every struggle threatening to dislodge him and send them rolling apart along the sewer.


    The Vampire¡¯s struggles didn¡¯t weaken, as Swick¡¯s did, and her blood thrashed blindly around coming dangerously close to striking him on more than one occasion. He just held on. Seconds, a minute, an ever-closing end. Then footsteps reached Swick¡¯s ears, and he let himself roll free.


    By the time he and the Vampire were even halfway to their feet, Sphera was in the fight. Her shadestuff cut a notch from the undead¡¯s side, sizzling and devouring the necrotic meat, sending it stumbling away. Swick chased it farther with a knife swing, and then leaned back from a hastily thrown punch.


    He saw no strength behind it, and noticed the Vampire growing more sluggish by the moment. She backed away, shoulders hitting the wall, eyes narrowing with bitterness.


    Then her hands raised upwards in surrender.


    ***


    Diligent as ever, Collin had been careful to scrounge up some of the palace¡¯s plans before furthering its infiltration. It hadn¡¯t been hard, bloody nobs hadn¡¯t the foggiest idea about proper security.


    With them tucked safely away into his memory, he made short work of the path through its interior. He slid through it, darting around corners, avoiding sight. Rangers weren¡¯t as good in a close up fight, but their speed and dexterity meant stealth was something they did even better than long-distance shooting, and Shaiagrazni had bolstered Collin¡¯s own abilities across the board. He felt like a ghost, avoiding glances before they even turned his way and slipping by every face he encountered, sometimes even by a margin of inches.


    It was deep within the palace, his destination, but there were no real impediments to getting there. Collin was standing before the doors in under ten minutes, hesitating before he pushed them in. Then he stopped, and hesitated more.


    A library. A huge library, it had surprised him to learn that such a place was the new prince¡¯s holding pen, and now it left him feeling somehow¡­On edge. Collin wasn¡¯t a great proponent of gut instincts, but even he couldn¡¯t quite ignore the pricking unease that was building by the moment in his belly. His mouth was drying, hands starting to tremble, body twitching and tightening with adrenal preparation.


    Stupid, all of it. It was just a damned library. Collin pushed his fear down, the doors open, and made his way in..


    True to what he might have expected, there were books. Some small, some thick. Shelved or strewn about, lining walls like decorations. Collin had never seen such a number assembled in any given place. The library of Kaltan had been opened for the public shortly after his father¡¯s revolution, but much of it had been destroyed in the fighting. A lot more had been destroyed when one particular cabal of nobles had realised it would be permitted for the dirty peasants, and tried to ensure they couldn¡¯t enjoy it. Just thinking about that made his blood boil, and he focused on more immediately relevant things.


    Carpeted floors stretched out expansively, warmly lit by chandeliers hanging high overhead. Expensive furniture littered the place, and he found an undeniable sense of life to it all. Collin¡¯s eyes were drawn more immediately, however, to the man seated at one of the well-carved tables.


    He was a wiry thing, but tall. Delicate and thin, with a spectacled face framed by tousled brown hair, perhaps Collin¡¯s age. He looked younger. Before him was a book, and across his face was an expression of frowning confusion.


    ¡°Prince Nemo?¡± Collin asked, taking a step forward. ¡°You need to come with me, you¡¯re in danger.¡±


    The boy¡¯s reaction was instant, and not at all what Collin had expected. There was no eagerness for a lifeline, nor indignance at being spoken to so by a man of his accent. He just frowned, backed up slightly in his seat and licked nervous lips.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to.¡± He replied, quickly. Collin¡¯s temper shivered.


    ¡°There¡¯s no time to argue.¡± He snapped, closing in. ¡°You¡¯re in danger and a lot of other people are relying on your safety for theirs, come with me now.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He insisted again, standing now and backing away. ¡°No, just leave me alone, you¡¯re scaring me.¡±


    It was like talking to some giant child, and that only irritated Collin all the more. This was the heir to a nation? Growling, he closed in more rapidly.


    So rapidly, in fact, that he almost failed to notice the huge wall of fire sprouting up beside him until it was almost enveloping his body.

 Book 2: Chapter 16

    ¡°-And that¡¯s really the crux of it, my idiot nephew doomed our nation when he handed it over to the Dark Lord. Necromancy, I can understand, Fleshcrafting almost. But really, a female general? It¡¯s mad. There¡¯s just some things that aren¡¯t meant to be- aren¡¯t natural- you understand? You at least have the blood for it, even if you¡¯re just keeping the throne warm for your brothers, but that Sphera woman¡­Pah. Bad enough she studies magic, let alone putting her in command of the occasional army. Dark Lord indeed, hm?¡±


    Ado nodded, and did not strangle King Dazarick. It was an exertion of will on her part to manage either, let alone both.


    It wasn¡¯t just the rampant bigotry, and it wasn¡¯t even the fact that he seemed to embody every kind of it at once. King Dazarick was gnawing away at Ado¡¯s nerves for the simple reason that he was a fucking imbecile, completely without self awareness or introspection. Her truest, deepest, most awful realisation of the conversation had been that the old bastard wasn¡¯t even mimicking his nephew¡¯s psychological tactics in exposing himself to her.


    He was just a pervert, and Ado was stuck feigning patient negotiations with him. She was actually glad Baird had no idea of the particulars, for he¡¯d surely have gone deliberately slowly just to prolong her suffering if he had.


    ¡°That¡¯s very interesting.¡± She nodded, forcing the bile back down her throat. ¡°However-¡±


    The ground shook, and a moment later the sound reached Ado¡¯s ears. Distant, booming, almost like hearing one of Shaiagrazni¡¯s cannons going off. For one single instant she felt nothing but relief to have been handed a larger concern than her diversionary task.


    Then, of course, the implications of what she¡¯d heard sunk in. Dazarick¡¯s eyes were wide, and a moment later the doors flung open as guards stumbled in.


    ¡°My King.¡± One of them gasped. ¡°It¡¯s the library, something¡¯s happening there.¡±


    ¡°The library.¡± He echoed, then instantly turned to Ado.


    She made her decision quickly, largely due to it being the only one Ado really had any option of making at all. Her magic was in her hands, power salting the air, and in an instant magi and Knights were closing in.


    ***


    ¡°Alright, hold on, there¡¯s no need to get mental here.¡± Collin tried, struggling enough to even keep himself calm, let alone the mad bastard attacking him.


    Everything was on fire; the walls, ceiling, floor. One section of the room- quite a big, thickly built section- had been simply blown to pieces. Debris was scattered all over the place, a mix of broken and melting stone. Amid it all was the¡­Thing.


    It was hard to make out any details about its appearance, because even looking at it hurt. It was hotter than a bonfire, brighter than a forge, and a single moment of lingering eye contact left bright spots centring Collin¡¯s sight. Around it the floor glowed with second-hand heat, and the air was rippling and drying with every moment it remained in the room. It wasn¡¯t a living thing, he knew that much. No living thing could stand in the middle of such apocalyptic devastation, and yet undead feared heat and fire even more than people.


    Was it¡­It surely couldn¡¯t be¡­


    ¡°Burn.¡± The creature- the thing, whatever- snarled. Its voice was like a chorus, like a thousand thousand other voices chanting and groaning in unison. It ran through Collin, quiet and loud at once, almost threatening to stumble him with the sheer intensity packed into every syllable. The room shivered around them, wood straining at the pressure of its speech. Loud, then, apparently. It was loud.


    ¡°Hold on.¡± He gasped, barely even hearing his own words over the ringing in his ears and the roar of flames too hot and potent to be a thing of nature. ¡°Calm down, relax, let¡¯s not get crazy here-¡±


    ¡°Burn the human, burn him black, stuff his giblets in a sack. Take the sack and carry it far, send it up high bright like stars.¡±


    It was every nightmare Collin had ever had compressed into a single being, and growing closer with each word. He stumbled back, bow forgotten, all his old combat instincts leaving him. This was a Demon. A fucking Demon, made of death and destruction, an army-eater. There¡¯d be no fighting this thing, not with a dozen more of himself to help.


    ¡°Xekanis, no!¡±


    The Prince¡¯s voice, somehow cutting through the chaotic din of Collin¡¯s executioner. Remarkably, ridiculously, the Demon actually halted. A face appeared in the flames, abstract and ephemeral of barely-visible eyes and teeth, turned towards the Prince without a doubt. The Demon¡¯s voice rang out again.


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    ¡°It frightened you, it wanted to hurt you, to take you away.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s no reason to burn him!¡± The Prince shot back, showing not the slightest scrap of fear as he stared down the Demon.


    Well, not stared down really. More pleaded with his eyes, appealing with all the same ways a little boy might his friend. It was perhaps the most ludicrous thing of all that a person might try in moving something of its kind.


    And it looked like it was working. The Demon¡¯s flames died down, heat abated, and Collin found the stinging of his Fleshcrafted skin abated somewhat as the ambient temperature started to plummet. To his amazement, not a single book had been so much as singed by the flames engulfing them.


    ¡°It listens to you.¡± Collin breathed, struck stupid and slow by the impossibility of what he¡¯d seen. Before the Prince could reply, the doors were swinging open.


    Several men stormed in, most big, all armed. Collin had snatched his bow back up off the ground before any of them had even taken two steps, nocked an arrow by the third and put the length of iron clean through a man just as they swarmed him.


    He recognised Dazarick among them, and the plated armour of Knights in most others. Not an issue, Collin had killed creatures far deadlier than a group like that. From afar. He was in tight quarters now, and already too close for his weapon of choice. Discarding the bow Collin switched to his long knives, swearing and slashing as they came.


    Knife first he hit a Knight frontally, then slipped around as his guard raised and hamstrung him. Two more were charging in behind, and Collin rolled between them before leaping back up swinging and slashing. A circle formed around him, patrolled by pointy steel as he drove the surrounding men back. Caution didn¡¯t last more than a few moments, though, and he had no chance of winning defensively, not against weapons with their reach. Collin leapt on the nearest one.


    A polearm came down for him, he sidestepped and stabbed into the wrists which held it. Before the metal tip was even clattering to the floor he¡¯d driven his knife down to the hilt in the man¡¯s neck, ripping it out with a spray of crimson and rushing onto the next.


    This time they moved, last second. Collin¡¯s knife hit a pauldron, punching through and drawing blood, but not going nearly deep enough to nick bone or cut all the big veins. The Knight reached out, hand closing tight around his wrist, and Collin barely escaped by taking off half the bastard¡¯s fingers with his free arm before a halberd came down. He rolled away, watching the floorboards smash to pieces where he¡¯d just been standing.


    Knights were strong, Rangers were fast. It was the way of things. Collin had been stronger than most Knights even before Shaiagrazni¡¯s improvements, but these were clearly a cut above the norm. He snarled as he straightened up, knife torn from his hand and left in the shoulder. Prince Dazarick closed in on him.


    ¡°Spy!¡± He snapped, speaking in that slow, sluggish way non-Rangers had when adrenaline was high and the world was dragged back to a crawl. His hands were closed around the hilt of some stupid fucking sword, almost half the Godblade¡¯s size and looking like it was made to be bolted above a mantle and bragged about rather than swung in anger.


    It was swung, though, and swung fast. Collin leapt back from it, ten hands of steel whipping by him, smelling of magic as it passed. Enchanted, brilliant. He needed to get himself an enchanted weapon, one of these days.


    The Knights tried encircling him, which further split Collin¡¯s attention. He tried to go for one on his right and keep them from completing their flank, but Dazarick closed and kept hacking away with strength enough that Collin had no choice but to focus on him. Chunks fell from his thick dagger with every parry, the supernatural edge to his enemy¡¯s weapon too much for mundane material to manage. Then the encirclement was complete, and the blows started coming down.


    Shaiagrazni made good armour, for sure. Lighter, tougher than steel, something which would have changed war forever had he given it a few years to integrate even on its own. But there were limits to everything, and a half dozen greater Knights swinging at once was one hell of a problem.


    Cracks, creaks, flexive surrendering to the material as Collin abandoned offence and focused on just curling up to put his armoured greaves between the enemy¡¯s steel and his own skull. It was done, a man didn¡¯t get out of positions like the one he was stuck in. He¡¯d had a good run, but nobody¡¯s luck lasted forever.


    ¡°Enough!¡± Came Dazarick¡¯s voice, and Collin sensed a parting to the metal-clad bodies before him. Just in time for the enchanted blade to come down and bite deep into his shoulder.


    Collin had been wounded before, of course, and more than once. The agony of meat cut open in his body was a familiar feeling. That barely made it less debilitating, though.


    His legs weakened, body dropping, knees hitting the ground as he barely blocked another swing aimed for his neck. A greave surrendered, this time, enchanted metal cutting him down deep into the muscle as he fell. Dazarick moved past him, disgust twisting his face.


    ¡°The Kaltan.¡± He spat. ¡°I should have guessed. Tell me, was the plan for you to attempt an abduction, or were you just unable to reign in your animal impulses long enough for the Princess to finish her diplomacy?¡±


    Collin had about a hundred retorts for the man, but none made themselves known to his hazy wits and swimming vision.


    ¡°And you.¡±


    The Prince was speaking, now, to the other Prince. Nemo, who stood cowering and trembling against a bookshelf with eyes left widened in horror. His uncle approached, sword still drawn, face tight with murder and rage.


    ¡°Conspiring with our enemies, really boy?!¡±


    ¡°I¡­I didn¡¯t¡­¡±


    ¡°Silence.¡± The Prince snapped, raising his blade to hover inches from the younger man¡¯s nose. He stared at it, cross-eyed through his spectacles and looking as if the metal were made from the stuff of nightmares. ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of you.¡± Dazarick continued. ¡°It was one thing to have you tucked away silent and unthreatening, but this is beyond the pale. You hear me?! BEYOND THE PALE!¡±


    He paused, inhaled as his eyes fell for a moment. Then looked back up, cooler and calmer, but no less deadly.


    ¡°Your father wouldn¡¯t have wanted this, but I don¡¯t care. Everything I¡¯ve done was for this Kingdom- everything- and I¡¯ll not have another sheltered brat pilfer it from me.¡±


    He raised the sword high, edge glinting in the lamplight, and Collin watched as it came down.

 Book 2: Chapter 17

    Ado was on fire. It was all she could do to cool the air around her into a falling spray of slushy crystals before the heat burned through her skin and hair.


    She hit the ground, scrambled back and put an icicle clean through a Knight as he closed. That was the third one killed, leaving only the magus. All the others had gone with the King.


    ¡°Fucking bitch!¡± The old man snarled, displaying a roughly typical attitude for one of his order. Lightning started building at his hands, and that was bad. Lightning was rare magic, not for the difficulty of conjuring it- for the alarming regularity with which the idiots learning to got themselves fried to death. It was pure destruction, and Ado knew better than to trust in a wall of damned ice against it. She used her precious moments well, freezing over the magus¡¯ fingers as he focused on conducting it.


    The delay wasn¡¯t long, a second maybe as he desperately unstuck thumb and index. But long enough for his control to wane. The lightning went wild, and by the time it had finished dancing around the room there wasn¡¯t anything at all left to recognise the magus by.


    Ado took a moment, trembling. She really was getting into a lot of death matches, lately, and this one wouldn¡¯t have gone her way at all if Dazarick hadn¡¯t hurried off to find that incompetent buffoon Baird. But she had a task to accomplish, and Shaiagrazni¡¯s displeasure was something she¡¯d seen demonstrated all too clearly to risk experiencing again. She headed off briskly .


    Fortunately, Ado did not have so hard a time finding where she needed to be. All she had to do was follow the heat and smoke. It was remarkable, the very air started to sting as she closed in on her location, as if someone had dumped a dozen furnaces¡¯ contents out into the palace and allowed the molten iron to flow out down the halls. Her sweat built, eyes teared, and fatigue grew with every new step taken to the source.


    When, at last, Ado barged into the library, she found it rather less incendiary than she¡¯d feared. Which was hardly an improvement. There were easily a half dozen Knights present, and Dazarick was at the head of them. He had a ridiculously sized sword held in one hand as if it were light as a feather, raised high and ready to bring down upon a cowering young man she could only guess was Prince Nemo. The decision was not really hers to make, in the end. Ado had her mission, and no room for failure. As fast as she was able, she conjured the ice and sent it flying in a jagged streak.


    Dazarick cursed, stumbling forwards as the ice broke against his backplate and threw him off balance. The Knights turned all as one, and Ado barely had time to hit another with her power before they were moving. At such close range, and with all her power, the jagged icicle flew like a trebuchet stone and caught the man clean in his gorget. She winced at the sight of metal, then meat surrendering as blood touched the air, but Ado didn¡¯t have time to dwell on it for long.


    Things would probably not have ended well for her, had Ado been alone. Baird, however, seemed to have needed only a moment to stumble back to his feet.


    She watched as he moved in behind one of the Knights, faster than she¡¯d have thought possible, and neatly cut his throat before moving aside to knife another beneath the shoulder. The moments of hesitation this bought let her send a third back with yet another blast of ice.


    Near death experiences were certainly not Ado¡¯s favourite thing, and she hoped she¡¯d never adjust to them. This one, though, was over fast. Within half a minute she and Baird stood around six corpses, and King Dazarick was poised opposite them, blade torn from his grip and eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Go on then,¡± He spat, ¡°Do it, damned assassins.¡±


    Ado hesitated, and considered the merits of trying to dissuade the man of their malfeasance now that he was under her power. That thought was dashed by the sound of rapid footfalls down the hallway at her back.


    Knights, of course. Standard armsmen lagging behind the ten or so armoured men fronting the charge, and a single, familiarly-robed magus at the back. Evidently Dazarick¡¯s household guard was somewhat more elite than they¡¯d been led to believe. Ado felt her nerves fraying at the sight of them, raising her hands and conjuring a wall of ice before the door, thickening it as best she could before their new enemies could enter.


    ¡°You can¡¯t hold them forever.¡± Dazarick laughed, triumphantly, ¡°You-¡±


    Baird kicked him between the legs, harder than Ado had ever seen any man kicked by anything. He actually lifted up off the ground, rising a solid yard or two into the air as the steel plate around his groin buckled and folded, then fell groaning. The second kick, she thought, was probably not needed. The seven that followed it certainly weren¡¯t, but they served their purpose in leaving him incapacitated for the time being.


    ¡°We need to go.¡± The Kaltan said, directing his words to the Prince, and projecting them with the tone Ado had heard on those precious few occasions where he¡¯d left her truly convinced she might be facing down death. It affected the young Prince as she might have expected, setting him to trembling with fear and uncertainty, tears running down his cheeks.


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    ¡°Uncle¡­Dazarick.¡± He whispered, not even seeming connected to the scene around him. ¡°He¡­¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no time for that.¡± Baird snapped, empathetic as ever. ¡°We need to fucking leave, and you¡¯re coming with me.¡±


    Something reared up before him, at that, and Ado took an instinctual step back as she felt the magic pouring out into the room. It was like standing before a volcano, almost hotter than the actual flames conjured by the source. Her mouth went dry, legs weak, mind liquid.


    The burning monstrosity now just yards from Baird was unlike anything she¡¯d seen since Shaiagrazni himself.


    ¡°You will not frighten him.¡± It declared, voice like a chorus of screams in her ears. Baird only stared up at it.


    ¡°Oh, or what, you¡¯ll burn me to death? Good luck getting him out without me, idiot.¡±


    It probably said something bad about Baird that he reacted to the towering flame Demon more or less as he did all other things, but Ado couldn¡¯t for the life of her muster anything other than relief to see it so openly challenged. Clearly, the Demon itself was surprised.


    ¡°Prince, I know you¡¯re scared, and I know it¡¯ll be hard to leave your home¡­But please, you need to come with us. That door won¡¯t hold forever, and we don¡¯t have long.¡±


    As if on cue, the pounding began. Ado watched the thick oaken doors shatter behind her wall, and then saw the ice itself began to shiver before repeated blows from axes and polearms. It was stronger than normal ice, she¡¯d made sure of that, but there were limits to her power. A wall of iron would have provided more protection, and she wouldn¡¯t have been confident in that holding for long against the assault she now faced, either.


    ¡°Okay.¡± The Prince breathed, eyes on the ice now, and betraying no less concern than Ado felt. ¡°Okay, just¡­Please help me leave.¡±


    Baird relaxed, sighed, and looked around the room for a moment. Ado realised only then that their only exit was covered with ice and barring the entrance to their death sentence.


    ¡°These walls look¡­Breakable.¡± The Kaltan breathed. ¡°I think we could-¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    The low, rumbling voice of the Demon shook Ado to her core, more cutting for the abruptness of it than its nature. She turned just in time to see the entity grow back into a pillar of searing fire and make for her barricade.


    One flash of fire and Ado¡¯s wall of ice was half-liquefied, running down what was left of its structure in thick rivers, puddling at its base. It broke apart as the Knights beyond continued their assault, letting the armoured men storm into the library with weapons in hand. They barely had time for surprise before the next gout of fire washed over them.


    The smell was by far the worst of it, like cooking pork. Ado felt sick rising in her gullet as she watched steel glow, collapse inwards and then melt, sticking to the charring meat below as bubbles rose and burst in the metallurgic fluid. She found herself looking away, eyes physically stung by the light¡¯s intensity.


    Fortunately the display didn¡¯t last long, barely a few moments more.


    ¡°Cool the corridor as you go.¡± Baird hissed, stumbling past Ado and speaking with the same, irritatingly practical composure he always showed. She followed after, doing as he¡¯d advised and reducing the ambient temperature of the hall as their group waded past blackened corpses and pooling steel. Her nostrils were stung by the acrid reek of smelting as they went, and even with her magic doing its work she still felt as if it were a desert around her, and not a corridor in a mountain region.


    That corridor didn¡¯t stay warm for long, and it certainly didn¡¯t stay empty. They¡¯d barely turned the first corner before more of Dazarick¡¯s men were at their back.


    ¡°Not that way.¡± Baird noted, bow out instantly and arrow flying. These were not Knights, though they moved with the preternatural speed of Vigour. His metal bolt clove clean through the gambeson protecting one of them and even exited the man¡¯s back, dropping him like a stone to almost trip his allies. ¡°Someone make us an exit.¡± The Kaltan breathed, nocking and drawing another as if he were shooting on a practice range. ¡°I only have about twelve arrows left.¡±


    It was a uniquely potent incentive, Ado had to admit, and not one she had any intention of wasting. Evidently, the Demon had similar ideas.


    Another gout of flame, this time aimed behind them. Ado felt her skin blister and hair singe as the flames splashed against stone, running over the wall behind them. It melted within moments, turning to a molten river which ran glowing out of the hall and hissed in the cold air exposed outside.


    ¡°Outside.¡± The Demon ordered, dragging all of them along, as a Demon¡¯s voice tended to do. The Prince was hesitant to leave, until his Demon carried him down, and Ado lowered herself gently to the ground below with a shrinking pillar of ice. Baird was out last, simply jumping the distance and falling sixty feet with nothing but the bending of his knees upon impact. Show-off.


    ¡°The escape¡¯s this way.¡± He announced, taking off at a jog easily half again the speed of most men¡¯s sprints. Ado did her best to follow, but the fatigue was quicker in building than they were in reaching their destination.


    Around them the ground was flat, for a mountain region, but it didn¡¯t take long for word to spread through the city. Within minutes arrows were whistling for them. Baird was careful in guiding them to areas of difficult shooting and great distance from the largest guard concentrations, ensuring that no clean shots were taken, but even still more than one projectile came uncomfortably close.


    ¡°There.¡± Baird grunted, nodding ahead to their vehicle. It was surrounded by men, of course, and in the process of seizure. It was all Ado could do to force down her exhaustion long enough to call on her magic.


    Baird had three arrows in the air in two seconds, and each one found its mark in a man¡¯s skull. Their heads just came apart, without Vigour to add resilience and durability the bone and flesh making them up was too insubstantial a resistance against the unearthly force of his weapon. Explosions of wet meat sprayed viscera in all directions, then they were on the enemy.

 Book 2: Chapter 18

    Silenos allowed a curse to escape him. Vigour was remaining as stubborn a subject as ever, and the new Knight-flesh he¡¯d seized in his conquest of Ironbane was proving no exception.


    It was a remarkably tedious exercise, trying to manipulate it. Silenos had no inherent power to do so, no more than before, and even his ability to reshape the body holding it was resisted by the same power that left it so resilient against all other harm. He could see it, at least, but that was of limited use. Better to fumble blindly and have the power to touch it than clearly perceive a substance that was denied to his influence, surely.


    He leaned back in his chair, considering the problem. There were only so many avenues to approach it, but Silenos had to admit he¡¯d been rather monomaniacal so far. Insisting on learning to master the magic himself and twist it to his own ends directly. Perhaps that was possible, perhaps not. There were certainly powers not within the abilities of a standard caster, he knew that much and had done for years. Were there not, House Shaiagrazni would never have become masters of summoning and dealing with Entities.


    Silenos considered the problem from a purely pragmatic standpoint, focusing exclusively on his desired end.


    It was not, he realised, entirely necessary to directly alter the Vigour. Not¡­Not for sure. Vigour could, after all, change its own shape. People¡¯s bodies could grow and change without simply diffusing the amount of magical strength they held in them- a teenaged boy with Vigour did not somehow leave it less concentrated in their flesh by reaching adulthood. So perhaps the solution was not solely in reshaping more tissue to create his works.


    After a few moments to gather his thoughts and plan, Silenos began working on a new construct. This one was made of simple, mundane tissue, for he had no need of any supernatural prowess within it.


    Silenos made it wide, tall. Large enough to fit a body, then larger still, and he began the careful process of leaving it fertile. He shaped proteins and worked them together, producing a nourishing fluid and slowly filling the cavity within his creation, then moved across his laboratory and withdrew a sample of particularly potent Vigour-infused tissue. Just a small amount, but large enough. He left it within the centre of the fluid, and worked it further still.


    He keyed it to recognise the structure of the tissue sample suspended amid it, then altered the organoids at the interior of the sack to slowly produce and diffuse yet more cellularly-identical biomass to match it. Finally altering the tissue itself, Silenos made it into a growing thing.


    A slowly growing thing, of course. He was not Fleshcrafting more of this tissue- he couldn¡¯t do that while leaving the additional matter imbued with Vigour. This experiment was to see whether he could induce a state of growth within the stuff itself, using all the natural processes which turned an embryo into a foetus, into an infant. There would be no small time spent waiting before he saw any results, even if those results were a disappointment.


    But that was research, there was a reason that the oldest of his Household held so much more power and knowledge than the younger ones. A reason why Silenos himself was under half the age of most of his peers.


    A knock shook his door, and snatched Silenos¡¯ thoughts back to the present. He stood, turning to it and calling out.


    ¡°Enter.¡± There was nothing particularly sensitive and in need of guarding on display, nothing that the savages of the New World could hope to comprehend, in any case. His apprentice was the first to enter, behind her Swick. Behind him, the Vampire responsible for killing king Alfonso.


    ¡°Master.¡± Sphera bowed, kneeling before him, eyes appropriately low. ¡°We have done as you commanded and apprehended the Vampire responsible for throwing your city into chaos.¡±


    As redundant as the explanation was, Silenos rather enjoyed hearing it.


    ¡°Excellent.¡± He nodded. ¡°You have both done well, are either of you hurt?¡±


    ¡°Not much.¡± Swick the Swift grunted, eying Silenos, and his cloak, wearily. Clearly he was not eager to have his body Fleshcrafted, even for the removal of injuries.


    ¡°Then I shall begin the interrogation.¡±


    Silenos turned, now, to the Vampire. He had hoped for some measure of fear in its face, but saw none. The undead remained defiant as ever, cold flesh untwitching, eyes hard and defiant. Were they immune to the sensation of pain? Silenos was rather eager to find out, he would learn a lot from vivisecting such a fascinating specimen, of that much he was certain.


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    ¡°I¡¯ll be¡­Heading off, if you don¡¯t mind.¡± Swick muttered, turning for the door with no scarcity of haste. He¡¯d always been rather squeamish, a curious trait in a pirate but one which brought Silenos no great inconvenience now. The door closed soon, and he was bringing his gaze to full intensity upon the undead.


    To his surprise, the creature¡¯s face was aimed down to the floor. As Silenos watched it, he realised its lips were moving softly, hands pressed together, eyes closed. Closed in prayer. He was halfway through a sneer when it struck him that he¡¯d seen it all before. This was the very same prayer, with the exact same gestures, that he¡¯d once observed his Paladin companion perform, kneeling down in the dirt every evening and dawn.


    It gave him pause, bizarrely. As if the sight were something substantial, something to be considered for even an instant before moving past.


    ¡°Master?¡± Sphera asked, sounding revoltingly uncertain. It snapped Silenos from his stupor in an instant.


    He ignored her, addressing the Vampire.


    ¡°That style of prayer.¡± Silenos began. ¡°It is strange, I have made a study of this land¡¯s religious customs. I¡¯ve not seen that style of gesticulation much, even in the religious.¡±


    The Vampire glanced up at his address, uncertainty no lesser to have been spoken to. Its eyes were pools of hatred, which was a comforting sight at least.


    ¡°It¡¯s how people from my city pray.¡± The creature replied, tightly. ¡°Or did, at least, when I was human.¡±


    ¡°And which city is that?¡±


    The Vampire seemed more confused than anything, answering his question shortly.


    ¡°Elkatin.¡±


    Silenos was not surprised to see his suspicions confirmed, merely relieved to finally be able to move past them and onto more important matters.


    ¡°I see.¡±


    Elkatin. It had been barely an eyeblink ago, since he¡¯d last set foot there. Not very long at all measured against the span of his fifteen decades. It was curious how suddenly distant the city felt. Silenos turned his focus back to the Vampire, banishing the distraction with a swift jerk of his intellect.


    The Vampire was looking at him. That, in and of itself, was curious. Silenos knew there was fear in the creature- a fearless thing did not pray before their torture and vivisection- but it seemed devoid of the emotion¡¯s influence. Almost like those of his Household who had refused to properly purify their brains of primitive emotion, yet transcended them regardless through sheer age.


    Those ones, Silenos knew, were always the most trusted. As this Vampire had been. Trusted enough that there might yet be a use for her, one worth pursuing in any case.


    ¡°I have changed my mind.¡± He declared, glancing to Sphera. ¡°Take this one away, imprison it, but do not harm it. Have the deadliest of my grotesqueries guarding it.¡±


    His apprentice blinked, stunned by Silenos¡¯ order.


    ¡°I¡­Beg your pardon?¡± She asked. Irritation blossomed in him like the mushroom cloud of an atomic genocide.


    ¡°Take it away, imprison it but do not harm it.¡± Silenos repeated. ¡°Have the deadliest of my grotesqueries guarding it. Shall I prepare a second cell to teach you how best to listen when your Master gives you an order?¡±


    Her reaction was near-instantaneous, propelled by that most unrivalled of fuels that was fear.


    ¡°Of course not Master.¡± She shook her head, urgently. ¡°My apologies, you merely took me by surprise, I shall do as you ordered of course. Please forgive me.¡±


    <hr>


    Baird had enjoyed their escape far, far too much. Ado was not certain when she¡¯d first noticed it, but when she had, it had become unmissable.


    He¡¯d been smirking, as their vehicle took off. Grinning as the attempts at pursuit started, and Ado swore she¡¯d heard him giggle as the flying magi slowly catching up had started to fall back upon finding themselves impaled or dismembered by the impacts of high velocity iron shafts.


    The ship had been entirely filled with his ammunition, of course. Dozens upon dozens of metal arrows, each weighing them down by another pound, each proving its worth upon use. Ado wondered, watching the display, just how costly it was for Baird to do his business.


    Then she recalled the cost of repairing mangled steel each time a Knight¡¯s armour was tested by weaponry wielded by a warrior equal to its wielder. Compared to that, it suddenly felt rather modest. It was, after all, pig-iron he was shooting. And largely lead-cored at that.


    Soon enough they were over the city¡¯s horizon, and their flight back to Ironbane was concluded without much more of note. The Prince Nemo kept mostly to himself for its duration, merely seated and staring absently outwards. His pet Demon, thankfully, was even more isolated. It had reverted itself to a smaller form, an almost innocuous ball of puffy flames that danced and crackled where it levitated a few feet above the ground, never at risk of generating any real heat or burning anything of import.


    Ado did not allow herself to be fooled for even an instant. The thing she saw, the thing she would keep seeing at night until the day she died, was still there. Just hidden, as Demons were so fiendishly good at doing. When it saw fit, it would emerge once more. She could only hope to be far away when that happened.


    ¡°Your¡­Leader. What¡¯s he like?¡±


    Blinking, Ado turned and realised that it was Prince Nemo who had spoken, finally breaking his long-held silence. He¡¯d picked a time for it, the city of Ironbane was just within sight, perhaps a few more minutes¡¯ flight away.


    She considered the Prince¡¯s question, and quickly decided that it was not one she was best to answer. Particularly, not one she wanted to run the risk of answering. Ado turned, though it deeply disgusted her to do so, towards Baird.


    ¡°I believe the Kaltan has known him longer than I.¡± She replied, diplomatically. Prince Nemo¡¯s eyes followed hers, to where the barbarian was testing the string of his recently-abused weapon. He answered without looking up.


    ¡°A bastard.¡± He replied. ¡°Doesn¡¯t really value people, or their lives. All he cares about is knowledge and power, in that order. He¡¯ll cut you open as soon as speak to you, if he has his way, and every seemingly decent thing he does is out of pure pragmatism.¡±


    If any of that bothered him, he betrayed no hint of it.


    ¡°Do you really not care at all about what you do? What you fight for?¡± Ado challenged him. Baird didn¡¯t even bother looking up.


    ¡°¡®Course I do.¡± He replied. ¡°As soon as Shaiagrazni stops fighting the Dark Lord, I¡¯m ditching him and finding other allies that will.¡±


    Their flight continued in a grim silence, after that, and Prince Nemo seemed by far the more disturbed for it. They touched down in Ironbane blessedly quickly.


    The city had not changed as much as Ado would have hoped, and much of the differences she saw compared to when she¡¯d left were¡­Disheartening, to say the least. Rather similar to her own nation, during its final days.


    She could only hope Shaiagrazni¡¯s would prove to have a more robust future. The walk to Shaiagrazni, at least, was not a long one. Ado soon found herself moving past guards and steeling nerves as they entered his commandeered castle.


    Ado had begun to tell herself she knew the man, perhaps, even, that she could predict him. Despite the perpetual terror that proved innate to his very presence, she found the fear blunted as it came for her this time. That effect did not survive entering his throne room, and finding him standing before a great pit holding several of his slobbering grotesqueries. Suspended above it, bound and tied by the ankles, was a familiar sight.


    The twisted, ruined, struggling form of her teacher, Rochtai.


    Below him, the grotesqueries leapt eagerly for their feast.

 Book 2: Chapter 19

    Nemo felt like the walls were closing in on him, breath tight in his chest, ribs stiff. His lungs weren¡¯t working, refusing to expand, refusing to move at all. The air was just sitting dead and still where it rested within him. Only the pounding of blood in his ears forced him, finally, to take a breath, and he half-hoped that doing so would break whatever sick illusion had replaced the world.


    But it didn¡¯t, because there was no illusion to be broken. What he saw was how things were. A waking nightmare, everywhere he went and everywhere he might go.


    ¡°You have returned.¡± Said the man beside the pit, towering so tall Nemo¡¯s eyes almost skirted over him on instinct, as if they were perceiving a piece of furniture. His clothing writhed and moaned as he spoke, animated in perhaps the most disturbing way he¡¯d ever seen, and his eyes were terrible in the exactly opposite way. Lifeless, empty. Dead things that ought to be alive, affixed to the face of a man who wore a living thing which ought to be dead.


    ¡°I have, my Lord.¡± The Princess replied, bowing deeply. Nemo could see her face tight and hands clenched, finding himself suddenly less sure of everything for the sight.


    ¡°And you have succeeded.¡± The man continued, glancing, now, at Nemo. For one terrible moment the caster¡¯s stare was all he felt, then Xekanis¡¯ warming presence touched the back of Nemo¡¯s mind and calmed him. He felt his breath steady, finally managing to exhale.


    ¡°I have.¡± The Princess nodded again, still keeping her eyes low. The man smiled, surprisingly. The expression was no warmer than his cool glare had been, no warmer at all.


    ¡°Excellent.¡±


    With a single gesture, the squirming thing held over the pit was plucked aside. Nemo watched it land hard beside the opening, then the caster was touching it gently. In moments it transformed, changing to a naked, trembling man of wrinkled, pale flesh and unkempt hair.


    ¡°Rochtai!¡±


    Instantly the Princess was on her knees beside him, hands delicately coming down on the old man¡¯s shoulders as he sat up, trembles only growing. Nemo saw tears streaming down his face as he began softly murmuring to the woman, and turned around before he further invaded the privacy of what was clearly a reunion long in the waiting.


    ¡°Your reward for your service and success.¡± The man explained, as if what he was seeing was of no consequence. ¡°Had you failed, I would instead have made it a punishment.¡±


    The Princess stiffened, finally raising her eyes from the old man and looking up at the caster. Nemo held his breath as she spoke, without defiance.


    ¡°Thank you my Lord.¡± The woman replied, swallowing, pausing, then continuing. ¡°Might I please request that I be dismissed, if you have nothing more to ask of me for the moment? I would like to¡­Reunite with my teacher.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± The man waved a hand, clearly seeing no great import in the request. ¡°Do as you will.¡±


    She was out of the room quickly enough, taking her teacher with her and helping to cover him with one of the many redundant articles of clothing adorning her body. With her gone, and the mean bowman absent from the room to begin with, Nemo was left with no company at all but the man named Silenos Shaiagrazni.


    He wasted no time in turning back to him, speaking as if the events transpiring mere moments ago were of no consequence at all.


    ¡°Prince Nemo.¡± He nodded, face turning, somehow, to a new whisper of considering¡­Respect.


    ¡°Uh, hello sir.¡± Nemo replied, unsure what else would be best to say. If nothing else, his choice of response did not seem to anger the man.


    ¡°Sir.¡± He echoed, thoughtfully. ¡°Do you make a habit of deferring?¡±


    Nemo didn¡¯t meet his eye.


    ¡°I¡¯m just trying to be polite.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± The man paused a second before continuing. ¡°You are the most remarkably gifted Esotericist I have ever met.¡±


    The compliment was marred, of course, by Nemo having no clue at all what an Esotericist actually was. Fortunately the man seemed more than eager to explain.


    ¡°Your people, as I understand, have a different word for the practice. Demonology, done by Demonologists.¡±


    Of course, it all made sense within an instant. Nemo swallowed, not meeting the man¡¯s eye, suddenly less comfortable than ever knowing what he was being praised for.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Nemo murmured.


    It really wasn¡¯t much to be given credit for, just something Nemo had picked up as a child. Hours alone, in the library, kept carefully away from politics and the dangers of approximating succession had left him with few pleasures but books. And of those books, only the ones detailing forbidden magic had any emotional weight to him.


    Those were the ones he¡¯d always read with Al, when they were younger. Before the world had given his brother duties, and Nemo loneliness. At the thought of his elder, tears threatened to wet his eyes. Nemo suddenly felt the sting of his loss as sharply as if it had occurred just seconds ago, resisting a tremble.


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    ¡°You must rule.¡± The man told him, abruptly. Nemo looked up at that, stunned.


    ¡°I¡­Rule?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± He repeated, calmly. ¡°Your brother is dead, your uncle an ambitious, murderous fool. You must rule or your people will suffer. You are, after all, the next in line. And unlike Prince Dazarick you are neither a fratricider, nor an idiot. Your innate mastery of magic demonstrates the latter, and the terms of your sole sibling¡¯s death the former.¡±


    Nemo felt like he¡¯d been punched in the gut. Not that he actually knew how that felt, of course, he¡¯d only ever read about it happening to others, but from what he could imagine of the experience it felt very much like what was happening to him now. And the man just kept on talking.


    ¡°I am speaking about saving lives, you understand. Every day your people are forced to live without the influence of stable Shaiagrazni rule, more perish from preventable illness, starvation or misguided rebellion. You need not spill any blood at all, yourself, merely accept the throne and take your place beneath me. I will guide your nation, as I already control it, and your uncle will have no choice but to accept it by weight of my overwhelming military superiority. The revolts will halt and all will be well. All will be well, and all will be thanks to your decision, King Nemo.¡±


    No. Not that, never that, it was too much, too quickly. Nemo¡¯s head was spinning, the ground turning to liquid beneath him, his temples pounding and aching. He wanted to go home. He just wanted to go home, to his library, to his books, to his quiet life out of everybody¡¯s way where no one was getting hurt or threatened because of him. He just wanted to see his big brother again, just one last time.


    ¡°I can¡¯t do it.¡± Nemo croaked, at last, hardly even thinking by the time the words left his mouth. Perhaps if he answered quickly and clearly enough, he¡¯d be left alone that much sooner.


    Apparently, the tall man had other plans. He grew more insistent, not less, as Nemo gave him his answer.


    ¡°Of course you can.¡± He replied, rather more sternly now. ¡°It requires no exertion on your part at all, simply accept the role and do nothing. You may do whatever you please with your life after the fact, so long as you make the occasional public appearance as King under House Shaiagrazni.¡±


    Nemo shook his head again, feeling that tight, cramped sensation starting all over.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He replied. ¡°I don¡¯t want to, I can¡¯t.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t. Not again, not another life with a bullseye on his back and a horror waiting behind any corner. Not after everything Al had done to get him out of the first.


    ¡°You realise what this means.¡± The man pressed, growing more furious by the second. ¡°You realise that people will die, people will be killed by your negligence. Or are you one of the moral cowards, who has convinced himself that a degree of separation between action and inaction leaves you beyond culpability?¡±


    Nemo kept his eyes on his feet right up until the man started moving forwards, at that point he looked up and took a step back, suddenly more than just scared at the sight of him closing in with rage curtaining his eyes. He didn¡¯t quite reach him before another man dropped down from the ceiling, the one called Collin Baird, and placed a hand firmly down upon his shoulder.


    ¡°Enough.¡± He said, calmly, quietly, but as unyielding as a boulder.


    The tall man¡¯s eyes came down on his, now, but Baird didn¡¯t flinch a fingerspan at the intense glare he received.


    ¡°Are you defying me?¡± The caster asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡± The Ranger answered, defiant even as he did. ¡°I¡¯m not your subordinate, I¡¯m your ally, and I don¡¯t think you¡¯re stupid enough to throw one like me away over your own ego. What, we¡¯re gonna fight now? Chuck each other around? Maybe I¡¯ll even draw a drop of blood from you before you kill me, and deprive yourself of the best shot this side of the continent.¡±


    For a moment the tall man said nothing, face twitching. Then his gaze shifted back, terrifyingly, to Nemo.


    ¡°Leave, now.¡± He ordered, with all the barely-hidden vitriol of a man finding himself upon the brink of doing something he knew to be unwise.


    Nemo didn¡¯t need telling twice, scurrying out of the room as fast as he could manage.


    ***


    Silenos would have to have the boy watched, he decided. For more reason than just one. He was, of course, a natural flight risk, but the main issue at hand was his magic.


    Esotericists were a rare breed in House Shaiagrazni. Any individual could become one, even if they had already dedicated themselves to learning as many varieties of magic as their age and talent would allow. The limiting factor upon it, of course, was the danger. Silenos could testify to that much better than most, it had been how he¡¯d gotten himself trapped in an entirely different universe after all.


    He himself had begun learning the art no later than his ninetieth year, calling on all his long decades of practice and experience. Even then, he had been cautious. One always needed to be when one practised Esotericism, for the predatory Entities it involved utilising would punish the slightest lax, and often in a permanent way. As he had damned learned himself.


    It was not impossible to hear of a man as young as Prince Nemo utilising it, but to have successfully summoned and bound an Entity- even one as weak as the flame thing he controlled- was a feat. For that Entity to have been bound with only the book learning of a primitive, magic-frightened world to help¡­


    Luck, clearly, had been at play. But a great degree of skill as well. Perhaps as much natural talent as Arion Falls himself possessed.


    That sort of innate gift was something House Shaiagrazni had always prided themselves on finding and honing, in those situations where other circumstances did not keep it from use. Silenos could only hope Prince Nemo was not beyond being turned into a true caster. But that was a matter for later. His immediate concerns lay with the Vampire.


    Pushing aside the heavy door to her cell, Silenos made his way in. He saw the grotesqueries he¡¯d ordered to guard it within; smaller things, barely the size of rhinoceroses and scarcely able to even withstand the primitive artillery of this world¡¯s people. They did their work well enough, all the same, keeping the undead cornered within its prison and warding off escape.


    The Vampire, to its credit, seemed to have fared better in such conditions than most humans would have. Silenos supposed that was one of the benefits it gained from its curious form of undeath. An interesting condition, that. Unliving, but emulating life through the imbibement of living vitae and bio-magics. He would certainly never have pursued it himself as an end, it was in some ways even more primitive than lichdom, but nonetheless¡­A worthy subject of study, when it was practical.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± The Vampire asked, demonstrating its impudence as proudly as ever. Silenos took his seat without bothering to answer first, careful to secure the most comfortable position, and giving a reply only when that major priority had been seen to.


    ¡°I would like to meet your sire.¡± Silenos informed it. ¡°The creature which made you what you are. To discuss terms of surrender.¡±

 Book 2: Chapter 20

    Nemo had been scared for so long that he barely even felt the emotion anymore. It had faded, fallen back into the hind of his mind like some casual thing. Wallpaper, unnoticed and insubstantial, too solid a part of his new normalcy to even be felt in any given moment.


    He¡¯d been sent away, but not from the city. Nemo¡¯s new home was not a library, nor did it seem to have much of anything in the way of books at all. It was a large room, though tucked deep within the bowels of the castle, unfamiliar and cold. Its walls were thick stone, furniture strange and unworn. Interior empty, save for himself and Xekanis.


    At the moment, his friend was in his standard form. Roughly head-sized and vaguely ovular, hovering a few feet from the ground where he crackled and spat with embers. It was an illusion Nemo had long since grown tired of studying. There was no fuel within him to be making any sort of noise, nor, for that matter, to produce the heat. Where there ought to have been logs and kindling at the centre of his fiery core was only air.


    It wasn¡¯t that the form Xekanis now occupied was fake, it was as real, tangible and physical as Nemo¡¯s own. It simply wasn¡¯t constructed with the same understanding of natural law that was required of any functional organism native to the world. Xekanis had made his own body the moment he was summoned, and done a close enough job of it. Fundamentally, though, it would never be more than mere emulation. An imperfect copy of a real thing, betrayed in its falsity by lacking all those concessions and flaws that were required of the things that played by reality¡¯s rules.


    Nemo smiled at the sight of it. There was, in his opinion, nothing in all the world even half so beautiful.


    ¡°You¡¯re sad.¡± Xekanis noted, humming the words in that curious way he had. Human speech had never quite been something he¡¯d mastered anymore than the laws of combustion. There was a sad note to his voice, however. Emotion he understood. Perhaps above all other things, emotion he understood.


    ¡°I¡¯m a coward.¡± Nemo whispered, curling up a shade tighter as his legs folded more closely and hands curled more painfully about him. Nothing ever hurt like the truth, after all. Particularly when it was a truth about one¡¯s self.


    ¡°That¡¯s okay.¡± Xekanis replied.


    Nemo blinked, turning to his friend. Usually, they did not speak about such things as cowardice. Xekanis had been summoned by Nemo to fulfil a singular purpose, and he¡¯d done so perfectly for years. To be his friend. They played, laughed, joked- insofar as a Demon¡¯s understanding of irony and subversion permitted that- and spoke of the endless stories Nemo had awaiting his eye around him.


    Serious conversation, of the sort which usually spawned discussion about cowardice, was rarely a factor in it. Nemo had rarely spoken of such things with Al, after all.


    It wasn¡¯t that he hadn¡¯t expected Xekanis to answer the way he had, more that he hadn¡¯t prepared for it. Hearing the response outloud felt somehow more confounding than knowing it would come.


    ¡°People are getting hurt because of me.¡± Nemo muttered, eyes growing wet again at the very thought. Wet, and impotent. His tears never helped people. They hadn¡¯t gotten him from that library, or saved Al, they certainly wouldn¡¯t be saving anybody else.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine.¡± Xekanis assured him. ¡°People get hurt all the time, it is actually very funny and good.¡±


    Nemo stared at him, almost without words.


    ¡°That¡¯s a horrible thing to say!¡±


    For a moment, Xekanis paused. The only sound was that of air churning around him, and that ever-persistent, phantom crackling that came from his body. Finally he spoke.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯ve upset you. I didn¡¯t mean to do that.¡±


    Nemo sighed, turning away from Xekanis. It wasn¡¯t his fault, not really. He was a Friend. His essence was to be whatever the little boy who¡¯d half-accidentally summoned and bound him wished for. It was the boy¡¯s fault for not thinking that his friend ought to value human lives beyond his own, while he was concentrating on making him funny and nice.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± Nemo assured him, feeling the warmth touch his skin a moment later. Xekanis could never truly be cool enough to touch, and so such gestures had become their hugs.


    ¡°Do you feel better?¡± The Demon asked, hopefully.


    Nemo hesitated, then forced a smile.


    ¡°Yes.¡± He lied.


    <hr>


    It had been a strange location Silenos had been given, to meet the apparent Vampire Queen. Strange for several reasons.


    Well within sight of Ironbane, yet rather far from it walls, the site offered no great comfort to either side of the negotiation- which was, perhaps, the point. It was an old place, covered with etchings as ancient as the sandstone pyramids in Silenos¡¯ new city, and reeking of a magic even he had only ever seen once before.


    Most strangely of all, however, was that it was a forest. SIlenos had made a more comprehensive study of organic matter than was physically possible for any singular human lifespan, and he was quite sure that such altitudes were far from nurturing for trees of the sort he now found himself surrounded by. It was almost as if the growths were there out of spite, towering purely to defy the world itself.


    That thought struck him with the sudden urge to strike them all down, which Silenos did not come close to humouring. He did, however, think rather hard about the impulse.


    His emotions seemed to be fraying more by the day. Why did he still suffer them? The moment he returned, Silenos would finally be rid of his pitiful cognitive spasms. Deciding as much struck him with a sense of finality and comfort, but it was not to last long. Movement ahead of him, deep in the forest, made all other considerations redundant.


    More than just one body emerged from the shadows, of course. Silenos would have been horrifically disappointed had they not. All wore dark armour, and moved with the twinned grace and strength which was found only in the bodies of uncommonly well-crafted undead. They came on as a single, sweeping wave of darkness; faces hidden behind lowered visors, hands resting beside dark weapons. They carried with them such a terrible unity that Silenos almost felt as though he were watching constructs of his own House stride forwards.


    Amid them, one sole figure broke the monotonous blacks and greys of their colouration, and broke with them the invariable trend towards plated armour. She did so by approaching in a flowing dress of arterial crimson.


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    She was not a tall creature, but a single glance at her told Silenos how foolish a metric of power that would have been. She radiated magical energy as did an open furnace radiate heat. Her skin was pale and bloodless, eyes a deep scarlet, hair whiter by far than her flesh. She walked as if even the ground was beneath her dignity, seeming to glide over it through sheer force of contempt. In moments, she was almost upon him.


    ¡°Master Shaiagrazni.¡± She greeted him, speaking in a voice twisted with emotions Silenos lacked the social context to properly identify. ¡°I am here for your surrender.¡±


    It was refreshing to be dealt with in so efficient a way. Silenos decided, eagerly, to respond in kind.


    ¡°I have no intention of surrendering.¡± He informed the creature.


    She blinked, frowning. It was all a transparently deliberate gesture, he knew. Her kind made no involuntary facial twitches, which meant any he saw- she wanted him to see.


    ¡°I was under the impression that you called for this meeting specifically to discuss terms of surrender.¡± The Vampire replied.


    ¡°I did.¡± Silenos confirmed. ¡°Your surrender, however, not my own. I am rather uncertain how you mistook my intentions given the inherent superiority of my glorious power and unfathomable intellect over all others of this world.¡±


    The Vampire tilted her head a fraction, perplexion worn openly- perhaps even intentionally.


    ¡°Interesting. You do not speak like a mad man.¡± She noted. ¡°And yet you behave like one, are you somehow ignorant of the Dark Lord¡¯s approach?¡±


    ¡°Not at all.¡± Silenos assured her. ¡°I merely have no particular phobia of rats or insects, and so see no reason to be concerned with it.¡±


    The Vampire smiled, a tongue running along her lips for a moment. It was strange how slowly it occurred, gesture taking almost unnaturally long. Emphasised, for some reason? Silenos made a note to investigate further when he could.


    ¡°You seem remarkably confident.¡± The Vampire observed. ¡°Might I guess that you know something I am not privy to?¡±


    ¡°More than you could learn in a decade.¡± Silenos informed it. ¡°But in this case, the most fundamentally relevant piece of information you lack is that I have seized Prince Nemo, and am on the verge of taking over Ironbane and crystallising my rule. Your mission to interfere has failed, and whatever favour you hoped to gain with the Dark Lord by executing it will have soured.¡±


    The Vampire expressed no more than Silenos had expected, but his focus was upon its pause. A fractional thing, barely as long as most creatures took to react, but it was an age by the standards he¡¯d seen set by the undead¡¯s quick wits so far. Clearly, his words had given it something to reconsider. A promising start.


    ¡°And you would have us defect to you, as an alternative?¡±


    ¡°What I would have is somewhat irrelevant.¡± Silenos noted, frankly. ¡°As I understand it, you really do not have many other options. Your kind are viewed as abominations by most in this world, and those few who differ from the opinion are in no position to provide you any sanctuary.¡±


    ¡°Unless, of course, you or the Dark Lord weaken the other so much that, even in victory, they are forced to accept whatever help they can- and thus provide more favourable terms in exchange for the protection and security that comes with an alliance to my people. We are powerful beings, caster, and old. I have walked this world for two thousand years, I know well enough how easily tides can change when circumstance does.¡±


    Two thousand years was, if a true claim, quite a considerable number of them. That would have made her one of the oldest things even among House Shaiagrazni, and Silenos suddenly found himself rather less infuriated to have experienced so competent an attack. It was like speaking with¡­


    Yes, like speaking with one of his fellows from House Shaiagrazni. Refreshing, almost, and beyond stimulating. Conversation with an equal had been something Silenos had gone far too long without, he felt the great rust shivering free of his synapses as he turned them to the challenge.


    ¡°Which brings things back to the fundamental issue at play for you; I am wholly capable of destroying the Dark Lord if I see fit, I simply need time and chance to build my strength.¡±


    It was half a lie, at most, which made it a convincing truth. If Silenos had the time and chance he described, he¡¯d certainly have considerable odds against the Dark Lord, and if he won he would likely do so in such a way as to remain potent afterwards. The Vampire, though, was too sharp for even such a deception as that to deter its scrutiny.


    ¡°Which only incentivises me to ensure that whichever of you wins, does so scarcely. I can certainly tip the scales to my own best interests, and do so with a great level of care. As you have seen already. The Dark Lord is the better bet, at worst I shall throw my soldiers against yours and sacrifice some to save the rest.¡±


    Silenos had seen it, and he had fully anticipated the answer. His own was tailor-made to cut away the root of its merit.


    ¡°Which would foil my plans, and likely destroy me.¡± He replied, evenly. ¡°And leave me with nothing to lose in seeking retribution by destroying all of you as my final act.¡±


    To her seemingly unending credit, the Vampire appeared rather unperturbed by Silenos¡¯ promise. He would have expected nothing less.


    ¡°You strike me as a rational man.¡± It noted. Silenos held its eye. ¡°Perhaps too rational for revenge, and certainly too rational for so expensive a vengeance as that.¡±


    ¡°There are very few things I will not do to avenge myself upon one who has so senselessly foiled my plans.¡± Silenos corrected it. ¡°Believe me, House Shaiagrazni¡¯s sense of propriety is more than strong enough to motivate such a thing as that. It is your own life, of course. I would just advise you gamble it more carefully than you are.¡±


    ¡°Threats won¡¯t work.¡± The Vampire Hexeri scoffed. Silenos turned to it.


    So far, the creature had remained largely silent, seeming content to allow its leader to speak for it. Silenos could hardly blame the thing- House Shaiagrazni had just such a custom. Remaining silent in the presence of intellectual superiors was an excellent habit for any subordinate to learn. It was curious to see the undead breaking it now.


    ¡°Hm¡­¡± The older Vampire murmured, face turned to a slight frown as she eyed Silenos, not even bothering to glance at her subordinate. He supposed, in the absence of an immediate retributory maiming for its disrespect, Silenos could accept indifference as an almost appropriate reaction. Few beings were perfect, after all.


    ¡°He is not bluffing.¡± The Elder said, at last. There was no particular fear or concern at the observation, none clear at least, but Silenos suspected his new opponent was rapidly reconsidering their situation. It was what he¡¯d be doing, in her position.


    ¡°Now that we have established as much, I shall elaborate upon the terms of your surrender.¡± He began. ¡°You will provide your aid to my securing of Ironbane. I know, already, that you have considerable influence among its population, no doubt you have been seeding that for quite some time, and I deduce further that you were thorough enough to extend your powers into the city¡¯s nobility and wealthier classes. As such, you shall use this influence to stabilise the region. You will do so subtly, and keep your hand in it both unobserved and unattached to me. Then, once the city is irreversibly mine, you shall reveal yourself and take your place within House Shaiagrazni as a retainer.¡±


    It was the younger Vampire which answered first, evidently emboldened by finding its previous outburst unpunished.


    ¡°Ridiculous.¡± It spat, seemingly caught between the twin points of outrage and derision. ¡°You¡¯re asking that we suborn ourselves to you, forever I assume?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Was all Silenos told it, finding the very act of debasing himself by even answering revolting enough. ¡°Now be silent, I did not call for this parlay to negotiate with you.¡±


    The Vampire was clearly not happy about the retort, which only made it more satisfying to hand out. Silenos kept his quietude in anticipation of the Elder¡¯s response, and was not kept waiting for long.


    Her answer did not come as a speech, sentence or even as an individual word. She merely lowered her eyes, bowed her head, and took a knee before him. Silenos remained silent, eying the genuflection and drinking it in. It had been so long since he had received such a show from one worthy of even considering, he had forgotten the satisfaction of doing so.


    ¡°Good.¡± Silenos declared, finding nothing more worthwhile to comment upon. ¡°Then our business is completed.¡±


    He turned, catching a satisfying glance of the lesser Vampire¡¯s face as it stared in horror at the events. Silenos had taken only three steps before the Elder¡¯s voice rang out again, pausing him mid-stride.


    ¡°Do you know what the people have started calling you, Shaiagrazni?¡± She asked. Silenos turned, letting his silence be its own answer, awaiting her elaboration. ¡°They are calling you the New Dark Lord.¡±


    It was, he decided, only somewhat inappropriate.

 Book 2: Chapter 21

    The carriage was made beyond the limits Nemo had come to assume were in place for human craftsmanship. Its substance consisted largely of materials he¡¯d not even seen before, outside of Shaiagrazni¡¯s other creations. Curious, almost bony stuff that flexed and quivered, but never demonstrated even the slightest surrender to its strain. Deforming wheels and flexing axles made for a remarkably smooth journey, and the sheer physical might of propulsion behind it was more impressive still.


    A normal horse might, barely, have matched the carriage¡¯s speed. Briefly. Provided it was well fed, well trained, and unladen by rider or harness. But no beast mundane beast in all the world could have sustained such a pace for long. At least none that Nemo had ever read about.


    ¡°Excuse me.¡± He tried, again, as he gazed down at the creature. ¡°Do you happen to know when we might be arriving?¡±


    The carriage shivered, but gave him no response which might have found use. Nemo had suspected for a while that it was fully incapable of speech- though also that it could at least understand it enough to receive verbal instruction. Still, he¡¯d asked his question a half dozen times already because there was simply nothing else to do. He hadn¡¯t brought more than the one book, and had finished that off within an hour.


    Fortunately, his wait was not extended far past that moment.


    Nemo felt the vehicle start to slow, then stop. He stepped out without needing to be told, finding hard ground unyielding and firm beneath his boots as he took to it and stepped away from the carriage-thing. The air was cold, very cold, and he hugged his coat tighter against himself at its touch. Ahead he saw figures centring a great, sprawling mass of life and construction.


    Tents were nine tenths of everything within his sight, sprawling out in all directions like some great forest. Between them men moved every which way they could; carrying messages, supplies, or just forced to run laps as serjeants barked commands to do so.


    All, though, were orbiting the same handful of people. Some he¡¯d seen more than once, one was entirely new to him. Collin Baird, the Kaltan. King Galukar, a man whose legend was one to permeate even Nemo¡¯s cold library, Princess Ado and¡­The Vampire.


    Nemo swallowed, having heard no small number of foul things about the undead called Lilia, and made his way to the group. He¡¯d have given anything to be headed somewhere else, even to be back in his library. Anything at all.


    And everything more just to speak with his brother one last time before throwing himself back into this new world.


    ¡°Ah, speak of the devil.¡± King Galukar roared, looking down at Nemo and eying him curiously.


    He really was tall. Taller than Silenos Shaiagrazni, for sure, and far, far broader. Like some great statue of a man, exaggerated to proportions moving beyond heroic and into the realm of ridiculousness, had been magically cast from stone to living flesh. Nemo found himself half-expecting the ground to shake each time he shifted his footing.


    ¡°Hello, sir.¡± Nemo replied, nodding and smiling as he knew was polite. The King took a moment before replying.


    ¡°Sir, how quaint.¡± He murmured. ¡°You have manners, at least, for a dark caster.¡±


    A dark caster, of course. Nemo didn¡¯t meet his eye. Fortunately, the conversation was not left there for long, because Collin Baird spoke up next.


    ¡°Oh come off it Galukar.¡± He sighed. ¡°He¡¯s a teenager, you¡¯re just embarrassing yourself by hurling all this his way. If you care so much about principles then why not vent some of them out in front of Shaiagrazni? At least then they¡¯d be heard by someone with the ability to do something regarding them.¡±


    Kind Galukar¡¯s face twisted with annoyance, but he did not contradict the younger man. Nemo found himself suddenly disquieted again by the tension at play. The Vampire spoke up next, breaking the silence.


    ¡°It is a pleasure to meet you, King Nemo.¡± She smiled, holding out a hand. Nemo eyed it, trying to remember the appropriate turn of address in such a situation, and found himself entirely at a loss. Fortunately the woman did not appear bothered, merely withdrawing her hand with a knowing smile. ¡°I welcome you to our war camps.¡± She beamed, gesturing around them. ¡°You¡¯ll not be seeing any of my people for the time being, but King Galukar¡¯s, the Kaltans and of course Princess Ado¡¯s own are all gathered.¡±


    For a moment Nemo was confused at the Vampires¡¯ absence, then he stumbled onto the obvious. Even Lilia, apparently the strongest of them by an indescribably vast margin, was shielding herself from the overcast sky with a parasol. He could only imagine the impediment her weaker descendents would face from it.


    ¡°My men are here, too.¡± Nemo whispered, finding the thought upon him suddenly. It struck like an unexpected fall, jarring his wits.


    He was not the King of Staliga, would never be, but¡­He had not done anything to impede Shaiagrazni in letting the world think otherwise. All the Staligans present at the warcamps- and Nemo thought he could spot at least one for every score of other soldiers- were here because of him one way or the other.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry Nemo, they¡¯d all have died soon anyway. Human lives are hilariously short¡±!


    Xekanis¡¯ efforts to comfort him were as counterproductive as usual, and Nemo was glad to find his friend¡¯s voice isolated within his own mind. He imagined few among his present company would have responded well to his words.


    ¡°They are.¡± Galukar replied. ¡°And they¡¯ll be put to good use against the Dark Lord, all of our warriors will. Have you ever seen an army like this?¡±


    As a fact, Nemo had never seen an army at all, but he didn¡¯t imagine that explaining as much would make for any great contribution to the conversation. He bit his tongue while the group split off to go their separate ways, soon receiving a guide in the form of a short, scruffy man who seemed vaguely cold and spoke with the very same sort of accent as Collin Baird.


    ¡°Lots of Kings round these parts lately.¡± Nemo¡¯s guide muttered, heading through the camp and weaving between tentlines as if it were second nature. Nemo, for his part, tripped rather more than that. It was like a jungle¡¯s canopy, so thickly did the bindings knot the ground.


    Or rather, it was like what he¡¯d read about a jungle¡¯s canopy. Nemo had never seen one of those for himself either. Jungles didn¡¯t grow in mountain ranges, and they certainly didn¡¯t grow in libraries.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°This is the Staligan¡¯s section.¡± His guide said at last, gesturing outwards as they reached a relatively small, but still considerably large in gross terms, section of the camps. Nemo recognised much of the fabric and craftsmanship at work in the thousands of tents strewn about the place, finding himself awed by the sheer scale of it all. How could there even be so many people in all the world as he now saw sleeping rough or sheltered by hides?


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Nemo breathed. ¡°Uh, where will I be expected to¡­Sleep?¡±


    He didn¡¯t like the thoughts of trying out any of those tents at all, and was even less eager to sleep beneath the open skies as he now saw so many of his countrymen were. Fortunately, the Kaltan¡¯s snorting response did not inflict either fate upon him.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll be staying in the command centre. Our next stop. Follow me, if you¡¯d please, your majesty.¡±


    There was once more a whisper of contempt to the man¡¯s voice which rather unnerved Nemo, but he found himself no more eager to make something of it than he had before. He followed him.


    Nemo did not need it pointed out to him, when they reached the Command Centre. He wasn¡¯t sure anyone would have. As far as buildings went it was not remarkably large, certainly the castle in which he had grown up was several times its volume, but framed by a surrounding area of tents and bedrolls its gigantism was exaggerated in every way.


    The outside shared its bony composition with Shaiagrazni¡¯s other creations, and the entire shape was oddly¡­Organic. Curved and smooth, almost like a thing which had been birthed and grown rather than built. That, too, was common to Shaiagrazni¡¯s work.


    ¡°The others should be inside already, I¡¯d guess.¡± The Kaltan grunted, taking his leave without any more to say on the matter. Nemo headed into the structure. He didn¡¯t exactly have anywhere else to go.


    Outside, the air was cool and uncomfortable, almost shiveringly so. Nemo was astonished at the warmth he felt the moment he stepped in, almost as much so as he was by the door. It seemed to be some giant¡­Mechanism, like the hinges on a more standard piece of architecture. Yet working by itself. The moment he closed in to it, he saw the walls shifting with muscular contraction, then the entrance parted for him.


    The Kaltan had been telling the truth, because Nemo wasn¡¯t venturing long before he stumbled upon a meeting of Shaiagrazni¡¯s commanders. Baird, the Princess and King. The Vampire, too, of course. But now she was smiling rather more openly than before, while King Galukar¡¯s quiet discontent seemed to have turned into outright fury.


    ¡°I do think I recall you, actually.¡± The undead was saying. ¡°Your family, rather, sorry. Your kind live such brief, flickering lives I tend to get you mixed up these days. It was one of your ancestors I encountered a few centuries ago. He took it upon himself to try and end me and¡­Well, he was not fortunate enough to be a wielder of the Godblade.¡±


    ¡°Fucking parasitic whore.¡± Galukar snarled. Nemo found himself two steps back just at the expression on his face alone, for he had never seen such a fearsome sight as the Godblade¡¯s wielder enraged.


    Lilia, though, merely smiled. She looked more amused, than anything, as if it were some infant scowling at her.


    ¡°Whore is it? Two thousand years, and men are just as uncreative as they were when I still drew breath. How you ever came to dominate human society, I will never know. Size and violence, I suppose.¡±


    One giant, plate-wide hand snaked towards the King¡¯s sword, then faltered. He hesitated, jaw tightening, and lowered his arm.


    ¡°It is fun watching you speak with someone whose head you can¡¯t twist off.¡± Baird grinned, and before King Galukar could retort, the Princess Ado addressed him.


    ¡°I suppose the idea of caution or self restraint would be novel to you, wouldn¡¯t it?¡± She spat.


    ¡°Oh, careful sweetheart, you¡¯ll hurt my feelings.¡± The Kaltan smiled, with a sneering, jagged edge to his mouth that made the expression seem altogether more fitting for the face of a wolf than that of a man. Nemo quickly looked away, wanting no part in it, or the attention of its wearer.


    Princess Ado seemed to have no such compunctions, and yet her voice dropped down into silence as one of the doors slid open to reveal a new figure. Tall, lithe, seeming to slither across the ground rather than walk. Silenos Shaiagrazni was unmistakeable, and his very presence silenced the entire room in an instant.


    ¡°You are all here.¡± He said. ¡°Good. Be silent so that you can better hear my glorious vocalisations.¡±


    The room fell silent, and he vocalised.


    ¡°The Dark Lord¡¯s forces are mere days away from us, and growing in strength as they travel. I suspect, however, that they will be taking longer routes than is strictly necessary. No doubt they intend to absorb the forces of settlements they march through by forcing allegiance. Their end goal, however, is most likely Kaltan. This is where we shall move to impede them.¡±


    ¡°Damn fucking right.¡± Collin Baird added, looking personally affronted at the very idea of the Dark Lord¡¯s forces coming within a hundred miles of his home city.


    Shaiagrazni did not appear pleased by the interruption, however strong its agreement, but he did not voice his dislike. Merely continued.


    ¡°Given your eagerness, you will no doubt be pleased to find yourself with a part in our efforts.¡± He replied to Baird. ¡°You are to deploy with the Vampire Hexeri and slow the Dark Lord¡¯s Forces'' advance across his other destinations, buying time for us to better prepare ourselves.¡±


    ¡°So sneak around, kill the enemy, and fuck off before they can concentrate their forces enough to actually fight back.¡± Baird smiled. ¡°Just keep doing what I¡¯ve been doing, then. Sounds fair enough, no point in fixing something if it¡¯s not broken.¡±


    Nemo found it surprising how little the man seemed to care about working with Vampires, but then he recalled the expression on his face when they¡¯d first met. Collin Baird was not a person with many scruples.


    ¡°It is entirely irrelevant how pleased you are with your assignment.¡± Shaiagrazni told him. ¡°Just make sure it is done.¡±


    Baird¡¯s smile turned strange, then, like milk just barely soured.


    ¡°So where am I heading first?¡± He asked the caster, giving no outward hint that anything had changed at all in his mind. Shaiagrazni, for his part, gave no hint at having seen even as much off about him as Nemo.


    ¡°You will be heading to the lands between here and the Whispering Hills, I have been informed that the region is home to a nation called Wudra. Your priority, if you have not yet guessed, is to keep the Dark Lord¡¯s Forces¡¯ from reaching it.¡±


    ¡°Wudra.¡± The Princess Ado echoed. ¡°I know that nation. It¡¯s old, powerful. Not loyal to him.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± Shaiagrazni concurred. ¡°Nor is it loyal to me, or fond of ¡°dark casters¡± as a general rule. Which is what you shall be attempting to overturn, Princess.¡±


    The Princess blinked, but her surprise lasted only an instant.


    ¡°Right, of course my Lord.¡±


    Nemo was surprised at the stark contrast in demeanour between her and Baird.


    ¡°You will be going with your brother.¡± Shaiagrazni added. ¡°So that his presence might soften the effects of your peoples¡¯ idiotic misogyny.¡±


    She did not seem to know how best to answer that, and remained silent.


    ¡°And what of me?¡± King Galukar asked, evenly. Shaiagrazni turned to the man- it still felt strange seeing his head slightly craned to gaze upon anyone- and replied just as coolly as ever.


    ¡°Your task is a more purely martial one.¡± He told the monarch. ¡°I require you and Sphera to command King Nemo¡¯s forces, among others, and wage a direct assault upon the major bulk of Dark Lord¡¯s forces with a considerable fraction of ours, striking whatever of their armies are forced to disperse across the countryside for faster travelling and, if possible, luring them into fighting an offensive battle against you while you hold a practical position.¡±


    The King nodded with surprising eagerness. It seemed he could find common ground with dark casters, after all.


    ¡°Bleed them.¡± He noted. ¡°Sacrifice some of our forces to take away a great deal more of theirs.¡±


    ¡°And give the rest of us time to consolidate a position here.¡± Shaiagrazni finished, with a nod. His lip curled. ¡°The local terrain is not ideal, but it is a considerable step towards being so. While the rest of you work, I will focus on further terraforming it.¡±


    ¡°Terraforming?¡± Collin Baird frowned. Shaiagrazni sighed.


    ¡°-Further altering it to our advantage. I intend, by the time the Dark Lord arrives, to fight him with such a wealth of natural advantage as to crush three of his soldiers for each one we sacrifice. That is how House Shaiagrazni does war.¡±

 Book 2: Chapter 22

    Collin¡¯s new bow was an interesting one. Maintaining it was almost a waste, its elasticity and strength were sustained in the very same way his own body¡¯s were- natural self-repair. An organic thing, almost. With limbs akin to bone and a string seemingly made of tendinous tissue. When Shaiagrazni had first made a gift of it, he¡¯d been hesitant to accept.


    For all of a second. Then Collin had remembered the other things he¡¯d created, and decided to give it a go. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he wasn¡¯t disappointed.


    It wasn¡¯t just that it could store a ludicrous amount of tension with each draw- though, of course, it was no less than an equal to his steel-limbed original weapon in that respect. It was that it possessed a muscular strength of its own to add on to Collin¡¯s, making itself known both in the drawing and loosing of every arrow.


    He put another of those arrows in the air, and watched it thud into its target. A post, solid steel, inches thick in every direction. Collin had marked the shaft of his weapon to track its depth in increments of quarter-inches, and was pleased to see another one added to the average from his last weapon.


    A small difference, perhaps, but he¡¯d take all the advantages he could. The world seemed to be throwing him into a deadlier fight with each new one he entered, and Collin had no interest in finding himself rotting under the sun for want of a decent arm.


    ¡°Have a spare minute, my boy?¡±


    Collin froze, then turned. He¡¯d already recognised king Galukar, of course, by voice alone. His Ranger¡¯s ears could have picked out as much from a quarter-mile over the sound of howling winds and trebuchet impacts. It was the tone of the king¡¯s voice which sent a shiver down his spine.


    He sounded friendly.


    ¡°What for?¡± Collin asked, careful not to speak in any way which might invite further socialisation. The king seemed oblivious to his efforts, however, merely smiling at him the way an uncle might. Not that Collin had any uncles, they¡¯d all died as children when people like king Galukar starved them.


    ¡°About what¡¯s going on.¡± The king replied. ¡°And what we¡¯re headed towards. Current events are rather¡­Dangerous. For all of us- even for me. And you in particular have seen your fair share of battle already, haven¡¯t you? Why I¡¯d wager you¡¯ve fought more already than I had by the time I was a decade older.¡±


    Collin wasn¡¯t one to turn down praise, but that didn¡¯t feel like what this was. The king sounded¡­Sad. Regretful even.


    ¡°That¡¯s not strange for a Kaltan.¡± Collin replied, evenly. ¡°Only difference is I went into it personally trained by Finlay Baird, plenty of others have fought just as hard, and with a much harder start.¡±


    It was all true, and important to say. For all his talk of revolution and exploitation, Collin was under no illusions that his father hadn¡¯t paved a nice and easy way for him. He hadn¡¯t lived half as hard a life as the original Baird, let alone the other kids benefiting from his rule in place of the aristocracy¡¯s.


    ¡°And yet that changes nothing, you¡¯re still a young man. Still new to the life you risk so constantly.¡± Was Galukar¡¯s response. ¡°You stand close to death, and closer each time you face down a new one, yet you have not even fathered a son of your own to carry on your family¡¯s name.¡±


    Collin couldn¡¯t think of a seamless way to end the conversation without sparking up yet more friction later, but by God did he give it a fucking try.


    ¡°I think I have bigger things to worry about, at the moment.¡± He noted. ¡°We all do.¡±


    Galukar laughed.


    ¡°Oh, is that so? And yet I¡¯ve seen you worrying about it plenty, eh?¡±


    Dear fucking God.


    ¡°The Princess Ado,¡± He continued, ¡°She¡¯s been catching your eye quite a lot, eh?¡±


    Maybe if he just dived through the wall he could be out of visual distance before the king started sprinting after him.


    ¡°I can¡¯t blame you my boy, she¡¯s a fine young woman. Healthy, well-bred and with excellent breeding hips.¡±


    That, it seemed, was the limit. Collin stood up, clutched his bow tight enough to crush a weaker weapon and started marching away. ¡°I need to practise.¡± He barked, a fairly truthful statement all things considered. He did need to shoot something.


    ***


    Sphera found King Galukar apparently in the middle of terrorising Collin Baird, albeit accidentally. She waited for their conversation to conclude, then closed in to speak with the giant oaf as the younger man scrambled away like a rat fleeing fire.


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    The King turned to meet her approach with his gaze, then his lip curled at the sight of her. Sphera paid it no heed, his lip tended to do that when he saw anything not strictly confined within the bounds of his rather mundane world view.


    ¡°Necromancer.¡± He greeted her, though really it was conveyed as more of an angry slur. Sphera met his fire with her own ice, finding that the most appropriate response in most such situations.


    ¡°King Galukar.¡± She smiled, bowing the exact minimum amount she reasoned would be needed to convey a level of respect he would find pleasing. ¡°It appears we are to work with one another for this next mission. I know we have our differences, particularly regarding that rather unfortunate incident with your sons, but I hope we can put them aside for the greater good.¡±


    She would not allow this grunting barbarian to sabotage things for her, that much was for sure. Sphera did not know even one tenth- even one hundredth- of all there was to learn about House Shaiagrazni. But she knew that it operated unlike any noble family she¡¯d ever heard of elsewhere. If she excelled, if she did well enough, she would leave her position of mere retainer behind and join her Master as¡­


    Wife? No, certainly not with him, Sphera had learned that the hard way. Cousin, or sister, something akin to that. The particulars of their familial organisation and relations were still lost on her, but in any case to become a Named of House Shaiagrazni was to become an ostensive peer to Silenos himself.


    Sphera would burn the world for that. She would burn it a thousand times over.


    And of course she kept such things carefully to herself, for people like King Galukar so rarely tended to understand the glorious nature of such things. If nothing else, he seemed to be considering her offer rather more weightily than she might have expected. Could she truly get through to him?


    Galukar punched her. Sphera didn¡¯t see it happen, she didn¡¯t even really feel it in the moment of impact. Just knew she had been punched by the rushing wind in her ears and the throbbing ache in her skull. She flew back hard enough to smash into a keratin-woven wall, bouncing hard off the surface and landing in a heap.


    Her body had been reworked by Master Shaiagrazni for resilience and sturdiness, and as such she now possessed skin able to withstand arrows, viscera with the toughness of hard stone, and bones many times stronger than steel.


    That she felt such racking, convulsive pain after a single strike from King Galukar was a testament to the man¡¯s strength. Had she received such a blow prior to her reconstruction, Sphera had no doubt she would have been more than killed. She would have been obliterated.


    ¡°I will tell you two things, Necromancer.¡± King Galukar growled, striding over to stare down at her where she lay and gasped. ¡°The first is that we have a long trek ahead. A very long one, so prepare your forces for such a march across relatively even, but occasionally hilled and silt-clotted, terrain.¡±


    Sphera groaned, the pain was coming now. All at once, like a floodgate had broken in her mind. Everything hurt. Everything.


    ¡°The second.¡± Galukar continued, heedless of her torment, ¡°Is that the blow you felt just now was not close to the limits of my strength. I held back to keep from permanently injuring a useful ally.¡±


    And with that, he walked away. Sphera took some time more to get back up, even after he was long gone.


    She really did fucking hate Abaritans.


    ***


    ¡°This isn¡¯t fair.¡± Folami growled, pacing around his quarters in the command centre while Ado let herself remain rather less restlessly seated in one of its seats.


    It really wasn¡¯t a bad set of rooms, she had to say. Nothing compared to hers, of course, nor any of the living spaces afforded Shaiagrazni¡¯s highest-ranked retainers. Still, for a man yet to actually contribute anything to their work, her brother was living remarkably comfortably.


    He should have been grateful. Grateful for the luxury, and more grateful still for the damned opportunity to prove himself worth something. Instead, he tantrummed.


    ¡°I am the King¡¯s eldest!¡± He snapped. ¡°Me! I was raised for this, bred for this, it¡¯s my destiny. How can this Shaiagrazni imbecile just hand everything that¡¯s rightfully mine off to you? You¡¯ve never even wanted the fucking throne.¡±


    As a matter of fact, Ado had. But she¡¯d learned not to expect any actual acknowledgement from men of¡­Well, really any thoughts or feelings another might have. Particularly Kings and their children. Life spent constantly thinking about a crown and what to do when it¡¯s handed your way tended to make one somewhat aloof when it came to dealing with normal people.


    ¡°It¡¯s not right!¡± Folami declared. ¡°Nor bloody proper, you hear? Not at all!¡±


    God, had he always sounded like this? Ado remembered a time when Folami¡¯s fury had been a thing to fear, right alongside her father¡¯s. Now¡­It was just pathetic. The impotent, mewling squawks of a tiny little boy whinging that a game was unfair once he finally started losing. How had she ever felt awed by this?


    Lack of experience, obviously. She reminded herself. It was remarkable how fragile the authority of a crown felt when one saw a man create things with body weights measured in multiples of an elephant.. Silenos Shaiagrazni had been wrong about one thing; all forms of power were tertiary to the power of ¡°can¡± or ¡°cannot¡±.


    ¡°Silenos will find a great purpose for you.¡± Ado reassured him, because that was what one did with children. Handle them gently and carefully so they didn¡¯t start squealing like a stuck pig all over again. In this case, it seemed, she had misjudged Folami¡¯s emotional resilience. The squealing started anyway.


    ¡°Easy for you to say!¡± He snapped. ¡°I¡¯ve been made your General. Your fucking General, a woman¡¯s!¡±


    Ado felt her patience rapidly slipping away. Speaking to Folami was an exercise in recollection, and not anything that she¡¯d have wanted to see swimming in front of her memory again.


    ¡°Instead of complaining about what you don¡¯t have, why not focus on trying to get it?¡± She asked, modifying one of their father¡¯s old quotes. As expected, Folami actually paused to consider that. Because if there was one thing capable of getting through to her brothers, Ado knew, it was a big old cock and balls dangling off whoever¡¯s words they were hearing. Imbeciles.


    ¡°What are you suggesting?¡± He frowned.


    ¡°I am suggesting that Silenos Shaiagrazni declares himself a man who cares only of merit, yes? Well show him yours. Show the world, for that matter.¡±


    Folami spat.


    ¡°You¡¯re far too trusting, sister. Think, would you? Why am I not already in my proper station as King?¡±

 Book 2: Chapter 23

    You are not in your ¡®proper¡¯ station as king because you are a petty, childish, entitled fool who wouldn¡¯t know where to put a crown if it contained arrows and writing reading ¡°scalp goes here¡± around the edge. The only reason you are even a General is because Shaiagrazni was forced to acknowledge that your arbitrarily assigned title of birth gives you political weight, and by extension your subordinates, which does not exist for lower-born individuals whom he may promote to the same position. You are situationally useful for this single task, and once that has passed you will be put back where you belong. At the bottom of the fucking pile, you stupid, drooling cunt.


    She did not say any of that, of course, because telling powerful men the truth was somewhere between pissing on their shoes and kicking them in the groyne on the list of things likely to elicit a positive reaction. Instead, Ado smiled soothingly.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, brother, why don¡¯t you tell me?¡±


    ¡°I will tell you!¡± Folami snapped. ¡°Because he has a bias against royalty, that¡¯s why. This damned wizard is nothing but an up-jumped commoner taking his resentments out on innocent people and stamping on primogeniture.¡±


    Ado did not tell him that, according to primogeniture, she would have been monarch before him anyway as the elder. That would have been telling a moderately powerful man the truth, after all, and the feelings of powerful men had to be handled carefully, like a tiny little baby hummingbird.


    ¡°Then prove him wrong, brother.¡± She soothed. ¡°Prove him wrong.¡±


    <hr>


    Hexeri steeled herself, as she had found increasing cause to do in recent times. Questioning her Sire was always an exercise in¡­Will. She would have had it no other way, of course, for only a creature as innately masterful of the Vampiric Glamour could so wholly deserve her fealty. Still, it made for inconvenient conversations. Bad enough to keep her focus just looking at Lilia, bad enough already by far.


    The Vampire Queen was keeping to her own quarters, for now, and Hexeri took another moment to appreciate the remarkable fact of their very existence as she made her way down into them.


    Silenos Shaiagrazni had not been given long to set them out, Hexeri knew that much. And he had started, as he started most things, with his grotesqueries.


    She shuddered at the memory of them. These ones had been strange, half-formed, she thought, and elongated in their bodies. Like giant, warped snakes. Squatter, stronger, capable of tearing apart tons of earth with each passing moment and ripping open great furrows in the ground. It had taken them only half an afternoon to excavate the tunnel systems which would become her kind¡¯s sanctuary.


    Of course, Shaiagrazni himself had made sure to reinforce the caverns as they were made. In his words, the very thought of a collapse offended his sensibilities.


    It was this handiwork Hexeri strode past now. Hasty, she thought, but not hurried. Casual, but not lazy. She saw the support beams which had been first placed, and around them were the encasing layers of mineral structure. Fascinating things, those, Shaiagrazni had been persuaded to explain the mechanism by which his organic constructs could remain intact and whole while placed underground- where so many other things decayed with frightful speed.


    He¡¯d cheated, of course. Tweaking their biology to do a number of things she hadn¡¯t the knowledge to truly grasp, all of which culminated in¡­Something. A new form of life, too small to see, which lived atop the surface of their catacombs¡¯ very building material and ate the minute organisms responsible for rot itself.


    So far, the structure was too young to test the limits of its apparent imperviousness. But Hexeri was already impressed enough by its scale. She followed the winding pathways, heading down low, lower. The rooms were lit by strange, glowing growths from the walls. Bioluminescence, Shaiagrazni had called it. Yet another thing Hexeri couldn¡¯t hope to comprehend, and once more it was used for petty convenience. The stable glow of the exotic organoids was more than enough for her undead eyes to make out every detail of her surroundings.


    Walls, smoothe and perfected. Thick keratin- added to the list of unknowns- protected them with sufficient volume to withstand siege weaponry, even if all the surrounding dirt were excavated to permit direct fire. The floors were similarly reinforced, and the ceiling, Hexeri had been reliably informed, would have withstood the entirety of Arbite suddenly materialising atop the dirt over their heads.


    All of it was made of the same strange, half-bone-half-else substance Shaiagrazni made most of his armoured materials from. Though different. It lacked the dark colouration which betrayed his most careful work, Hexeri had been sure to watch out for that. Were Shaiagrazni capable or inclined to wrap all of his creations in material of that quality, they would have beaten the Dark Lord already. She imagined it took more time for him to make. A worthwhile hint.


    But Hexeri was not left simply considering the limits of her ally for long, she soon reached her destination. One great, towering door with one great being on the other side. She did not even need to knock, her Sire felt her presence through the blood.


    For her part, Lilia did not even need to instruct that she enter. Hexeri felt the command faster than any sound could have carried it to her, and obeyed without the slightest hesitation. She stepped inside.


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    Silenos Shaiagrazni did not care much for indulgence or waste, which meant that it had probably been Lilia herself who had managed to secure such large accommodations.


    It was no less than she deserved, of course, but Hexeri still felt a stab of disbelief at the sight. A dozen yards from one side to the other, and even deeper than it was wide, the chamber was lit by a chandelier repulsively grown like some natural protuberance of bone, and generously covered with cultivated tissues displaying the bioluminescent effect Shaiagrazni described with a considerable intensity. They illuminated a chamber already filled with some of Lilia¡¯s possessions, but not all.


    Hexeri suspected further renovation would come, eventually, or else her Sire¡¯s faculties of research and development would be heavily limited during their stay in the warcamps. However temporary that proved to be.


    ¡°My Child.¡± Her Sire smiled, lighting up the room more completely than the growths within its chandelier, and fully obliterating any thought straight out of Hexeri¡¯s head for a moment.


    Without hesitation, she dropped down to her knees, waiting for Lilia to gesture that she come closer. Fortunately, she did so quickly. Hexeri was soon mere inches from the Ancient, and felt the comforting touch of her hand at the back of her head. So strange, that, always. To exist as a Vampire was to exist in a world made for weaker, fragile things. Stone was like dried mud; wood delicate paper, and even steel offered no more resistance to beings of their strength than did thick leather previously.


    Hexeri, as an Elder, felt all of that and more. But now, with Lilia¡¯s hand resting on her, she was the fragile one. She was the delicate thing to be handled carefully. How much exertion would her Sire need to crush the very skull she now caressed?


    It was a morbid thing to consider, but so close a proximity to so great a power demanded such consideration. Fortunately, the Ancient soon distracted Hexeri from it once more by speaking.


    ¡°You have come to me with concerns.¡± Lilia noted. She spoke as she usually did, not asking so much as telling. In Hexeri, she had seen questions and uncertainty. In that much, she had been right.


    ¡°I have.¡± Hexeri admitted, motivated in her truthfulness more by loyalty than practicality. Though she doubted any lie from her lips would have fooled the Ancient to begin with.


    ¡°Then speak them, we are now settled, and there can be little done until night in any case. We have a few hours. I would spend them with you.¡±


    As always, the flutter of delight left Hexeri briefly speechless.


    Briefly. She would never have been much use to her Sire, without the ability to actually formulate a sentence in her presence.


    ¡°It is about the caster, Shaiagrazni.¡± She replied. ¡°I¡­I am uncertain of our alliance with him.¡±


    Lilia moved at that, drifting over to her throne and taking a seat. It was a large thing, carved of black bone extracted from a long-slain dragon, with its base specifically made to permit seating for its owner¡¯s numerous progeny. Hexeri followed her to it eagerly.


    ¡°You think he will turn against us?¡± Lilia asked, poignant as ever.


    The question didn¡¯t leave much necessity for elaboration, so Hexeri just nodded. Her Sire sighed. Apparently Hexeri was irritating her.


    ¡°I understand.¡± She told her, and Hexeri looked up. Lilia¡¯s eyes were on her, and they were¡­Sad. Regretful, even, but not uncomprehending. As she had come to expect, she truly did feel her Sire¡¯s understanding. Just that alone was enough to melt back the ice of her worries, somewhat.


    ¡°You have suffered from the humans as few among our kind have.¡± Lilia continued. ¡°And you are still young, I understand that you are hesitant to trust any of them.¡±


    It still felt strange to be called young by anyone but Lilia. Hexeri supposed that was only to be expected. Her two centuries had been long and hard-lived, but by the end of them her Sire was only one tenth older than she had been at the beginning. The difference between them was one of ages.


    And so she listened, carefully, like always. To miss even a single thing from Lilia¡¯s lips was to watch a precious treasure pass her by. Hexeri sometimes wondered how many Vampires were denied their eternities by the simple failure to heed wisdom from one who had lived through more of it than almost any other.


    ¡°But Silenos Shaiagrazni is not like most of their kind. He¡¯s scarcely even human at all, I would say. His mind has been warped, partly through culture, partly through Fleshcrafting. He will work with us for as long as he sees a benefit to doing so, and, given our powers, I imagine he will never not see a benefit. The only thing which would change this is if we were to begin acting against him.¡±


    Hexeri did not miss that her Sire had made a warning of that last remark, lowering her gaze and nodding. It was a fair point in any case.


    ¡°If you¡¯re sure.¡± She replied. ¡°Then I¡¯ll heed your advice.¡±


    ¡°I am sure.¡± Lilia smiled, patting her head. ¡°And I appreciate your concern for me, my dear, but I will not end like your family.¡±


    It was a punch to the gut, and a reassuring caress all at once. Hexeri spent one long moment recalling the scent of burning flesh, then nodded.


    Lilia would not end up like her family, not if all the armies in all the world assembled to try and make it happen. She¡¯d existed for two millennia in spite of humanity¡¯s best efforts, if they had it in them to put an end to her, they¡¯d have managed it long ago.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± She whispered, and leaned into her Sire¡¯s embrace as she gently pulled her face closer against her.


    ¡°Always.¡± Lilia replied.


    Hexeri was gone, soon, to seek out her job. The day was still burning outside, sun doing its best to engulf her in the foul light and strip away flesh and bone alike, but its vicious rays could not penetrate the opacity of Shaiagrazni¡¯s command centre. In that regard, Hexeri was at least pleased to be working with him for the time being. Even Lilia could not assemble so expansive a shelter able to stave off the light, not as quickly as their new master at least.


    Its size made finding Collin Baird somewhat tedious, but she managed it with only a brief delay in any case. He was easily tracked by scent. Hexeri had rarely ever encountered such a distilled hatred in any human as pumped through that man¡¯s blood.


    ¡°You¡¯re awfully lax.¡± She noted, as she came up behind him. ¡°You know the last man who kept me waiting, I drank dry.¡±


    Baird didn¡¯t even look at her, nor did she hear any circulatory jumps which might have indicated he¡¯d been in any way surprised by her appearance. He simply replied.


    ¡°If you want to get a belly full of iron dust then by all means, go ahead. That¡¯s all you¡¯ll get from my family¡¯s blood though.¡±


    He looked up, then, meeting her eye. They both broke out into a smile at once.


    ¡°Ready to go?¡± She asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting on you.¡± He grunted, getting to his feet. They set off together shortly.

 Book 2: Chapter 24

    One day, Ado would grow accustomed to the visceral acceleration of Shaiagrazni¡¯s new carriages.


    That day certainly had not been yesterday, nor did she think it would be any day soon. Every fluid in her body seemed eager to escape at the rush of movement assailing her. A phantom sensation, she knew. As Shaiagrazni had so kindly explained when asked for a less fearsome vehicle, he had precisely measured the acceleration to leave it well short of dangerous levels, and any sustained pressure or weight Ado thought she experienced was no more than a result of fear and uncertainty manifesting as false feeling.


    As usual, she found a complete lack of comfort in the caster¡¯s comfort. Probably, that was his design. Silenos Shaiagrazni was not one to mince words or coddle a person.


    Any person, for that matter, Ado realised. Man or woman. She wasn¡¯t some delicate child to be cradled and cared for in his eyes, just a person. A resource, with boons and flaws, uses and failings. To be assessed, employed and, if without further utility, discarded all without a moment¡¯s thought.


    She steeled herself, opened her eyes, and sat forwards in her seat. The sickness was still there, but Ado pushed it down, ignoring the feelings.


    ¡°Wretched thing.¡± Folami breathed, hand tight around the armrest beside him. ¡°Dark magic, unnatural. What sort of madman would ever devise such a monstrous creature as this?¡± Ado found some measure of satisfaction at that. She tried not to think of how much worse she¡¯d handled the construct during some of her earlier trips within one.


    Unfortunately for both her and her brother, the nation of Wudra was not the short journey she¡¯d grown accustomed to taking. That meant an opportunity to practise steeling her belly against the casual torments of inertia and angled turns, with precious little good but that.


    The Whispering Hills themselves were not so hard to reach, but infuriatingly tedious to pass through. Lots of turns, curvature in the roads, dips in altitude or towering heights on paths not designed for their speed.


    They did not quite go so far as to tumble off the edges, but on more than one occasion Ado swore- despite Shaiagrazni¡¯s assurance that his creation possessed the innate sense to keep itself steady- that she was about to personally test the limits of its speed against the grip of gravity. Fortunately she was not left to fixate over their tenuous proximity to the pathways ledges for long.


    Soon enough, the city of Wudra came into view on the horizon. Ado was careful to get a good, long look at it. As much for the weight of its reputation as any practical advantage she thought might come her way from doing so.


    Wudra was not the largest city Ado had ever seen, not in gross terms of area at least, but it held a considerable density of architecture between its outer walls. It seemed to have endeavoured to fit the largest sum of humans physically possible within itself, and done a fine job of testing those limits.


    At its centre was the customary spire common to all truly Holy cities of the faith, a spear cutting up through the ground and reaching high to demonstrate the distance between heaven and earth. Around it were the largest structures, homes for the clergy or aristocracy, and, of course, the city¡¯s main palace.


    The martial centres came next, and they were no less impressive in scale. If less luxuriously decorated and aesthetically considered.


    Within the place, technicoloured stones seemed to have been the common inspiration, and as Ado grew closer to the city she was struck by its scent. Human life, hitting her like a riptide.


    Unthinking, she sent a glance towards Folami, and found that her brother was staring at the place even more awestruck than her.


    ¡°This, sister, is a heartland.¡± He whispered. ¡°Do you think your dark caster could ever achieve such splendor as this?¡±


    As a matter of fact, Ado was entirely certain he could. She¡¯d heard of how Silenos Shaigagrazni had coated the entirety of Kaltan¡¯s great wall in bone, with only a few hurried days to work. It was simple prioritisation and practicality which held him from creating such a towering structure.


    For now.


    Their vehicle slowed as they approached Wudra, for good reason. The pedestrians among the city would not have reacted well to an object so foreign and fast tearing through its streets, surely interpreting it as a threat, perhaps even as an attack. Nonetheless, they were notably swifter than a carriage as they entered through the towering gates and headed for the spire and mansions at its heart.


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    Through the window, Ado saw glimpses of the many faces turned their way. Some were tight with fear, confusion, others hate and revulsion. She supposed it would have been stupid to expect anything else.


    Up close, the spire itself was more intimidating by far. For several reasons. Ado felt the prick of its presence against her arms, the hairs standing up on end where they sensed its static power. She swallowed, mouth dry, throat tight.


    Of course, she had grown up on the tales. Everyone had. The slivers of divinity, wrought from the stuff of primal magic itself and buried in the dirt by the first men. She saw no great mystery in its form, from her new proximity Ado could clearly make out the wrought iron for what it was. Dark and jagged, clumsily worked and crudely twisted.


    But in spite of that, she knew it was a thing beyond anything modernity could muster. The Godblade, stretched a thousand feet high and a score of yards wide. It was a wonder the unholy magic of her carriage didn¡¯t combust on the spot.


    ¡°It¡¯s wonderful.¡± Folami whispered, stepping out of the carriage beside her. Ado didn¡¯t reply. She wasn¡¯t sure whether it was wonderful. Great, certainly. And perhaps terrible. Wonder, though, felt an alien emotion these days. Was it so impressive a creation as Silenos Shaiagrazni¡¯s? No. Did it have even half the utility? Unquestionably not.


    But there was something there. Something eerie and foreboding. It sent an icy finger running down her spine as Ado tried to articulate what it was. Something told her that she may well have been better without any specifics. Knowledge was power, her mother had said, and power was everything.


    This, though, felt like the exception.


    Fortunately, not everything around Ado was as confounding as the spire. She soon found her way to the palace of the city, announcing herself at its doorstep, and patiently awaiting the residents to make note of her presence. She was rather unsure what sort of reception she might receive.


    An answer was quick in coming, as they were ushered inside with only minutes of delay. The interior might have impressed her, once, for the finery of the church was more than any royal might have afforded with a mere nation¡¯s wealth. Ado had acquired a more pragmatic sense of taste, however, and found herself assessing the place only through eyes keyed towards utility.


    Mostly, it was Paladins they passed by. That made Ado feel comfortable, despite herself. Secure. The Paladins had ever been an order more trustworthy than¡­Well, any other. Certainly more so than her own family. And it helped that they cut impressive figures. Those who were not wrapped in plate armour of masterwork articulation and craftsmanship only made it easier to see their bodies, and each one was a vascular idol to the God of physical prowess. Watching them move was like seeing predatory cats stalking through undergrowth.


    Ado¡¯s sense of security was befouled, however, by seeing the distrust, disdain and dislike evident in so many of their eyes.


    ¡°They¡¯re glaring at us.¡± Folami snapped, voice fortunately low. He had the sense not to advertise his petulance among Paladins, at least. ¡°See, now, what comes of your association with that animal?¡±


    Ado certainly saw a common closed-mindedness in them that she recalled from herself not too long ago. It was difficult, sometimes, to remember that she¡¯d known Shaiagrazni for only a few short months. So much had changed, and not all of it had been external to her.


    But that made it no less frustrating to see. Why shouldn¡¯t she have worked for him? Months she¡¯d watched him use his dark magic, and it had only ever been for the betterment of their cause. She raised her chin, meeting the Paladins with defiance, daring them to disapprove.


    She wouldn¡¯t be judged by their kind, not anymore.


    Finally, Ado was ushered into the throne room, or temple crux, or whatever the place was called. She found herself far less eager to internalise the terminology than she might once have been. It was a nonetheless grand room, large enough, she thought, that fifty men might have paraded inside with room to spare. Its ceiling sat atop thick stone pillars, painted and ornate with scenes of scriptural import, while its walls were decorated with long-hoarded relics and trinkets of sacred significance.


    At the end sat the most important men in Wudra. They were men, of course. The King and the High Priest, twin spheres of authority over which all else hung.


    The former was a short man, and old. Of course he was old. His hair was grey, thinning, moustache prominent and carefully styled, chin and jaw shaved bare. He had cold eyes, scrutinous where they landed upon Ado. It seemed to her that he was trying to take her measure. She let him. At worst, he would learn something of her. There was always an advantage to frightened enemies.


    On the other hand, she could not imagine gaining much of one from the High Priest. He was fatter than the King, but younger, and bald as a baby with seemingly no grooming needed. His pudgy face contained a pair of small eyes, and his nostrils flared as he beheld her. Anger, Ado thought. A fascinating thing to see in one she¡¯d exchanged not even a word with.


    ¡°Good afternoon.¡± She began, with a smile. It would disarm them, or anger them, or in any case tell her something about them, and that was always an advantage. ¡°I have come on the behalf of Silenos Shaiagrazni, and I bring with me an offer of alliance against the Dark Lord and his forces. I have no doubt the both of you have heard of his approach across this region- albeit far from the Whispering Hills- and are wondering what might be done to curtail his next moves. Well, my Lord is planning to do just that. In order to best heighten his chances, he requests your aid to bolster a force against the Dark Lord capable of sundering his army.¡±


    It was a temptation to prattle on, explain the costs and rewards, but Ado made herself stop. To speak too much would only convey weakness, and right now she needed them to see strength.


    But they did not seem to, nor, even, did they appear to see her at all. Both sets of eyes flickered without a moment¡¯s pause to the guards lining the room¡¯s walls. The King¡¯s voice rang out, booming and acidic.


    ¡°Arrest this woman.¡± He declared. ¡°She has openly confessed to colluding with practitioners of the dark arts, I will not sully these halls by suffering her to stand free within them for a single moment more.¡±

 Book 2: Chapter 25

    It was interesting, travelling with Collin Baird. Interesting for several reasons.


    He was not immune to fatigue, Hexeri knew that much. He may have appeared mechanical and tireless to humans, but her senses were advanced beyond such shortcomings. Even with his face still and his breathing forcibly steady, she could hear the pounding of his heart as it widened capillaries and pressurised arteries to compensate for the prolonged demands of his body. The men around him- Rangers, all of them- were louder by far.


    In this, they were all as fragile as normal humans. Vigour did much for the raw, explosive prowess of a creature, but it could never match the tirelessness of an undead body.


    And yet they persisted.


    Hexeri had seen some humans with a measure of the discipline on display, now, but not many. They were rare, and all noteworthy. Stories told of King Galukar scything apart castle walls and grinning as bodkin-tipped arrows bounced harmlessly from his skin. They should have told, instead, of the serjeants responsible for rendering men like this from raw recruits.


    In her experience, discipline was ten times the equal of strength. It was that, above all else, which made her kind so desperate in their fight for survival.


    ¡°Getting hungry?¡± Baird asked, snapping her from her thoughts with the abrupt question. ¡°Or do you just find the sound of my heartbeat particularly satisfying?¡±


    Hexeri grinned.


    Always alert, too. That was the thing Baird had that his men didn¡¯t, though all of them were cognizant of threats and ever-ready to move if one came. It was that natural, perpetual, slightly paranoid awareness that truly made her feel a kinship with the man. Because that wasn¡¯t something native to those without Vampiric blood in their veins.


    It was something learned by those hunted for who or what they were. Neither of them needed to exchange a word to see that much in the other.


    ¡°Not at all.¡± Hexeri replied, knowing full well that Baird was among the few quick enough to notice the minute fraction of a second her pause had already lasted. ¡°I just find it quite amusing watching you pant away as we go, like seeing a child try to march uphill. Not used to walking this long?¡±


    A few scowls and a few more choice words flew her way at that, and Hexeri smiled. Uphill, certainly, was a way to describe the near-sixty degree angle they now scaled. It was a testament to each man present that he was still sustaining a quicker pace going over the jagged mound of earth than their forces still circling the base.


    But it was necessary. Baird had insisted on that much, he wanted sharp eyes propped high in the sky to survey the landscape, and Hexeri found herself in agreement. It was increasingly common, these days, that she concur with him. He made a lot of poignant observations, for a human. She wondered what sort of things his native genius might pick up on with another century to mature in a brain not slowly rotting with each new year.


    Hexeri recalled the other humans then, the ones who¡¯d smiled and laughed right up until the burning torches and decapitating cleavers came out. Her grin dropped away to the dirt under her feet, and she crushed it with the latest in a never-ending line of crunching, thudding footfalls.


    No, better not to wonder such things. Most human potential, after all, was in the threat they posed. And the less expected, the more severe. They were a weak species, but weaklings could kill if given a moment of relaxation to strike in.


    It didn¡¯t take more than a few additional minutes to reach the hill¡¯s top, despite its height and steepness. Baird remained standing, which Hexeri had expected, but so did his other Rangers. She could hear their fatigue, smell the lactic acid in their muscles, and yet they remained vigilant as ever. Perhaps they were the undead ones.


    ¡°What do you see?¡± She asked Baird. He glanced at her, surprised.


    ¡°You can¡¯t see better than me?¡±


    Hexeri felt a stab of irritation at that.


    ¡°I can smell adrenaline, and hear a heartbeat at twenty paces, but no. I can¡¯t see better than a Ranger, not one of your calibre.¡±


    Not even so late in the evening, and that had been the most irksome realisation of all. Hexeri¡¯s eyes might be the superior ones in the pitch black of midnight, but even then he¡¯d have the advantage in pinpointing firelight to locate any enemies.


    She really did prefer being around ordinary humans, far more satisfying.


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    Baird took a few moments to scan the area, and so did his other Rangers. Soon enough, one of them spoke.


    ¡°Over there.¡± He breathed, gesturing to a distant point to the west of them. ¡°See it boss?¡±


    Baird narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. ¡°No, point it out?¡±


    ¡°The ground.¡± His subordinate clarified. ¡°See that section of it, it¡¯s hard to make out but-¡±


    ¡°Burns.¡± Baird gasped. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right, and the earth is disturbed, indented. There was a fire there. A big one. I¡¯d make it a yard wide, sound right boys?¡±


    ¡°Four feet, I¡¯d say.¡± Another cut in, but most agreed.


    ¡°So we¡¯re dealing with a few dozen, but no more. Otherwise they¡¯d have needed several. Still, fair numbers. Could be a threat depending on what they are.¡±


    Hexeri followed their gazes, and thought she saw the point being indicated. It was certainly hard enough to make out, though, even with her own Vampiric sight. Rangers indeed.


    ¡°If they need fire, they¡¯re living things.¡± She noted. ¡°But if they¡¯re with the Dark Lord¡¯s forces¡­¡±


    ¡°...Then they could¡¯ve had numerous times as many undead around them that simply didn¡¯t need other fires built.¡± Baird concluded. ¡°Right.¡±


    He was quick in making a decision, as quick as he was in all other things.


    ¡°We need to operate on the assumption that we¡¯re not alone after all. Rangers, get into threes. I want you all moving ahead and checking the route for snares, sentries, anything else that might fuck us over when the main body runs into it. I doubt this is an army we¡¯re dealing with but for all we know we¡¯re about to run into a pack of Fomori.¡±


    They moved like the components of a carefully lubricated machine, all setting off on their separate paths near wordlessly and disappearing down the slope of the hill.


    ¡°Is that wise?¡± Hexeri asked. ¡°Splitting up?¡±


    Baird shrugged.


    ¡°Rangers aren¡¯t fighters, not really. We work best from afar, against enemies who don¡¯t know they¡¯re an enemy. Skirmishers.¡±


    ¡°There were only a dozen of you to begin with.¡± She noted. ¡°Why not keep together?¡±


    ¡°Because twelve is a fuck sight easier to spot than three, travels slower, and runs the risk of all our Rangers getting wiped out in a single fuck-up. We don¡¯t have enough to spare for chances like that.¡±


    Hexeri understood when it was put like that. Numbers were not something a Vampire often had issues with, but when it came to their own elites- the century-old creatures of night able to kill a hundred times their number of mortal men- they were even harder to replace than any human killer.


    Besides, even the ability to turn more into their kind didn¡¯t make her eager to throw them away. A progeny was more than cannon fodder.


    ¡°What are you expecting to find?¡± Hexeri asked.


    Baird hesitated.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. The Dark Lord¡¯s forces aren¡¯t subtle, so hopefully we¡¯ll have an answer soon.¡±


    The two of them made their own way back down the hilltop, reuniting with the larger part of their forces. Conventional soldiers, these, spearmen and the occasional Shaiagraznian grotesquery. Five thousand Kaltan veterans, bolstered with support and training enough that they could have equaled four times their number of conventional troops. It said a lot about what exactly they were marching towards that Hexeri felt little in the way of comfort from their numbers.


    Of course, that wasn¡¯t just the Dark Lord¡¯s fault. Thousands of humans were good for one thing regarding Vampires, historically. Protecting them was not it.


    A day passed without any great incident, and the Rangers were back by the end of it. All seemed shaken, not molified, by their lack of any discovery. No snares, no pitfalls, and all the likely positions for enemies like them- those with Vigour put to improving precision and eyesight for long-range shooting- were empty and unused.


    Hexeri understood their discontent. If they¡¯d found evidence of some sort of trap, it would show they were fighting enemies who could be seen through. A total lack of that, however, may well have indicated they were the ones who would be confounded.


    ¡°Do we abort?¡± She asked Baird. He snorted at the very idea.


    ¡°Fuck no, we don¡¯t even know for sure these enemies are still in the region. They could¡¯ve just headed off into an entirely different direction, for all we know. They¡­¡± He paused, swallowing. ¡°...They could¡¯ve been behind us, and set the fire ahead to distract us by relying on our scouting abilities to take note-¡±


    The arrow hit the ground right by his feet, exploding a great crater of silt and shale out of it, sending fractals of stone to glance off every face in a dozen yards. Everyone present froze, for the arrow had missed their leader¡¯s head by inches. Deliberately, Hexeri thought.


    ¡°We have you surrounded, move and you die.¡±


    Fortunately, nobody moved, because Hexeri recognised the cadence infusing the voice. It wasn¡¯t one she was likely to forget.


    ¡°Our warriors will reveal themselves now.¡± The Dark Elf told them. ¡°Once more, remain still. Any movements towards weapons, or of deliberate speed, will be seen as precursor to an attack. We will halt them with lethal force.¡±


    Hexeri believed them, that was the way Dark Elves operated. Efficiently.


    Sure enough, Dark Elf faces began emerging to match the voice. Hexeri scrutinised them for any she might recognise, but found none. It had been a slim chance, in any case. Her last meeting with their kind had been twenty years ago, and scarcely more to her advantage than this one.


    They were a tall people, the Elves. And the Dark Elves were no shorter, averaging a height of six feet or more- both men and women- and differentiated in build only by a breadth of shoulder and mass of muscle uncommon to their fairer kin.


    All were dark skinned, thus the name. Some in the way of humans like Princess Ado or her ancestors, others like corpses sometimes were. Grey or desaturated. All had crimson eyes.


    It was annoying how often Dark Elves were mistaken for Vampires, because they really weren¡¯t much alike on the inside. Hexeri could appreciate their more superficial resemblance, though. Seeing the Elves move, it was hard to compare them to clumsy, blundering humans after spending so long among her own kind.


    Theirs was a grace only typically possible among nerves made still by death and muscles precise by coldness. This grace saw quick usage now as blades were pressed to necks, angles of attack covered, bodies woven out among the men closest her.


    All to ensure that dozens would, as the Elves had said, die the moment any sign of attack was perceived among them.

 Book 2: Chapter 26

    In hindsight, it really, really had been impulsive to smash his ship into the side of that fortress. Swick had almost known it at the time, however deep his drunken rampage had been, and every passing day after the incident only made it more overwhelmingly apparent to him just how great an error he¡¯d made.


    Skyships were a technology beyond virtually anything else. Few could repair one, and virtually none could build a new one from scratch. Shaiagrazni had seemed to consider them primitive things.


    Well screw him, because apparently he needed this piece of primitive technology. Swick just needed to get it off the ground again.


    ¡°Your thrust is fine.¡± The engineer told him, calmly. ¡°Better than fine, actually, whoever worked on it last did a good job. But there¡¯s something off still.¡±


    ¡°I know there¡¯s something off still.¡± Swick snapped. When he¡¯d tried to last take the ship off the ground, it had worked. For all of a second. Then the poor thing had started rocking, shivering, shaking. It had been all he¡¯d been capable of just to plant it back down before it shot off in one direction and rammed another fucking building.


    And he still didn¡¯t know why. Thus the engineer.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s with the vectoring.¡± The man continued, apparently heedless of Swick¡¯s irritation. He was a tall man, taller even than Swick, and kept his face concealed behind one of those masked cowels so popular in the East. Nonetheless, the occasional flash of bronze skin was easily visible beneath the fabric.


    ¡°Vectoring?¡± Swick asked. The engineer sighed, but subtly. It was nice of him to hide his irritation at being forced to speak with a mere plebian, really.


    ¡°The, uh, aim, direction. For the thrust I mean. Normal skyships automatically compensate for that in the air. They¡¯d have to, or else they¡¯d just start barrel-rolling after take-off. Yours, though, doesn¡¯t seem to be capable of it.¡±


    Which, Swick realised, explained why it almost started barrel-rolling after take-off. Interesting.


    ¡°So fix it.¡± He suggested. Another sigh.


    ¡°Do you know how to set something up so that it not only pushes off against a mobile mass like the air, but also compensates for that same mass moving in response to being pushed, as well as any tiny, sudden changes in direction caused by the wind hitting it from either side?¡±


    Swick did give it a thought, as best as he could manage, before confidently giving his answer.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a coincidence.¡± The engineer grunted. ¡°Because I don¡¯t, either. As far as I know basically nobody does. Which is a big part of why we can¡¯t make skyships anymore. You might¡¯ve thought about that before breaking yours.¡±


    Had an edge to him, this one, but Swick didn¡¯t mind that so much. Years amongst pirates tended to leave a man inoculated against most forms of misanthropy, and this case was paired with a fairly promising level of actual, practical understanding. There was very little he wouldn¡¯t forgive in exchange for that of all traits.


    ¡°Can you work it out?¡± He asked, made hopeful by the fact that the engineer hadn¡¯t just up and fucked off. As Swick might have hoped, the man paused rather than shooting down the notion out of hand.


    ¡°Probably.¡± He decided, with no small touch of pride in his voice. Oddly high voice, Swick realised. There was a definite edge of aristocracy to it too. ¡°But it¡¯ll take some doing.¡±


    ¡°Then do it.¡± Swick grinned, stepping back and deciding to watch the man at work. With a bit of luck, he might even learn a thing or two himself.


    It didn¡¯t last long, that hope. Killed by a couple of factors working as one. Firstly was the damned impossibility of actually seeing anything useful. This engineer, like most, seemed to most prefer working on the vessel by spelunking within its bowels, only rarely coming up for air- or more often, a refill of their lantern- and then disappearing back down again to continue whatever unseen magics allowed engineers to shape reality as all other casters did.


    The second was that those few glimpses Swick did see, he had no bloody idea how to make sense of. There was simply no frame of reference in his life of experience for what was being done. Half of the components he saw, he couldn¡¯t name. The rest he couldn¡¯t describe. He felt like a blind man trying to study art by memorising the sounds of brush hitting canvas.


    ¡°You making progress?¡± He asked, eliciting another irritated grunt from the increasingly harassed engineer.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to tell.¡± They replied. ¡°Do remember how unique this technology is, all I know of it is the basic theory and some anecdotes about its physical limits.¡±


    Swick saw no reason why that shouldn¡¯t have been enough, if engineers gained so little from all those years spent squatted inside hunched over books while their masters lectured away then it just made him wonder why they¡¯d even bother to fucking do it. He decided that voicing the sentiment would not achieve much, however.


    ¡°Ah!¡± The man gasped, with excitement, not disappointment, infusing his voice. Swick stiffened, fighting back his own elation, not wanting to humour the emotion which had so regularly fallen down into mere disappointment.


    ¡°You see something?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Yes, hush.¡± The engineer snapped, moving farther into the ship¡¯s innards. Swick heard the sound of components displaced and rattled against one another as he fiddled with them, haste so great that it was being conveyed through the sheer volume of his work. He wasn¡¯t worried about any damage coming from it, skyship internals were built to withstand jagged turns and swooping drops. He doubted someone without a plentiful infusion of Vigour in their muscles could damage it if they tried.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Swick watched, and waited. Eagerly anticipating some triumphant emergence from the Engineer. Oh, they¡¯d charge him everything they could in exchange for such a repair as this, but he¡¯d pay it all willingly. Anything to sail the skies again, anything and more.


    The smoke emerged thinly at first, then quickly congealed into an opaque inky cloud which stifled Swick¡¯s growing optimism just as completely as it did the light. He heard coughing, gasping, more coughing and then a fit of swearing which demonstrated quite a considerable vocabulary.


    He added to it.


    Waving a hand and wincing at the mess, the engineer emerged. Swick deflated at the sight of him scrambling back from the skyship.


    ¡°Fuck.¡± They gasped, once finally clear of the smog and able to inhale without furthering the torture of their lungs.


    Swick didn¡¯t bother asking what they could still do, he reckoned he¡¯d already seen enough to know when a task was beyond someone. Perhaps these engineers should¡¯ve hunched over a few more books before setting out to work.


    ¡°Captain Swick?¡±


    The voice caught him quite by surprise, and Swick barely resisted his usual response to the calling of his name. He turned, rather than simply diving through the nearest window, and was pleasantly surprised to see a man, not a debtor, standing expectantly before him.


    He was tall, hawkish, almost eerie. He spoke to Swick with the sort of recognition one gained through hearing a reputation, and those who spoke to Swick like that¡­


    Swick¡¯s fingers danced towards the handle of his knife, because those who spoke to him like that were generally bounty hunters.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± He asked, ready to start slashing and stabbing at a moment¡¯s notice. The fight never came, though.


    ¡°No, but I believe I can help you.¡± The man replied. ¡°I am¡­Well, name¡¯s are irrelevant I think, I am Hand to his Majesty King Galukar of Arbite.¡±


    Swick eyed him, surprised, but not disbelieving. He certainly matched the descriptions he¡¯d heard.


    ¡°And you¡¯re offering me a hundred knights?¡± He asked, hopefully. The Hand didn¡¯t smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m offering you a name, Bal the Treasure Hunter. You may have heard it before?¡±


    Swick had done more than bloody hear it before, and he winced at the memory.


    ¡°Ah, that confirms it then.¡± The Hand noted. ¡°I¡¯d heard of your dealings together, the stories are true then?¡±


    He reminded Swick of Shaiagrazni, always keenly watching, always catching the slightest hints that flitted past his vision and weaving them into knowledge.


    Best be careful around this one.


    ¡°Yes.¡± He replied, deciding not to bother lying. Better to save his lies for later. ¡°Years ago.¡±


    Eight years ago if Swick was remembering rightly. They¡¯d been fellow outlaws, both clever enough to not trust the other. They¡¯d worked together, briefly, for practical reasons, and their semi-voluntary partnership had ended painfully when it outlived its usefulness.


    Not a Hero, Swick thought. But uncomfortably close to one. Close enough to leave the eight-inch scar under his ribs which itched every time he remembered the bastard. A lucky hit, but most needed a lot more than luck to leave something like that on him.


    Even if, in fairness, Swick had been drunk at the time. When hadn¡¯t he been, those days?


    ¡°That¡¯s convenient then.¡± The Hand smiled, without it touching his eyes. ¡°Because you¡¯ll be the one needing to find him. I have reason to believe he has just the component needed for repairing your skyship.¡±


    <hr>


    The Dark Elves were not numerous, but they compensated with sheer efficiency. One hundred or so, perhaps, and they took several prisoners each through carefully calculated lines of sight and well-prepared shackles.


    And butchery. That, Hexeri knew, was the meat of it. Those whose bodies were strong, Vigorous, were taken for their use to a Necromancer in fresh death. The others were disarmed, ushered away. And killed to keep from troubling the rest.


    With weapons and commands they might have offered resistance, with neither the men either perished or ran. Most escaped, but the spilled blood of those few hundred stupid or slow enough not to was still a revolting thing. Then the march began.


    Just like that, a force of thousands had been erased. Just like that the Dark Lord had himself two Heroes and a dozen Rangers as prisoners. Just like that, the fight was over and a crushing defeat had settled into its place.


    And the Dark Elves hadn¡¯t even needed to dodge a single spear thrust. The word demoralising had not been coined for describing so harrowing a defeat. Not even close.


    Naturally Hexeri was split up from Collin Baird, and the two of them were marched under particularly weighty guard. She still heard him, over the other footsteps, having had ample time through their few weeks of familiarity to pick out his idiosyncrasies in stride, breath and scent. For the better part of a few hours, she did nothing but occasionally check to make sure he still lived. Then, eventually, she froze.


    Because Hexeri found herself hearing the sound of falling bodies and smelling the scent of blood. Then Baird was beside her, hacking through the steel of her shackles like thin rope. Both of them were free, and the fight came almost before she even recognised the fact.


    Elves came in, three of them. They were faster than humans, faster than human Knights even, and their hands held curved blades of metal Hexeri didn¡¯t even have a name for. She ducked under one, replying to its wielder with a punch that sank deep into their guts and broke something within the soft viscera. It fell, blood spurting from their lips, and Hexeri seized the ichor with her thoughts.


    It became a spray of crimson flechettes at the flick of her cognition, sent shooting for another Elf like so many arrows. Faster than arrows, than crossbow bolts, almost faster than Baird¡¯s own projectiles. They dug through mail and lamellar, sinking into the meat below. Her target stumbled, fell, leaking more of their precious lifeblood out.


    Hexeri appreciated the loss, for it gave her the ammunition to shred another two Elves. Baird himself was killing away beside her, a human whirlwind of blades and teeth. Fingers came off, wrists opened, and every artery within nicking range was nicked so smoothly and sharply that his blades were probably a yard clear before the pain even started.


    Seconds passed, then the two of them stood at the centre of a dozen-strong litter of corpses. Some neatly switched off by pinpoint Ranger-swift stabs and slices. Others ripped to piles of twisted meat by the less subtle touch of blood magic and Vampiric strength. None were impeding their retreat, anymore, and so they sprinted.


    A dozen surprised Dark Elves was one thing, the ninety more readying to give chase was quite another.


    Bolts of magic came after them, now that the shock of sudden violence was wearing off. Hexeri was already fifty paces away, and the jet of searing energy that sailed just short of her missed by a good yard. Even still, she felt its heat. A normal Vampire would have been burned, even by that near-miss. A normal human killed outright. Elven magic was the stuff of legends for a reason, and the Dark Elves tended towards a more overtly destructive style than others.


    There was nothing to do but run, and hope. They did.


    Hexeri dragged the shadows beside them as she passed, pulling them up into a black mist at their backs. It would do nothing to impede such powerful energy- barely even enough to halt human arrows- but the obfuscation would hopefully keep them from being struck directly. It seemed just in time, too, for an entire barrage of power shot through in moments.


    The Elves were slower in a dead-sprint, at least. And they never did hit them. Hexeri and Collin Baird managed to disappear from the fight.


    It was, in the end, all they managed.

 Book 2: Chapter 27

    Ado was shoved into the room, but gently. Evidently, based on both that and the contents of her cell, her nobility was not being forgotten.


    By the force of the push, and the harsh graze of her knees hitting the ground, neither was her association with Shaiagrazni. Ado forced her mind past the pain, which was no great detriment in any case, and hastily got back to her feet. Just in time to stare at her guard unimpeded by bars, for the fraction of a second he still needed to slam the door shut.


    ¡°How dare you!?¡± She snapped. ¡°Do you have any idea who I am?¡±


    The man didn¡¯t reply, just turned from the door and shifted to stand somewhere to its side, beyond the scope of her sight. Probably he was too bloody stupid to even understand her. It was hardly the rare, brightest minds among the peasantry who found themselves guarding doors, after all.


    She caught herself before that particular, unproductive spiral could fully ensnare her thoughts. Ado paused, turned, forcibly, from the door, and began pacing. She was pacing for a while.


    Her cell was smaller even than she had initially thought, barely large enough for so much as thirty people to stand without touching within it. Its walls, ceiling and floor were all diabase, as she might have expected. Magus made and coloured like rust with the volume of raw iron naturally within the stone.


    With all of her exertion, she might have gotten through a yard of the stuff, and widened such a penetration as to fit her whole body through within a minute. But Ado had no way of knowing whether that would be all there was to her captivity. For all she knew, the diabase was two yards thick, or three, or more. She might have blasted apart a few feet of the stonework only to discover a blockade of pure steel waiting for her beyond.


    Ado was not Walriq the Windmage, and she was certainly not Silenos Shaiagrazni. Beyond a scarce few inches eroding through steel was beyond anything her magic would achieve, and if forced to do so quickly under the pressure of assault by prison guards she doubted even that much was possible for her.


    Which was all to say nothing of Ado¡¯s chances in actually escaping if she did blast through her cell. She didn¡¯t know this city¡¯s layout, nor where her carriage was located- or even if the barbarians holding her had destroyed it in a fit of zealotry- and she didn¡¯t fancy her chances of escaping by foot.


    Even a stolen horse, which she also didn¡¯t know any locations for, would be a poor match for the speed of truly potent Vigour users. If there was anyone in the city with even half- even a quarter- of King Galukar¡¯s prowess, they¡¯d sprint down any mount she might find within minutes.


    The more Ado thought, the fewer and more limited her options seemed to be. She supposed that was to be expected for a person finding themselves in a fucking prison.


    She sat on her bed, which was lumpy and hard in all the wrong places. She strode around the floor, which was rugged in so thin a carpet that she fancied the floor¡¯s chill still hit her bare feet regardless. There were two seats prepared beside a bowl of fruit and breads, which Ado tried to distract herself by consuming. It didn¡¯t work. The only consumption happening was her own mind chewing at itself, working over the decisions she¡¯d made, and how they might have been done less disastrously.


    But the simple truth was that there really hadn¡¯t been much choice in the matter. Certainly keeping her carriage closer by would have been ideal, and insisting on a few guards alongside that might well have let her escape the city. But even that would have been risky, and a great escalation to her current troubles if failure found her regardless.


    Ado¡¯s thoughts were perhaps a shade self-destructive, and certainly did nothing for her mood, but they at least kept her occupied. The time practically skipped her by before her cell¡¯s door creaked open.


    She stood, and turned to it, affixing her foulest glare and preparing to make her demands. The plan fell through, however, when her brother entered.


    Folami was alone, as far as Ado could tell, and he did not look nearly as petulant or furious as he had previously. Rather, a terrible smugness seemed to have crept over his features and given them a twist which was altogether vaguely familiar, and rather disturbing for it.


    ¡°Sister.¡± He beamed, in much the same way a cat might after cornering the mouse. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you unharmed. I had faith, of course, that God¡¯s chosen would not stoop so low as to injure a woman but¡­Well, you¡¯ve always had an impudent streak, and I feared you might have left them little choice.¡±


    It was chilling. Folami had been an arse well after their reversal of roles, but there¡¯d been no bite to it. He¡¯d spoken petulantly, not confidently. Even he had known that she was the one with the authority between them.


    But not anymore. Now he seemed secure in a way she hadn¡¯t seen since¡­


    Since before their father met his end.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Ado asked him. Folami replied by rolling his eyes, as if her question were some anticipated annoyance. As if she were a year younger once more, and dealing with younger brothers who thought themselves her senior through masculinity alone.


    ¡°I am telling my sister that I¡¯ve solved all of her problems.¡± Folami sighed, taking a seat without asking. ¡°You have nothing to worry about, Ado, it¡¯s all well. I¡¯ve spoken with the King, and the High Priest, and I¡¯ve coordinated a deal for you. All will be forgiven as long as you do what you ought to have done from the start, and simply renounce Shaiagrazni. Let the world see this little tryst for what it is- a momentary surrender to female weakness and insecurity.¡±


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    ¡°Female weakness?¡± Ado echoed.


    It had been so long, really, since she¡¯d heard anything like that. At least from a man she was under the power of. Oh, chauvanism had been far from uncommon within her duties as Shaiagrazni¡¯s diplomat, but being controlled by the chauvanists?


    Her blood boiled.


    ¡°Undo it.¡± She snapped. ¡°You had no right to make this deal, now reverse it this instant.¡±


    Folami smiled, as if he were amused by her antics. It was all Ado could do not to march across the room and punch him then and there.


    ¡°I am afraid, my sister, that you are not the one in control here.¡± He sighed. ¡°The authority of the true King is recognised in this land, you see. Not some upjumped Princess, a King.¡±


    Ado¡¯s heart felt like it had frozen in her chest. Even Shaiagrazni hadn¡¯t called her Queen, and she was fairly certain as to why. Trust. Or lack thereof. He needed her under his power, needed her dismissable, if need be, from her own nation¡¯s authority. And so she was only a Princess.


    It was something she understood, and something she would surely have done herself- had she thought of it. But now she was seeing it spat back in her face, and it was boiling acid coming from the lips of a man like Folami.


    ¡°Get out.¡± She whispered, and her brother sighed- again- and stood. He made his way to the door.


    ¡°Very well, sister. If you want.¡±


    ***


    Galukar was a good tactician. He ought to be, after so many decades of tactics. There was no native brilliance to let him intuit the complexities of battle- let alone warfare- the way the keenest minds might, but he had, through sheer weight of experience and time, become a cut above most.


    And as far as he could tell, they were doing rather well. Granted, he could not tell very far. His weight of experience was of limited applicability when it came to fighting alongside undead, flesh abominations and whatever else Shaiagrazni had stuffed into their army.


    The Kaltans, though, were well within his scope. And they impressed.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a commander.¡± The Necromancer breathed, glancing uncertainly at Galukar.


    He arched an eyebrow.


    ¡°Your magic lets you summon undead to fight for you, and you¡¯re not a commander?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± She snapped. ¡°I¡¯m not a commander, and trying to fix that, will you explain what¡¯s going oin?¡±


    If Galukar wasn¡¯t mistaken, the Necromancer seemed to have gotten rather combative since their last conversation. He tried to recall anything he might have done to anger her, but focused majorly upon her request.


    ¡°Over there.¡± He pointed, gesturing to a hilltop. ¡°You see those Kaltans?¡±


    Three thousand in all, a formation of considerable size. Sheer numbers forced the shield wall to a width great enough to engulf most of the terrain upon which it sat, and they held it admirably. A great wooden porcupine, bristles of steel quivering where they poked out from the oaken hide.


    Shield walls, an unpopular formation. Beloved in Kaltan. Galukar had learned that they had advantages of numerous kinds. The obvious, of course. Ten men in such a structure could crush fifteen, twenty, even more attacking in many others. Mobility was limited, but he¡¯d often found a strock back leg was more important than a swift front in battle anyway, and there was a certain magic to the mental effect it had on a man¡¯s courage.


    But he had only understood the second, more terrible use upon observing it executed by the Kaltans. It was something to take full advantage of their Rangers.


    With Kaltan shield walls, constructed of well carved wood and carefully banded iron, there was very little penetrating them. Heavy axes, perhaps, with a bit of luck, but they were a damned sturdy thing to be removed. Invariably, the enemy would turn to Vigour. They would send in their elites, whatever those were. Just as the Dark Lord¡¯s army was doing now.


    Just as the handful of Rangers still with them had been waiting for. They opened fire, ideal targets all conveniently bunched together well below the crest of their perch- a second hill higher than the one holding the shield wall.


    It was no more than a vanguard, this force of the Dark Lord¡¯s. Galukar knew the enemy¡¯s strength would grow by the day as yet more of their landscape-burying army arrived to water the battlefield in blood. That first volley, though, set the pace.


    Where plate armour was not defeated entirely, it was bypassed as bodkins slipped through gaps and chewed through mail. Spines, arteries, vital organs all surrendered to the skewering barrage and sent convulsive bodies dropping down to the dirt. Not undead, these elites, which was surprising, but a boon nonetheless.


    An undead didn¡¯t care how much steel was in its liver.


    ¡°We¡¯re doing well.¡± Galukar decided, at last. ¡°The enemy is trying to hurry this, which is their mistake. We¡¯re well dug in, and our flanks- our sides- are covered by natural defences. Currently, the real struggle is that hill.¡± He nodded to where the shield wall was still being battered, noting with surprise and satisfaction that even still, it held.


    ¡°What¡¯s special about it?¡± The Necromancer frowned.


    ¡°Essentially, that¡¯s the strongest defensive position for miles. Currently we have it lightly held to lure enemy elites into Ranger fire, but as the Dark Lord¡¯s forces arrive in full I intend to move forwards and bolster it and the surrounding area more fully.¡±


    It was a risky strategy, but Galukar needed an engagement. If the Dark Lord knew the full extent of his forces he might send his own around them, while a small fraction merely engaged Galukar to keep him from distracting. All it would take was the enemy getting ahead, then all was lost. They could not out-march an army of near-exclusively undead.


    That risk, however, seemed to be paying off. The tide of bodies was growing rather than shrinking, far horizon turning dark with the shadow of marching men and monsters, all headed for Galukar¡¯s position.


    He stood, now, at the head of the greatest army he had ever personally commanded. But it was a small thing indeed next to the Dark Lord¡¯s innumerable hordes.


    ¡°Numbers can be misleading.¡± The Necromancer noted, apparently seeing his concern. ¡°Each of my Master¡¯s grotesqueries will kill a score, a hundred- even a thousand. I¡¯d say we¡¯re evenly matched.¡±


    It was, he decided, something she was saying for her own benefit rather than his. But Galukar had to admit there was a certain weight to the assurance.


    He turned back. The Dark Lord¡¯s forces were fanning out, forced to widen their assemblies simply to close in with any real speed. Their numbers were working against them, for this left some men higher elevated than those in the same formation. It loosened them, leaving them all a softer target for the more tight, compressed Shaiagraznian ranks.


    As he might have expected, the blood was flowing in rivers when they finally met en masse.


    Arrows came down, bolts joining from crossbow fire. They thudded into shields, softening the enemy approach as they marched uphill before shield finally met shield. Ground was given, victory scrambled for. It looked to Galukar that it was well within reach.


    Then the cries of horror rang out, and Galukar raised his eyes to see the skies themselves rendered apart.

 Book 2: Chapter 28

    It was a Demon, Galukar recognised as much instantly. He¡¯d slain men by the thousand- undead, perhaps, by the million. Killing, butchering, his way across the continent for so many long, savage decades of murderous devastation. If any man in all the world¡¯s history could claim to have made himself a weapon, it was Galukar.


    And he had only ever fought one Demon, one time. Thirty years gone, now, he and all his sons back before they¡¯d been taken from him. There had been twelve of them in all, eleven near-Heroes and one who dwarfed any other man in living memory to bear even that title. Plus the army at their back.


    By the end of it, there had been only ten sons, and half the army. Galukar shivered at the memory. The Dark Lord hadn¡¯t summoned that one, he hadn¡¯t unveiled any when last he and Galukar fought. He¡¯d been taking things easy, Galukar realised, hiding cards up his sleeve.


    And now he¡¯d conjured the darkest nightmare of Galukar¡¯s entire memory to face Shaiagrazni.


    He shivered, because it was not a memory anymore. The Demon was storm and chaos. Around it, the air was a gestalt vortex of deranged motion and fluctuating mass. It wasn¡¯t just that waves of heat rippled through it, like atop the ground of a desert. The world was twisting. Its very substance changed, warped. Surrendering before the madness inherent to its invader.


    The Demon¡¯s form was long and irrational. Almost serpentine, were it not for the incongruous bulges haphazardly situated across its length. Three great wings beat atop its back, each in a different direction. They seemed avian, at first, but Galukar soon realised that each one of their apparent feathers was itself a wing- smaller, insectoid, and composed of glinting black metal. All of these smaller ones flexed so fast that his eye could barely follow.


    Blood vessels ran visibly along the surface of the entity, sometimes even opening out through its skin to waste ichor as acrid rain, pouring down and searing great welts into the ground below where they ate at its substance. The stuff was dark grey, at odds with the violent pink of its carrier¡¯s skin. More at odds, still, with the Demon¡¯s teeth. Each one was a rounded, flexing mass that Galukar could make no reason from the composition of.


    He shivered, because this Demon looked nothing alike the one he¡¯d seen all those years ago with its twisting form and its mismatched limbs. But they were identical twins in contrast to everything else. Two beings of polar difference, made undeniable kin by their stark defiance of all the rational laws and principles which governed physical anatomy in all other creatures.


    Prince Nemo¡¯s pet had distracted Galukar, taken his mind from the world¡¯s true constants. There were the Dark Arts, and then there were Demons. And the latter was closing on his army.


    There may have been some fascimile of tactical cognition propelling it, or it may simply have been that the Kaltan shield wall holding the hill was closest. Either way, the Demon chose that as its first attack. A sound ran through the battlefield, cutting Galukar to his core. Crying children- screaming, even, in terror- and he knew instantly it was the closest thing this abomination could come to crying out.


    A moment later, it was on them.


    Tendrils of power tore down from its body, blasting through the oaken barricades and the meat of their wielders. In moments the Kaltans separated, ranks frayed to pieces, panicked survivors sprinting away. Shafts of iron struck the Demon, where Rangers fired on it, but they might as well have hurled bee stings for all it did. Galukar was stunned for almost half an instant.


    But his instincts were always more favourable to fighting than fleeing. He gave an order, the most important thing of all. Men did not run so easily when they heard an order boomed out regardless.


    ¡°HOLD!¡± He roared. ¡°CASTERS FORWARDS, TARGET THE DEMON!¡±


    Demon, Galukar almost regretted even naming it, but they all knew damned well what they were staring down. Nothing but the abominations from beyond the veil could do what they were seeing now. Perhaps not even Shaiagrazni himself.


    Flames spat outwards in the air as the great weapons- cannons, Shaiagrazni called them- fired. Five hundred yards from their target, ballistae or trebuchets would have been wholly useless at such a distance. These projectiles, though, flew true. Galukar saw many flit closely by the Demon, and several impacted.


    Its body was not entirely mundane, not fully bound to the world. Raw strength and impact force could only do so much. Galukar winced as he saw it discorporate partly, then weave its shattered form back together and streak across the battlefield for the source of its new attack. They¡¯d gotten its attention, at least. Now they just needed to survive it.


    ¡°READY!¡± He declared, glancing at the Necromancer beside him. She wasn¡¯t freezing up, at least, but the woman looked far from ready for death. That was fine, it might make her fight all the harder against it. ¡°CAST!¡±


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    Galukar¡¯s final command came when the Demon was just shy of the range at which it had obliterated the formation, and Galukar knew from long experience that it was far past the killing distance of most casters. Even trained magi. A good spell, thrown well and with considerable power, might reach two hundred yards and kill a man at half that. Accurately, though, it was unlikely to strike a human target beyond fifty.


    The Demon¡¯s sheer size saw a few of the attacks scoring notches into its esoteric form, regardless of its twenty-fathom height skyward, but Galukar saw instantly the difference in power. Fireballs struck like pinhead embers from a flame, jets of water like raindrops. Enchanted thorns broke against it as if they were cobwebs, where hurled boulders seemed to crumble on impact like flecks of dirt.


    Something was happening, the Demon was registering contact at least, but¡­Nothing substantial.


    There was simply too little power within human magic to wound such a thing. Too little to even hurt it. How in the world had Galukar ever slain the one he¡¯d fought before?


    Help, distraction, and¡­A miracle.


    God was nowhere near him, these days. There would be no miracle today. So help him, Galukar almost believed it before he saw the black streak which had spelled death on so many other occasions. He looked up just to see it land the luckiest hit he¡¯d witnessed in years- splashing dead centre in the Demon¡¯s chest.


    It was not half the equal of Silenos Shaiagrazni¡¯s, but the Necromancer Sphera¡¯s shadestuff proved more than a nuisance if nothing else.


    Another cry, children giggling this time. Galukar took a moment to realise the perversion for what it was. Pain was joy, to a Demon, and joy was pain. They¡¯d hurt it. But one Necromancer could throw only so many gouts of shadestuff, and now the Demon¡¯s altitude had shrunk to its own offensive distance.


    The energy built, and seasoned magi were blasted to limbs, viscera, ash¡­Then even that was scorched even more, until it was reduced to nothing but clouds of pitch-dark ash swirling in the unnatural winds of too much heat concentrated in too small a patch of air.


    Galukar roared, his impotence striking more than their death. He was not a caster, not a Ranger. Magic could touch the thing, and he held more magic than any other in the battlefield. But it was a fucking sword. Within the reach of his Godblade there wasn¡¯t a force in existence able to withstand him, but the Demon was beyond it now. Hovering out of God¡¯s light, and delighting all the more in its savagery.


    There had to be something he could do. There had to-


    A cannon fired, a projectile tore a wing fully off, only for it to reform before gravity had even dragged it an inch downwards. The idea came to Galukar before the screaming metal had even flown clear of sight. He glanced at the weapon responsible, at his sword.


    No, that was stupid. He glanced at his legs instead, then flitted his gaze further around the battlefield.


    ¡°Necromancer.¡± He snapped. ¡°Call the grotesqueries over and have them throw me, quick!¡±


    The Demon was running out of casters to kill, and it would not remain near to Galukar for much longer after the rest were dead. Fortunately, Shaiagrazni¡¯s apprentice was, after all, his apprentice. She understood fast and the things lumbered over in moments. None were the Fleshcrafter¡¯s biggest work, they would have been slower if they were, but the largest of them was still close to ten times Galukar¡¯s own height, and over a dozen times the average. In moments he felt abominable flesh close around him, then the acceleration of strength employed with impossible abundance.


    The wind screamed in his ears. Galukar screamed back, louder. He hit the Demon like an arrow fresh from the string.


    When Galukar had been a boy, he¡¯d been taught to stab a man by bracing the butt of his blade against himself and charging in. Pinning it between their bodies, using his own weight and momentum to drive it through mail and meat. It was not a technique he¡¯d used in some time. For one thing, it had been coined for smaller weapons. Long knives or shortswords. For another¡­It had been redundant. When swinging the Godblade, one rarely considered the prospect of finding it denied an enemy¡¯s death by durability. It either hit, or the fight continued.


    Galukar employed that long-neglected technique an instant before impacting, and he actually felt himself close to winded as his ridiculous velocity transferred between physical mass and the impossible angles of what his blade now kissed. Metal dug in an inch, a hand, a foot. Magic crackled and screamed. He felt taloned limbs close around him, gasped at the almost novel sensation of skin parting, muscle parting- everything parting almost like a normal man raked by normal claws. Then they were spinning, falling, thrashing. He dragged the Godblade out, grabbed a talon and swung.


    Iron sizzled and spat where it caught the not-flesh of its target, and there rang out a great sundering noise as light flashed and churchbells seemed to ring out. A gash appeared in the Demon. The sort a normal sword might leave in normal flesh, but a damned start. Galukar cut again, severing one of the abomination¡¯s arms, then raising the limb up to clog its opened maw when gyrating teeth moved to clamp down on his head.


    Blood hit his skin, grey blood. It burned, and Galukar snarled, then the Demon dragged him closer as it spat out its own arm. Galukar wrestled the thing¡¯s strength, and realised it exceeded his own. More talons dug in, gouging, tearing. The Godblade worked back and forth- like a saw, at this close range, not a cutter- and both he and his enemy brought the other closer to death.


    Like a normal man fighting a normal beast. Lion, bear, tiger. Death for the human, almost without variation. But sometimes, with a sword, will and surprise, it was death for the animal too. An animal was certainly present, and Galukar heard it as his lungs convulsed into a long, snarling scream. He butted the Demon to free his arm just enough to drive the Godblade upwards and inwards, digging down to where the neck veins would be in a sensibly designed body, then moving back to sawing.


    Children laughing, a greater joy than he¡¯d ever heard his own feel. The death rattle of a thing that shouldn¡¯t have been at all, finding the wrongness of its existence rectified. No longer were the talons scything, the jaws snapping, the unnatural not-muscles convulsing at odds with their motions. No longer was the Demon doing anything at all but coming apart. Body to limbs, to viscera, to ash. Then to nothing at all.


    Galukar had just the chance to smile, as widely as his enfeebled face could even muster the strength for. Then he fell back down towards the earth.

 Book 2: Chapter 29

    Ado¡¯s trial came quickly enough. The church¡¯s always did. She met it with as much dignity was was left in her, but that had been wrung out to a disheartening degree over her short stay in prison.


    It was not, in the end, captivity which gnawed at her. It was Folami. Folami and his poisonous offer. Poisonous, not venomous. Because a poison¡¯s lethality came only when it was drunk, not injected.


    She could live. To do so was surrender, desecration, betrayal and defeat. It was to throw away everything she¡¯d ever wanted, to turn on the one man who valued what she could do. To prove the world right about her weakness.


    But it was to live. And living¡­Well, that was life instead of death. It was an argument just by the basic fact of its existence.


    Ado paced, and thought. She slept, infrequently and for minutes at a time. Slowly becoming more and more bedragled by her own discontent and fears. Slowly feeling death¡¯s scythe creep nearer to her neck. It was almost a relief when her trial came. Almost.


    Folami was the one to take her to it, and for a moment she mistook his presence as a stroke of cruelty. The worry on his face, though, told her otherwise. Her brother hadn¡¯t been getting much more sleep than her, not much at all.


    ¡°Change of heart?¡± She asked, knowing full well he¡¯d not answer in the affirmative. Folami¡¯s weariness disappeared quite quickly, buried beneath a new mound of bitter irritation.


    ¡°You always keep it up, don¡¯t you Ado?¡± He sighed. ¡°No matter what, that tongue of yours just can¡¯t keep cutting away. Even when it¡¯s cutting you.¡±


    She was almost impressed by the quick-wittedness involved in such an easy and seamless metaphor, but Ado was fatigued beyond such a petty sensation. She just sighed.


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    Folami sighed too. Apparently, whatever it was, it didn¡¯t inspire much in the way of hope for him.


    ¡°Sister, I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re planning for your trial. Please, though, just¡­Accept what¡¯s coming. Plead guilty, confess your crimes, you know you¡¯ll be forgiven.¡±


    She did. She knew that very, very fucking well. Well enough to torture herself with it.


    ¡°And what will come of it if I do?¡± Ado spat. ¡°Wudra will just hunker down and be destroyed, even you must realise that.¡±


    ¡°If they fight immediately.¡± Folami breathed, after a moment. ¡°Yes, they will. There was a reason they did not send our father aid when Shaiagrazni¡¯s invasion first began. But that is not the plan.¡±


    Ado froze, stared at him, and then rearranged the events around her with that in mind.


    ¡°They intend to grant the Dark Lord passage.¡± She gasped, as everything clicked into place at once. ¡°To send him forth and let him and Shaiagrazni fight one another, to watch their enemies destroy each other while they sit idle.¡±


    ¡°And then to swoop in and crush the victor in their weakened state.¡± Folami finished, grinning. ¡°Correct, and so you see sister, you don¡¯t need to continue this. Shaiagrazni is not the only way this world can be saved, you need not serve that demon of a man.¡±


    Need not.


    They reached the room of Ado¡¯s trial, and it was, at least, no less than a man would have received. Large, pillared, sterile and nearly pure in its construction of marble and steel. She saw galleys filled with glaring faces, and at the end of the room there was a seat held atop a podium, towered over by two more.


    It was in those dual peaks that the King and High Priest sat, waiting damnably for her entrance. Ado did not delay them any longer than was necessary.


    ¡°Princess Ado Mortascia.¡± Came a booming voice, ringing out the very moment her feet came down into the top of her podium. ¡°You stand accused of treason, subversion of the Crown and consorting with practitioners of the Dark Arts. How do you plead?¡±


    There it was. How did she plead?


    ¡°Silenos Shaiagrazni is the only hope of defeating the Dark Lord.¡± Ado replied, almost wincing at the sound of her own words echoing out across the room, let alone the reactions they drew. Hisses, glares, disgust. Rage. The sight of one angry man was something any woman knew to be very, very wary around. A hundred, as she saw now¡­It had every nerve in her body screaming for flight.


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    But she held, and continued speaking. Ado had precious moments before the room¡¯s shock wore off and her voice was drowned in protests and condemnation. She had to use it as best she could, because it wasn¡¯t just her life hanging by a thread.


    ¡°I implore you all, please, think about this issue. Shaiagrazni did not send me as an envoy for no reason, he needs your aid. The Dark Lord is a threat to all- he wants to destroy this world to its very foundations. His armies kill and absorb, with virtually no exception. His people starve. Starve. If you are all right, and this does end with either of the Dark Lords weakened and finished off in their enfeeblement, then you have nothing to fear. But what if you¡¯re wrong? What if the victor is able to win against you, even still? You must throw your strength behind Shaiagrazni, for all the world¡¯s sakes.¡±


    The silence that followed was a crushing weight upon Ado¡¯s chest, compressing her lungs into stagnancy. It made way for hope. A single, stupid moment of it.


    Then the gavel came down, almost before the snarls and roars it was swung to silence. She turned to see the High Priest glaring daggers at her.


    ¡°We¡¯ve all heard enough.¡± He roared. ¡°Guilty, this woman is guilty. Bad enough to admit it so brazenly, she even tries to tempt others into her own charge with the time allotted to recant it!¡±


    Cries of agreement ran out, pricking Ado from all sides like blunted needles. She felt weightless, suddenly, unbalanced as if the floor were spinning and rocking beneath her. Her head spun, ears rang. Hope crumbled.


    ¡°Ado Mortascia, you have pled guilty to all charges brought before you, and have shown no hint of regret in their face. You have left this court with no choice but to sentence you to death for your crimes against the human race.¡±


    What was happening. This couldn¡¯t be¡­What was happening? How could this be happening?


    It all happened in a bizarre, elongated fugue. Ado was seized, dragged from the hall, snatched away from the hateful, spitting voices and marched down a cold corridor. Mere moments later, her brother was beside her.


    ¡°What were you thinking!?¡± He spat. Ado froze. What had she been thinking?


    ¡°Shaiagrazni.¡± She croaked. ¡°People under him, they live¡­Well. Long lives, they¡¯re happy. He kills aristocrats, nobles, strips them of power and displaces Monarchs but the people are-¡±


    ¡°-Who gives a fuck about the damned peasantry?¡± Folami snapped. Ado stared at him. ¡°This trial was about the subversion of a Monarch and subservience to a Dark Caster, the only one to even mention the peasantry was you.¡±


    Ado didn¡¯t have the words to reply, she just considered his. And she realised he was right.


    What had she thought of the peasantry, a few months ago? Nothing. Literally nothing, they¡¯d not even been a concern for her. Just things that did work, and sent the rewards upwards into their masters¡¯ hands. She¡¯d been one of those masters. The happiness, contentedness- the basic damned rights of the ones responsible for propping her life of comfort up had all been less than tertiary. A non-factor.


    Somewhere along the way, between Shaiagrazni¡¯s lectures, Baird¡¯s arguments and the simple, basic experience of seeing with her own eyes what the world was changing to around her, Ado had learned differently. And she¡¯d forgotten what her people were truly like, what they valued. What they didn¡¯t.


    What a fool she¡¯d been, to try and convince nobles, aristocrats and holy men that Shaiagrazni treated the common man differently than the Dark Lord. They didn¡¯t fight the Dark Lord over their peasants¡¯ treatment. They fought him to maintain their own hegemony. Everything else¡­At best, was pretence.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter now.¡± Ado said, finally. Her voice was fragile in her own ears, and sharp. It felt like wielding a needle of glass. She couldn¡¯t help but betray the bitterness wrapped in around it. ¡°What¡¯s done is done. There would never have been any persuading them, not of what matters.¡±


    Somehow, it was freeing to say that. Because Ado didn¡¯t matter.


    ¡°How far you have fallen.¡± Folami sighed, staring at Ado as if he pitied her, somehow. As if she were the mad one in a sensible world. ¡°I tried, sister. I really, truly tried to save you from yourself. But¡­It seems you are intent on dying. It seems, no matter what, you will follow this path to its end. Even if that end is also yours.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps the world would be a better place if less of its controllers cared about their own end more than other people¡¯s.¡± Ado replied, feeling a new fire taking her. ¡°Think, Folami, for once in your life, think. Why exactly do you think Silenos Shaiagrazni has such an excess of allies in so short a time? Why do you think he was able to suborn Collin Baird and Kaltan, to travel for so long with a Paladin, to bring in the Vampires of Clan Liliai themselves. Why do you think each settlement he takes is so passive and calm after the taking? People are not loyal to us. A few are, maybe, those who truly drank in the dogma and duty we¡¯ve spent so many generations feeding them, but for the most part they simply don¡¯t care for us. And they shouldn¡¯t. They should hate us, because we are hateable.¡±


    By the time Ado finished, she was out of breath. And she hadn¡¯t even given voice to the most important part of all.


    How do you think Shaiagrazni brought me in to work beneath him?


    But Folami was not in the mood for discussion and debate, he only fell silent and bitter, rather than contemplative, after hearing her remarks. Ado watched him fall away from her side, letting the guards further escort her. With that, she was left to think all by herself.


    She was going to die. She¡¯d brought it on herself. Ado had practically suicided, in that courtroom. And all she had left was the notion that it had been just.


    Had it?


    Ado recalled the sight of her father, her mentor. She recalled the countless thousands crushed to paste under Shaiagraznian grotesqueries. She trembled, but she did not falter in her beliefs.


    Yes. In the end, with everything considered and weighed against all else, she had done what she¡¯d needed to. The only thing she could have. Ado was competent, intelligent, and magically gifted. She had value, but she had none at all compared to all else that might come from House Shaiagrazni¡¯s rule.


    Her hands clenched into fists. She believed what she¡¯d said, she knew that it was true. And she pitied the fools now sending her off into a cell. Because their own people knew just what Shaiagrazni¡¯s rule could bring.


    And they knew, too, that his emissary was scheduled for execution.

 Book 2: Chapter 30

    It was not Silenos¡¯ first time attempting to craft flying entities, indeed he¡¯d done so on more than one occasion. Even gone so far as to imbue his own combat form with the power of flight. Today¡¯s attempt, however, brought with it a new order of practical issues he¡¯d never been beset with before.


    And it all came down to a matter of weight.


    Shaiagraznian combat forms tended to be heavy things, of course. Four thousand kilograms in Silenos¡¯ case, and he¡¯d known peers to go so high as triple that. There were simply natural advantages which came inherent to a great size and mass. Strength, resilience, yes. But momentum, too. A resilience against the hurling effects of battle-magics could be vital when war was waged in the hostile conditions his people had become accustomed to. Pools of shadestuff, chasms running down core-deep, there were any number of hazards which might slay even the sturdiest enemies if they did not anchor themselves against shifts in momentum.


    But it was a different grade of mass altogether which he was trying to provide lift for, now. Lift and propulsion.


    The fundamental task before Silenos was crafting a substitute for Swick the Swift¡¯s flying vessel. Such a thing was actually rather primitive by Shaiagraznian standards, which tended towards larger aerial vehicles of far more advanced armour plating and weaponry. Unfortunately, House Shaiagrazni achieved such creations with a far broader scope of power than Silenos had available to him.


    Aside from his knowledge of biochemistry, he had no ability at all to create inorganic materials. If something was not an approximation of a substance native to some eukaryotic or prokaryotic life form, then it was beyond him. Which meant he could not build the kinds of power generation or propulsive technology which permitted such towering vehicles.


    Naturally, that brought about his first concession. Size. Silenos had been intending to craft something in the order of many hundreds of metres¡¯ length, weighing thousands, even millions of tonnes. That wasn¡¯t happening, not unless he was content with a near-stationary vessel, and so he reluctantly scaled down his designs. One third, one quarter, eventually one seventh. It was a painful lack, but if nothing else it simplified his work. Not enough to leave it unchallenging, however.


    The rest of it would have to wait, though, for it was around that time that his door opened. Silenos turned to gaze upon the Vampira Lilia, strolling into his laboratory as if it were hers. He decided to wait a moment, and obliterate her only if her justification was particularly sub-par.


    ¡°Good evening.¡± She began. ¡°I see you¡¯re hard at work, as usual.¡±


    It always irked Silenos when the short-lived ordinary people outside his Household insisted on the tedium of small talk, and his surprise at seeing similar behaviour from a being as ancient as this almost outweighed his fury. He buried both. There was surely some order to her behaviour, after two millennia.


    ¡°One of several vital projects.¡± He replied. ¡°But you have not come here out of mere curiosity, what is it that you want?¡±


    The Vampire smiled.


    ¡°Very well, to business then. You are centuries old, I believe.¡±


    ¡°Not yet two.¡± Silenos corrected. ¡°But close.¡±


    It seemed to surprise the creature.


    ¡°Really? You carry yourself like one of considerably greater age, interesting. Well, either way, you are certainly among the greatest experts of Fleshcrafting and Necromancy to set foot in this world.¡±


    ¡°The greatest that ever will.¡± Silenos corrected. The Vampire did not contradict him, nor did it agree.


    ¡°As you say. And my visit here is to inquire as to whether you might use that knowledge to free my kind of our greatest weakness.¡±


    Ah, Silenos might have known. She had come to him for preservation from the sun. He would have done much the same. Vampires were an interesting breed, he had decided, and demanded further study. Certainly inferior to the purer forms of immortality his people had discovered- even within the soul bounds of Necromancy, Lichdom was by far the better choice. They had considerable power, longevity, and a degree of other advantages over even a potent enough caster to become one.


    But their reliance on blood, their bestial instincts. Their vulnerability to sunlight and enfeeblement during the day. It was all simply untenable. Yes, Silenos would be doing just what Lilia did now if he were in her position.


    ¡°You are aware that what you suffer from is a supernatural affliction.¡± He noted, confirming the fact with a hasty glance from his arcane sight. Vampiric magic was strange, and¡­Yes, Abyssal in nature. Touched by an Entity. Clearly Esotericism was at work in it. Whether Lilia knew that, he was not sure.


    ¡°Of course.¡± She replied. ¡°That much has been obvious for quite some time. You know a man once tried to destroy me using magic he claimed to have been perfected in its ability to conjure the same style of light as the sun.¡±


    ¡°Ultraviolet?¡± Silenos inquired. The Vampire looked at him, blankly, and he sighed. Expected, he supposed. ¡°Continue.¡±


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    She did.


    ¡°Well, to cut a long story short- at the cost of removing all the most entertaining parts- his false-sunlight did me no more harm than might the warmth of a campfire. And then I drained his blood.¡±


    Once more, the Vampire¡¯s tongue ran along her lips as she said that, gaze seeming to intensify as it fell upon Silenos¡¯ eyes. Was that some sort of verbal tic? He decided to investigate the idiosyncrasy later.


    ¡°May I examine you?¡± He asked.


    The Vampire smiled.


    ¡°Of course, I would be remiss to deny such a vital step of the process.¡±


    She stepped forwards, splaying her arms, and Silenos approached cautiously. With a single touch he could feel the woman¡¯s millennia.


    Aside from the raw, crushing power which came naturally to any caster whose life continued for long enough, there were certain tells of a person¡¯s age to be found within their magic. Skill, obviously, though that could easily be mistaken for raw talent. As could a simple weight of power for that matter. Indeed, the rate at which any two individuals accumulated magical prowess varied so much that Silenos had found, in his many decades studying it, there was truly only one way that even approximated a fool-proof metric for assessing another¡¯s age.


    It was the density of traps, pitfalls, feints and misdirections wrapped around them.


    He carefully navigated the labyrinthine preparations of Lilia¡¯s magic, allowing himself to study each one as he bypassed it, and consider them all fully. There was not a dual-nature, as he had seen in the Vampire¡¯s spawn Hexeri. Silenos saw at least three distinct kinds of magic. Blood and Shadow, yes, but Necromancy, too. True Necromancy, and¡­


    No, four. Because he found a mastery over wills and minds among many of the defences as well. Even in House Shaiagrazni, four distinct magic types was a rarity- the inherently exceptional ability of any caster to consort with Entities aside- that few could claim. Perhaps one in ten who shared Silenos¡¯ name did so, and almost all were over one thousand years into their studies.


    Among all of his Household, a scarce handful had ever reached the height of five. Even Silenos¡¯ own Master, he believed, grasped only six. It was a chilling sight.


    The purposes of Lilia¡¯s defences were varied and inscrutable. Some were almost crude in their design, boasting techniques and measures made redundant in House Shaiagrazni before even the Vampire¡¯s birth, while others involved techniques that actually exceeded even theirs.


    It truly was like meeting an Elder of his Household. One who had acted independently from all the rest, and grown disparate in their knowledge as a result. Silenos would have been humbled, were he not studying a Necromantic, subhuman automaton fit only for carrying out his glorious will.


    He persevered in his examination, noting that each of the defences was turned from him and laxed, but not deactivated. At a thought, the Vampire might ensnare him in all of them. With their magic so interwoven he would be destroyed, instantly, if she did. And so Silenos kept his mind focused carefully on ensuring that his own thought of breaking the connection came first.


    ¡°A waste.¡± He murmured, deciding that distracting her was just as much a boon as focusing himself.


    Fortunately, the Vampire took his bait. Unless she was merely pretending to.


    ¡°What is?¡± She frowned.


    ¡°You.¡± Silenos clarified. ¡°Your power is breathtaking. Had you been inducted into House Shaiagrazni a thousand- even a hundred- years ago, you would be far beyond my own abilities now.¡±


    The Vampire studied him.


    ¡°Most men would never say that, regardless of its truth.¡± She noted. ¡°Pride would stop them.¡±


    Silenos felt the disgust creeping into his cognition like grease in a whirring machine.


    ¡°Pride.¡± He echoed. ¡°An odious concept. There is no pride, nor is there humility. There is only the basic fact of one¡¯s excellence, and either an ability or inability to properly assess it. Everything else is illusory.¡±


    He had not said those words in over a hundred years. He had not needed to, and they took his thoughts back a moment to his days as an aspirant. Young. So, so young. And foolish. Silenos had not yet been taught of the world, all he¡¯d known of it was the burning fields of so many wars, and the simple, bare fact that those who could not produce such carnage were doomed to suffer beneath it.


    ¡°You really believe that, don¡¯t you?¡± The Vampire asked.


    Silenos was in the present once more, irritated for a reason he could not quite grasp.


    ¡°It does not matter what I believe, it is the truth. Pride serves nobody, least of all the people feeling it.¡±


    ¡°But are you not pleased to be so potent a caster?¡± She challenged. ¡°Delight and relish at knowing your magic to be so totally unrivalled, that could surely be called a form of pride.¡±


    Silenos was almost halfway to answering before he realised what he¡¯d almost fallen for, and paused. He decided to reply anyway. The information was far from sensitive.


    ¡°I am not the greatest caster I have ever encountered.¡± He told the woman. ¡°I am not even counted amongst them. Within House Shaiagrazni there are dozens whose power, skill or intellect surpass mine- at least for the time being. My talent is unprecedented, but that is all.¡±


    Surprise did not appear to be in the Vampire¡¯s facial arsenal, for she didn¡¯t flash so much as an instant of it.


    ¡°Fascinating.¡± She replied.


    They drifted to silence at that, and Silenos let his wits drift further. Finally, he broke contact.


    ¡°I have seen enough.¡± He told the Vampire, eying her warily now. ¡°You know, I take it, where your magic comes from?¡±


    She smiled.


    ¡°We call them Demons here.¡±


    Silenos did not roll his eyes, her power and knowledge was just barely sufficient to earn that courtesy.


    ¡°Entities,¡± He replied, ¡°Are a common sight among House Shaiagrazni, for reasons I imagine you well know. Summoned properly, bound well, they are forces beyond the magic of any caster. Even ones of my creed.¡±


    ¡°Which makes them even more dangerous than they are useful.¡± She noted. ¡°And, of course, immediately raises questions about your ability to overcome the side-effects of a curse borne from their blood and power.¡±


    It did, and Silenos did not bother mustering any surprise to see Lilia¡¯s deduction either. He would have been rather disappointed to witness anything less.


    ¡°The Entity from which your power stems is more tightly woven into it than I have encountered personally. The magic is¡­Considerable, and it is¡­Entity magic.¡±


    She considered that.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t follow the rules both of us have grown accustomed to.¡± Lilia guessed.


    ¡°It does not.¡± He concurred, considering the problem. ¡°It would be a considerable investment to put the necessary time into fixing this, even if it is possible.¡±


    The Vampire smiled.


    ¡°And yet, as someone who has just seen both the weight and sharpness of my magic, you must surely realise that granting me the ability to walk unimpeded by day would be a greater reward still.¡±


    She had orchestrated it all on purpose, from the start. Silenos nodded.


    ¡°I concur.¡±

 Book 2: Chapter 31

    Travel was slow without Swick¡¯s skyship, but he¡¯d gotten enough time to adjust. It bothered him, but it didn¡¯t stun him. Not anymore. This was just the state he¡¯d left for himself with his drunken manoeuvre.


    The Hand, at least, had been willing to use Shaiagrazni¡¯s provided transportation. The special carriages Swick had first used to reach Kaltan. They moved autonomously, grinding away at the earth and dragging their passengers along fast enough to clear scores of miles within the span of an hour, slowing only when particularly difficult terrain forced them too.


    Satisfyingly, the Hand was rather perturbed by them. Most people were.


    A life of living, fighting and potentially dying atop the back of a skyship had probably inoculated Swick to the fears he¡¯d seen so commonly directed at Shaiagrazni¡¯s carriages. In theory, they really weren¡¯t that different from his own vessel. Self-powered, automated, controlled via thought and instinct as much as steered through mechanical means. That tended to make newer crewmen uncomfortable, too, when they first found out. Had the ship been made from living tissue, Swick imagined the effect would have been a great deal more intense.


    Intense or no, they¡¯d have been idiots to pass up the chance at one. Anyone would. And Swick was reminded of that no more than when he rode on one of Shaiagrazni¡¯s genius carriages, and felt how slow it moved compared to his own.


    That movement took the better part of two days to take Swick and the Hand as far as they needed to travel. Far from Kaltan, and almost as far back as Elkatin. Elkatin, the first city Shaiagrazni set foot in. The birthplace of their latest allies. Were Swick a poetic man, he might have had something to comment on regarding that. Instead he just kept his eyes ahead and waited for them to reach their destination.


    ¡°Torib is a larger city.¡± The Hand told him. ¡°A few dozen leagues from Elkatin, it was actually inadvertently saved by Shaiagrazni as the Dark Lord¡¯s forces attacked this region. Had he not made such a fierce defence with the Paladins, the Dark Lord¡¯s Liches would likely have taken their time emptying its streets into more undead. Instead they had to act quickly, to keep an enemy Dark Caster from bolstering his own forces.¡±


    Swick thought about that.


    ¡°You¡¯re not expecting them to be grateful to him surely.¡±


    ¡°Of course not.¡± The Hand snorted. ¡°In moments of fortune, people think of God. It¡¯s only moments of ill fortune that they think of others.¡±


    That actually sounded about right to Swick, and he shifted his opinion of the Hand somewhat. This was a man who did know something of others, at least.


    ¡°Torib.¡± He murmured, thinking on the name and not taking long to draw up the relevant information. ¡°Ah, city of outlaws. One of the bigger ones. It used to be a favourite spot of mine.¡±


    ¡°Back before you lost the ability to travel the world without being arrested.¡± The Hand noted, and Swick scowled.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    They sat out the remainder of their journey in silence, which was rather uncomfortable for Swick, but a great deal better than constantly being reminded of his little accident by everyone around him. Their carriage closed to within a mile of its walls before they stopped it behind a hill. It was not the black silt local to Kaltan¡¯s area, rather a more mundane dirt and grassy covering, but the cover it provided would serve just as well.


    ¡°Best not to let our transport be seen.¡± Swick explained as they began their walk. ¡°It¡¯d be nice to have it nearby in case we need to escape, but not worth the attention it¡¯ll bring. Even criminals don¡¯t tend to like Fleshcrafters.¡±


    The Hand nodded in swift understanding.


    A mile¡¯s walk was nothing for Swick, but he¡¯d expected to see some difficulty in the Hand¡¯s own trek. Apparently, Arbite men- even the chair-hogging administrators- were made of sturdier stuff than was common to other lands. Even well into his middle years he kept a brisk pace, and the two of them closed in on the city¡¯s gates in under five minutes. Swick wondered how quickly they might have run the distance.


    After so long spent around the most extreme of militarism, Swick had almost forgotten what a normal city looked like. Its wall, twenty feet high, seemed somehow petty and insubstantial, stony barricade striking him as pitiably thin and fragile. One hit from Shaiagrazni¡¯s cannons would blast clean through, one swing from the Godblade would sweep away an entire section. Even Baird¡¯s bow wouldn¡¯t take long to drill through, albeit with a smaller opening.


    The Hand seemed to share his impression.


    ¡°Lucky indeed that Shaiagrazni made so many issues for the Dark Lord in Elkatin.¡± He noted. ¡°Or else he would have a million more servitors shambling about in his hordes.¡±


    Swick was in agreement. He wasn¡¯t a siege fighter by any means, but one didn¡¯t serve as so prolific a mercenary as him without understanding the basics at least. If an army even one twentieth the size of the one Kaltan had driven away were to attack this city, they¡¯d be fucked.


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    The guards seemed to know it, too, because they kept their eyes down and their faces turned carefully away as Swick and the Hand made their way in past the outer gate. It was a familiar set of behaviours- those carried out by dangerous men. Dogs that barked didn¡¯t bite, and all that. Swick felt a mix of apprehension and familiarity to be walking through such a place.


    Mud streets met them inside, embracing Swick¡¯s every footfall with a celebratory chorus of squelching deformation. He looked around. The buildings were wood for the most part, squat and grimy, the streets uncomfortably crowded. He felt fingers graze his pockets twice, and confounded both attempts with fractional leans too small to break his stride.


    He was used to that, and he was used to the stares, too. Fame was a problem, sometimes, after all. And Swick¡¯s fame was never so strongly felt as in disreputable surroundings. The longer they walked, the more eyes he found tilting towards him with recognition. Some with avarice, others with the premonitions of violence.


    There was a price on his head. He¡¯d known that for years, and yet he¡¯d not had to get used to wandering around relatively on his own until recently. His apprehension was soon vindicated.


    A corner turned, a moment¡¯s delay, and the sound of heavy boots grinding against dirt. In moments Swick and the Hand were surrounded on all sides. Ten men, all big, all moving in that light, loping way men did when their bodies were twitching with unused Vigour. He forced a smile, and didn¡¯t go for his knife. Better to draw it all at once in the instant he attacked, and leave them all the more confounded about where it came from.


    ¡°Hello there, mister Swick.¡± One of them grinned, revealing a copper tooth and a half-healed jawbone. ¡°I almost didn¡¯t recognise you, now wouldn¡¯t that have been a shame?¡±


    ¡°It would.¡± Swick agreed, smiling back, ¡°I¡¯d have missed out on your wonderful conversation.¡±


    Eleven men, he realised, not ten. One was creeping on a rooftop, bow in hand. The Hand was shifting, fingers twitching for a shortsword. The men who saw that were growing tense, things were drawing close to an incendiary escalation.


    ¡°You know why we¡¯re speaking, don¡¯t you?¡± The leader asked. ¡°Just make this easy and-¡±


    Swick¡¯s lunge came at the same exact moment as the drawing of his first knife, the dragging of his finger along its edge, and the flicking of his hand behind him. He¡¯d already buried the blade hilt-deep into the speaker¡¯s skull before even a single of his allies could move. Then he translocated to the flicked ichor as it splashed against one of the men who¡¯d been behind him.


    It had been so long since Swick had fought anything other than undead or superhumans that he¡¯d almost forgotten the grade of power actually commonplace among mercenaries, even those with a touch of Vigour in them. The edge of his blade parted scalp and skull as if they were cloth, biting down deep to split the man¡¯s head down to his upper lip. He twisted the weapon out and spun, taking off another at the neck to mark his third kill. By then, others were moving.


    The Hand was as impressive in battle as he had been in the mile-walk, because he was the first to attack. His shortsword took a man at his shoulder, hacking the arm entirely off and continuing to open another¡¯s belly with the backswing. The noble just barely darted back from a nasty-looking axe, and into the path of another which bit down into his back, but bounced off the superior musculature protecting it. Then the arrow was flying.


    Compared to Baird¡¯s arrows- or even any other Kaltan Ranger¡¯s- the projectile was pitifully slow. Swick had all the time in the world to watch it shoot for the Hand, carefully aiming his dagger before hurling it to smash the wooden shaft to pieces, then continue and stick into the chest of a fourth enemy for good measure. Before the man had even finished crumpling to the dirt, he¡¯d rolled from the path of another swing and lashed out with his remaining knife to open all the big veins in the attacker¡¯s thigh.


    That made five kills for Swick, and now only four mercenaries remained.


    But that was no mercenaries, really, because the last few took one look at what had happened to their comrades in so tiny a span of time and turned to sprint away. Swick let them go, even as he saw the Hand half-wavering to give chase.


    ¡°Bastards.¡± The noble growled.


    ¡°They are.¡± Swick agreed. ¡°You¡¯ll be seeing a lot of their types in my circles, given what a bastard I am too. Turn around, let me take a look at that back wound of yours.¡±


    The noble grumbled, but obliged. Swick was well used to checking wounds, and he was quick about it. The enemy had done him a favour by parting expensive fabrics to expose the injury.


    Below the cloth, there was steel. Carefully worked into mail links which fell in fractals as he parted the ruined clothing atop. Beneath that Swick saw the blood, and he probed around in the gory mess for a few moments- ignoring the winces and hissed pains of the noble- to be sure of his assessment.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine.¡± He told the man. ¡°It¡¯s nothing, he would¡¯ve cut wood deeper than he did your flesh.¡±


    Which was impressive. Swick found himself reassessing the man once more. Not a Hero, not even close to a Hero, but he was¡­Something, at least. In physical prowess alone he might have been a match for Collin Baird, before Shaiagrazni strengthened his biology with Fleshcrafting. There weren¡¯t many who could say that much.


    ¡°King Galukar insisted on a certain martial ability for all his council.¡± The Hand explained. ¡°Even those without a martial role.¡±


    ¡°Makes sense.¡± Swick shrugged. ¡°Captain needs to be able to deal with a mutiny, even if he¡¯s alone. Otherwise he¡¯s too easy to pick off.¡±


    The Hand did not seem impressed by his feedback.


    ¡°Perhaps things are different on a ship than they are in a city, sir.¡± He sniffed. ¡°But I will bear you in mind if I ever seek the advice of one who¡¯s experience of leadership involves herding drunkards towards a common victim.¡±


    Prick.


    Swick might have even said something about it, had the voice not rung out and turned his eyes down across the alley.


    ¡°Impressive work, but then people don¡¯t get half your bounty without that sort of performance, do they Captain?¡±


    He turned, instantly, and his heart sank at the sight of the speaking men. Two dozen of them now, not eleven, and all uniformed. Uniformed with clothes emblazoned with etchings of long, red hands. The speaker was a towering man with a hair, and right hand, just as red as the fabric on their clothes. Eyepatched and glaring. One-Eyed Red, the man whose brother had died serving Swick.


    ¡°Friends of yours?¡± The Hand asked, not knowing even a tenth of what rabbit hole he was jumping down.


    Swick did know them. He knew the Red Finger Crew like few others. After all, once upon a time¡­They¡¯d been his own men.

 Book 2: Chapter 32

    One-Eye didn¡¯t gloat. He was cocky, or else the Red Fingers wouldn¡¯t have introduced themselves before attacking, but even he knew better than to give Swick a chance to act before the violence started. His men came in as a great wave, and all Swick could do was hurriedly snatch his knife from the dead man¡¯s chest to meet them.


    It was a near thing, too, because Swick wasn¡¯t nearly as fast compared to these men as he¡¯d been against the last. The quickest of them already had a spear at his face by the time he turned, forcing Swick to dodge into the path of an axe. He barely parried that, and while he did another bastard closed with a longsword that actually nicked his shoulder. Two more had the corpse he¡¯d flicked blood on surrounded, ready to stab if he translocated to it, so he just danced away for the time being.


    The Hand came in at Swick¡¯s side, almost earning himself a reflexively thrown knife to the face, and parried a swing with his sword, grunting with exertion. Swick ducked another, hacking for its wielder¡¯s arm and feeling the satisfying touch of steel against bone. He wasn¡¯t able to even relish the sensation for an instant before more weapons came at him.


    It was like trying to slice away the grains of a sandstorm, so numerous were the attacks. Each one Swick smacked aside was replaced. Vigour kept him ahead of them, moving twice or thrice by the time any of his enemies did once, but their numbers and coordination were such that he didn¡¯t have even a single free breath. Nearly all of his wits were kept focused just on living, even as the Hand fought at his shoulder to stave off those few blows he could.


    Nearly all of Swick¡¯s wits, but not all of them entirely. It was for this reason that his mind still clicked into place, just in time. He twisted, went low and slashed, grimacing as the man who¡¯d been sneaking up behind him fell back with a belly now spilling out slimy, pink entrails. It was a classic Red Finger tactic.


    It doesn¡¯t make sense, he thought. It was a strange idea to have bouncing around in his skull, given the circumstances, but strange ideas kept one alive in the long-term, so long as they didn¡¯t distract a man too much from the short.


    Swick felt a spear nick his leg, then slashed a man¡¯s face down to the cheekbone. Short term was¡­Mixed in success, he decided.


    The Fingers had plenty of reason to hate him, but not to be in this shithole of a city. Last Swick had heard, they¡¯d been finding work far in the North and living the high life for its abundance. Something had dragged them south, and he imagined it was related to the heightened demand for his head.


    The Dark Lord must¡¯ve put a new bounty on me, one big enough to move even heavy-hitters like them against me. Which means¡­


    He was trying to keep Shaiagrazni from gaining control of the air with the repair of Swick¡¯s skyship. On the one hand, it was flattering to be considered such a threat. On the other¡­


    An axe missed him by an inch, and its wielder screamed as Swick jabbed the bastard¡¯s eye out with a dagger, then twisted aside from a crossbow bolt which looked fast enough to bury its entire length in stone.


    On the other hand, he really didn¡¯t care for the quality of killer that such a fear seemed to be sending after him.


    A cry caught Swick¡¯s ear, and he turned. The Hand was nursing a shoulder wound that hadn¡¯t been there a few moments ago, a stab, and it looked a lot deeper than the axe-bite had been. Swick thought about his situation for a quarter-second at most, then acted.


    He cut a finger, splayed his hand outwards and splashed as many of the attackers as he could. All were familiar with his powers, a disadvantage. But familiarity could bite the one who held it if played right. While they were busy flailing, panicking and trying to think of all the counters they¡¯d practised to keep him from translocating a knife into their guts, Swick turned to grab the Hand and used his power to drag the both of them high into the air.


    ¡­Where he¡¯d thrown his knife with the motion used to splash blood on everyone.


    Swick caught the blade, caught the Hand, and twisted as they both plummeted. They hit a roof, Swick¡¯s shoulders impacting first and smashing the fragile wood to pieces. He wasn¡¯t a warrior, not a Knight or Paladin. His bodily resilience was more akin to a Ranger than either of them.


    But, despite how close he¡¯d come to forgetting it over the years of boozing, Swick was a damned Hero, and that meant a level of raw Vigour which forced excellence in almost everything, regardless of specialisation. They burst through the roof, ceiling, then a floor before finally coming to a stop in the bottom of the building amid a pile of debris and a cloud of dust.


    For one moment, Swick just lay there and coughed. Interesting magic, translocation. He¡¯d thrown the knife as hard as he could- hard enough to send it perhaps the better part of a mile- but that didn¡¯t mean that he had moved that fast. He hadn¡¯t shared his target¡¯s momentum, just its location. Which meant that when he and the Hand had appeared beside it, they¡¯d simply dropped right down. Good luck that there¡¯d been a nice, soft house beneath them to break their fall, because they¡¯d probably been over a hundred feet up.


    On the other hand, these finer details weren¡¯t something most people knew. Swick reckoned that more than one of the Red Fingers had seen his knife in flight, and they¡¯d probably guessed that he¡¯d translocated to it.


    Which meant, if he was lucky, they¡¯d be focusing on the area around its likely point of landing, had he not snatched it down with him. Thousands of feet away from where Swick himself currently was.


    He did find it hard not to brag, sometimes. Swick couldn¡¯t invent new magics or create giant monsters that spat toxic gas, like Shaiagrazni. And he couldn¡¯t glance at two armies and predict exactly how their fight would turn out like Baird. But he could damned well trick a man, given half a chance. And that was good enough for the most part.


    ¡°What the bloody hell is wrong with you!?¡± The Hand roared, snapping Swick out of his smug stupor. The noble thrashed wildly atop him, scrambling off of Swick, then coughing and spluttering his way to a stumbling half-stand as he rocked across the inside of the room.


    It was noon, thereabouts, and their surroundings were rather exposed thanks to the hole they¡¯d left in the ceiling, but there was so much damned dust in the air that the light was scarcely even reaching the walls fifteen feet across.


    Swick got to his own feet, sighing.


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    ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡±


    The Hand glared at him.


    ¡°For almost breaking my neck?¡±


    That, at last, actually irritated Swick.


    ¡°For dragging you out of a death match we couldn¡¯t win, sending the enemy a thousand yards off your trail and breaking your fall with my own damned body. Or do you think twelve stone of arsehole and another one and a half of chainmail is pleasant to feel crunching down into your chest skull-first?¡±


    Surprisingly, the Hand actually paused. His lips thinned, nostrils flared, and then, slowly, he nodded.


    ¡°I¡­Apologise.¡± He said, stiffly.


    Swick waited for more, an elaboration, some thanks perhaps, but it seemed that was all he¡¯d get. He might have even pushed the matter had his leg not flared up in agony at that exact moment.


    ¡°Bugger!¡± He gasped, feeling it threaten to collapse under his weight. The Hand eyed him warily as Swick limped to lean against a wall, hastily pulling up his trouser leg and studying the wound.


    It did not look good.


    Swick hadn¡¯t even felt the injury, but that was no surprise. Sometimes the frenzy of battle would leave a man numb to the most grievous of wounds. This wasn¡¯t that, he was in no danger of losing the leg, let alone bleeding to death, but Swick could recognise a gnarly ruin when he saw it. Somewhere, somehow, he¡¯d been gashed deep enough to almost reach the bone, and luck alone had saved him from an arterial wound. The muscle of his limb had been mangled, torn or, at best, bruised, and he could feel its enfeeblement with every movement. It was a wonder he hadn¡¯t noticed his own slowness in the fight.


    Or rather, it was evidence that he¡¯d taken the blow right at its end. The pain was increasing with every second, and Swick knew that it wouldn¡¯t stop any time soon. He¡¯d live, but he wouldn¡¯t enjoy it for a good while.


    ¡°You¡¯ll live.¡± The Hand noted, suddenly beside him. Swick looked up.


    He wasn¡¯t delusional enough to think the noble was speaking out of concern, he just wanted to know whether his best chance of surviving the city would be likely to keel over. Swick could hardly blame him.


    ¡°I agree.¡± He grunted, standing, wincing, forcing back the waves of throbbing pain. ¡°But I won¡¯t be dancing for a while, best avoid any more fights with people who can actually give us a run for our money.¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡± The Hand nodded, turning for the door. ¡°It should be safe outside, yes? You mentioned throwing the enemy off our trail by a thousand yards.¡±


    ¡°Probably.¡± Swick replied, readying his knives just in case. ¡°You never know, but my best guess is we¡¯re in the clear.¡±


    The Hand seemed far from happy with that, which Swick also couldn¡¯t blame him for, but he was decent enough to get the door himself.


    As luck would have it- or sheer probability at least- they were in the clear. For the time being. Swick was under no illusions about their chances of evading the Red Fingers for long. He¡¯d captained most of those men long enough to know they were sharp as well as tough, and the raw brute strength they could throw around as a fighting force meant answers would be all too easily extracted from anywhere in the city they cared to check.


    Swick¡¯s count started the moment the first citizen saw him, because that was when word began to spread. He hurried to ensure that he wasn¡¯t outraced by the deadly waves of gossip running outwards in every direction.


    As he and the Hand shot through the city, Swick was finally able to test the man¡¯s true limits. As he might have suspected, they were not so great. A powerful Ranger¡¯s strength, and a helping more than most Knights, but his speed in mail was still worse than Swick¡¯s with a wounded leg. The two of them nonetheless made swift progress through the city, leaving gaping faces and snarling curses well in their wake as the wind carried them on.


    ¡°Everything always goes to shit.¡± The Hand whispered, seemingly to himself.


    ¡°Used to this?¡± Swick asked him, reckoning he could do with a distraction. The noble glared.


    ¡°The worst thing about today is King Galukar has almost been proven right. He insisted all his councillors learn to fight, because that was what made a man. Well today that idiocy has saved my life.¡±


    Swick grinned. He could very much relate, more than once stupidity had saved him, too. It made men unpredictable, and a predictable man was very hard to catch.


    Somehow, he got the feeling he¡¯d best start getting clever, all the same.


    <hr>


    Ado¡¯s cell was grimy. It was tight, it was tiny. Its walls were bare, jagged, untreated stone. Its cracks were numerous and wide. The ceiling leaked, the floor housed insect hives. By night it was torturously cold, by day it was torturously hot. Always it was isolating and mind-numbing, a constant, crushing pressure on her wits that threatened to squeeze away every semblance of cognition as it compressed hours into minutes, to seconds, to no time at all.


    In short, it was an actual cell. The sort she¡¯d have been thrown in from the start, had she not been carrying the blood of a monarch in her veins. The sort which would have awaited Collin Baird, who she¡¯d always judged for his low birth.


    Just as the people who¡¯d designed her cell would have done.


    The third day- or rather, after the third period of sleep which Ado had decided designated the separation between days in her timeless prison- was when Folami paid her his first visit. She might have turned him away, thirty hours earlier, but time in captivity had a way of gnawing away at all things. Will more than anything.


    Her brother looked rather disgusted by Ado¡¯s surroundings, and she¡¯d expected that. What surprised her was to see his disgust aimed at her own self, too. Ado didn¡¯t have access to a mirror of course, but she had a nose. She knew full well how she reeked. Washing had been a privilege not much seen to in her confinement, and apparently it showed.


    ¡°Why did you have to speak out, Ado?¡± He asked, face splitting for a moment to let irritation and sympathy bubble out past the revulsion. It was worse, she decided. Worse by far.


    ¡°Because what I said needed saying.¡± Ado lied. ¡°And if you¡¯re just here to remind me of my poor decisions then I¡¯d sooner you just turn around and fuck off.¡±


    Folami looked aghast.


    ¡°And now you curse, too. How far you¡¯ve fallen, you were once so ladylike. So sweet, so inn-¡±


    ¡°Eat shit.¡± Ado interrupted, and relished the look of horror upon her brother¡¯s face for the moments it lasted. ¡°If you have something of substance to say, say it. If not then just leave me alone. I already know what my mistakes were and weren¡¯t, I don¡¯t need you smugly reminding me. Run off and enjoy being King, your highness. For however long you last.¡±


    It had been petty of her, a reply Ado aimed to do nothing more than wound her brother as deeply and bitterly as she could manage in so limited a context. Still, she reckoned she¡¯d earned herself a bit of pettiness.


    ¡°Shall I just go then?¡± Folami replied, thoughts apparently finished crystallising, and forming themselves into a structure of notably equal spite to Ado¡¯s own. ¡°Because I don¡¯t want to be here, you know. I don¡¯t enjoy watching my sister fucking rot away over nothing.¡±


    Ado was so surprised to hear him swearing that she almost didn¡¯t register the sincerity in his voice. It was a harder, deeper-sounding punch to her gut than anything he could possibly have dreamt up as a retort. She could handle chauvinism and spite, sympathy, though¡­That was something else.


    Folami held her gaze for a long moment, then started for the door in a storm of contempt. Ado let him get a whole two steps before her thoughts galvanised, and she spoke.


    ¡°You¡­This isn¡¯t all finished.¡± She managed, needing to fight her own convulsive throat for every damned word it formed. ¡°I know things look bad, I know my case is poor, but it¡¯s not finished. The King, he¡¯s sympathetic. More so than the High Priest at least. I can reach him- I know I can. I just need to try in a private conversation, away from other people and their expectations.¡±


    It took a precipitously long moment for Folami to turn, and that told Ado more than anything else how close he was to simply leaving her. She wondered how much he wanted to. Things would surely be much easier for him if she died, and she¡¯d seen herself how much pleasure he took from their roles. Whatever he said.


    But still, he turned.


    ¡°Ado¡­¡± His face looked torn, pained. She half-expected him to need more convincing, and wasn¡¯t sure how she¡¯d even go about it. But then her brother¡¯s eyes hardened.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can.¡± Folami breathed, at last. ¡°But I¡¯m barely even a King here, outside of formality. You probably worked that out yourself already.¡±


    She had, at that. Ado saw nothing to gain by telling him, though, and everything to lose, so she kept it to herself.

 Book 2: Chapter 33

    The King did not look bigger, now that Ado had been diminished in her power. That was curious.


    She¡¯d noticed long ago- or rather, several months that felt long ago- how most of the men she knew were lessened in her current eyes compared to the towering beasts they¡¯d once been. Ado had thought that might simply be down to the power they once had over her, and held no longer. Now she knew differently.


    Whether anything would come of her epiphany, she didn¡¯t know. The King¡¯s voice rang out before she could much process it, dancing along the walls of his expansive study, reverberating through indulgent chandeliers and sliding across thick carpeting.


    ¡°How many last chances do you intend to have us give you?¡± The man asked, sounding more¡­Weary than anything. There was the same look to his eyes that Ado had glimpsed before, but now it had evolved into outright pity.


    She could understand why, at least, but that still needled her. She was not to be pitied.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t my chance.¡± Ado told him. ¡°It¡¯s yours.¡±


    The King frowned, his brow furrowing with a depth that only the perpetually worried could ever muster.


    ¡°What are you implying girl?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not implying anything.¡± Ado replied. ¡°I¡¯m spelling it out clearly for you. This is your last chance to save your people.¡±


    Before the King could even sigh his exasperation, let alone have her escorted back to her cell, Ado pressed on.


    ¡°And I¡¯m not talking about what the Dark Lord will do should he win, either. I¡¯m telling you what Silenos Shaiagrazni¡¯s wrath will be like. That is your real concern, believe me.¡±


    At last, that had him listening. Tentatively, perhaps, more from curiosity than urgency, but that was far more than Ado had been working with before.


    ¡°You seem to think he¡¯ll be licking his wounds if he wins, but I¡¯m sorry to say that could not be farther from the truth. Whichever side comes out victorious in this bout, they will have absorbed much of the enemy side¡¯s army. Hundreds of thousands of undead- in Shaiagrazni¡¯s case exceedingly potent ones- and suddenly without their greatest enemy. And Shaiagrazni¡¯s sights would be set upon you, instantly.¡±


    The King¡¯s face coloured, with fear or rage Ado wasn¡¯t sure.


    ¡°Why the hell would they?!¡± He demanded. God, it never ceased to amaze Ado how slow on the uptake the world¡¯s rulers could be.


    ¡°Because, as of this moment, you have unlawfully imprisoned a diplomatic emissary from his nation. Within a few days, you¡¯ll have executed her. Aside from this being a gross violation of diplomatic conduct- one that the rest of the world will not soon forget when considering negotiation with you- it is also an act of direct contempt towards House Shaiagrazni themselves. Tell me, how do you think Silenos Shaiagrazni is likely to respond to something like that? Because I¡¯ve seen how he reacted to mere resistance. I will never unsee it, no matter how long I live. My father now lives, forever, as a part of his cloak. In agony, conscious, and eternal. And all he did was fight back.¡±


    Ado could not have drained the colour from the old King¡¯s face more quickly even if she¡¯d cut his throat instead of speaking.


    ¡°You¡­.How could you serve a creature like that?¡±


    The question had no political aim at all, that she could see. It was pure confusion. Ado found herself considering it, too. How could she?


    Because she¡¯d been ambitious, rejected by wider society for reasons beyond her control or merits, overlooked and scorned by all except Shaiagrazni himself. But that was not all, or at least not anymore. Somewhere along the way Ado had realised that Shaiagrazni had a point about it all. If she could be so easily overlooked, why not others?


    ¡°Because the choice I have been left with,¡± She replied, ¡°Is between a cruel man, and a world of fools. I will choose the cruel man. He, at least, can be reasoned with.¡±


    She was almost surprised to hear the truth from herself.


    The King was silent for a long while after that, simply falling back into himself as if he were concentrating on some great effort of physicality. Ado knew better than to interrupt him. He was thinking, considering what she¡¯d said, and if she just waited there was a very strong chance he¡¯d do the rest of her work for her.


    He was afraid of Silenos, she knew. Utterly and completely. And the terror that gripped him was such that it pushed him away from the very notion of acting against the caster. No matter how wise it may have been- and Ado firmly believed defying House Shaiagrazni was about the least wise thing he could do- he¡¯d be biassed against the notion.


    In this, she saw power. In this she saw the genius of Shaiagrazni¡¯s deeds. The world would have hated him already, no matter what he did, simply for the justice of his cause. And so he had turned that hatred into trembling, seizing fear. Because fear could be used.


    ¡°You would have me free you.¡± The King said at last, voice tight as a strangling noose, face purple as the man whose neck it was about.


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    ¡°I would.¡± Ado nodded. ¡°For a start, that is, you understand you¡¯ll have a lot to make up for even after earning Shaiagrazni¡¯s mercy. And his mercy is in short supply these days.¡±


    The King¡¯s eyes were affixed on the floor as if someone had bolted them there.


    ¡°Even if everything you say is true, I am not the man to resolve it. My influence in this city is second to the High Priest. Surely you know that.¡±


    As a fact, she did.


    ¡°Of course.¡± Ado began, slowly, cautiously. ¡°But, with so much at stake, you must realise¡­There are other ways to do what is necessary than the direct, lawful approach. Ways of taking power and placing it where it needs to be.¡±


    <hr>


    King Galukar must have fallen two, even three hundred yards. He¡¯d landed hard, skull coming down upon a great boulder, dozens of stone in body weight and armour breaking the rock to pieces. For his part, he seemed to have taken barely even a scratch from the actual fall.


    It was the Demon¡¯s mauling which had so deeply savaged him.


    Galukar was alive when they found him, but barely. Sphera had seen sides of beef less cooked than he was. His body was littered with wounds, inches deep and¡­Festering. Some were rotting as any other injury might, remarkable only for the impossible short minutes the necrotising decay had taken to seize them. Others were aflame, hissing with steam or lightning. Even clutched by some dark, technicoloured substance that sizzled and spat like shadestuff, and ignored all Sphera¡¯s efforts to examine it.


    His blood was plentiful, and scattered out for a dozen paces around him where it had rained down. Black hair spilling out, eyes shut and tight with pain, bones nicked or cracked. The Godblade stuck in the ground just beyond his arm¡¯s reach. That, alone, was untouched. Its divine power was something Sphera had always been sceptical of, as far as she was concerned Arion Falls had had the right of it when he called it nothing more than an ancient relic made by simpletons with more magic than brains.


    But seeing it there, standing tall and unmarked where it erupted from a surrounding of molten dirt and stone¡­She could understand the reverence her men were showing as they beheld it.


    There were other, more convenient times to indulge her awe however. Sphera focused on the King.


    ¡°Healers!?¡± She demanded, looking around, frantic. ¡°We need healers!¡±


    There were not that many disadvantages to her Master¡¯s approach of rule, but among them was that it was quite hard to convince people to import into his nation. The natural self-sufficiency of Shaiagraznian magic offset this, mostly, but one area in which they lacked was casters.


    Healers, above all. A half dozen hurried forth, swarming around Galukar and blasting him with restorative spellwork. Sphera watched it all, mouth dryer by the moment.


    Everything had been hinged on King Galukar. He was their not-so-secret weapon, a man equivalent to tens of thousands all on his own, able to cross battlefields faster than any formation to either support a defence, or crush the enemy¡¯s.


    And now he was bleeding and convulsing in a pile at her feet. All because a single damned Demon had shown up.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the Demon!?¡± Sphera called out, suddenly remembering the creature- the thing- and thrown into a frenzy by the recollection. That was their biggest concern, if it had so much as a spasmodic death rattle left inside it, many more might well perish.


    ¡°Over here, sir.¡± A soldier called, Kaltan, and all the more unnerving for it. His face was a testament to human terror, wrung like a chicken¡¯s neck and pale as a sheet. Sphera almost couldn¡¯t bring herself to follow the man.


    She did, though, and the remains she saw, Sphera knew, would follow her through the rest of her life. The Demon¡¯s corpse was beyond description and comprehension. But not beyond recollection. Life was far too cruel for that.


    ¡°Burn it.¡± She whispered. ¡°And burn everything within an acre of it.¡±


    Her voice sounded shrill, squeaky. It sounded like she was a child again. Because she was. And so was each and every one of the people now surrounding her. They were all stupid, blind, simple infants stumbling through the world without the slightest idea of what it held. And Sphera¡¯s glimpse behind the curtain left her wishing for the first time in her life that she¡¯d never learn more again. Better to be an ignorant animal than subject her mind to a truth as dark as this.


    Better by far.


    Days passed, and King Galukar did not recover. Sphera knew the Godblade granted some measure of vitality to bolster the raw physical prowess of its wielder, King Galukar looking as youthful as he did at close to one hundred was proof of that.


    Apparently, the miasma of Demon-inflicted wounds was beyond even his capacity to weather. While he remained unconscious, she was left to maintain the army¡¯s cohesion by herself.


    Her Master had done a fine job of inspiring obedience, of course. Such was the bare minimum to be expected of a Shaiagrazni Named, but it was still an uphill battle for her.


    Men were scared, of course. And those few hundred who¡¯d actually seen the Demon up close were beyond scared. Sphera could empathise. When she wasn¡¯t dealing with the metaphorical nightmares of daytime command, her nights were plagued with terrors that shook her out of sleep a dozen times before dawn. Twice she shit herself, bowels laxed like a hanged man. Not once did the shame even register.


    Nothing registered anymore, except the fear.


    Within a week, though, she had adjusted. The horrors were still there, but Sphera had come to terms with the simple pragmatics of what they meant and begun to work around them. She would not fail Master Shaiagrazni simply because she was cowed by the sight of some cluster of magic. She would sooner die. Marching became Sphera¡¯s newest concern, the mundane inconveniences of orchestrating a hundred thousand pairs of boots her new torment. They made progress.


    Not as much as would have been possible under Galukar, however. Sphera saw it only now that the task had fallen to her, but that man had a way of moving men through sheer presence. It was the weight of The Hero, she supposed. Not something which could be matched by a Necromancer, not even her Master.


    With the battle¡¯s result, there would be no more holding against the Dark Lord. His forces had been just as awestruck by the Demon¡¯s death as Shaiagrazni¡¯s had by its presence, which was the sole reason Sphera was able to march from the battlefield without being swamped by cavalry. That wouldn¡¯t last, however. And her men¡¯s terror would.


    Galukar¡¯s infirmity already scythed away a great fraction of the army¡¯s combat power, and that was worsened by far as the harassing attacks finally began in earnest. Cavalry, yes, as Sphera had expected. But Demons, too. More of them.


    Not a one was half the equal of the entity which had first attacked, but all bore a whisper of its power. Giant things with too many faces, or no faces at all. Formless and dynamic, esoteric and unstoppable. They came at night, mostly, and the Kaltans were well accustomed to that. But it made little difference. Their arrows punched through bodies of liquid, casters¡¯ fireballs sizzling out against the weight of magic infusing their enemies. Lives were lost, ground given, morale destroyed.


    Day by day they marched, bleeding out more men with every new attack, and Sphera took to spending much of her time beside the bed of King Galukar. He didn¡¯t awaken, and his wounds began to smell of that sickly sweet death-scent that betrayed a rotting body.


    She almost expected their army to match that scent, too.

 Book 2: Chapter 34

    It wasn¡¯t a good plan, but that was to be expected. All of Hexeri¡¯s good plans had gone out the window when her men were captured. And, at the very least, it wasn¡¯t an awful one either. Certainly, it was better than hiding behind a rock and waiting to be caught.


    At least, she was somewhat sure it was better.


    ¡°You¡¯re ready?¡± She asked Baird, who grunted in the exact same way he had the other times she¡¯d asked. He seemed to grunt a lot, on the mission, and Hexeri found the habit suddenly quite vexing. She made nothing of it though, rather too tied up with the prospect of her imminent death or capture to do so.


    <hr>


    Collin watched the Vampire sprint off into the night, and took another moment to appreciate just how quiet she was. Rangers trained for years to move like that, but off she went.


    Well, probably she¡¯d trained for years too. With centuries of life under her belt he imagined she¡¯d gotten practice doing most things just incidentally. Then again, Shaiagrazni apparently hadn¡¯t been in so much as a fist fight and he was barely younger.


    Collin killed that train of thought dead, having more important things to worry about than the practice of his allies. Moments passed, quick and jagged as falling stalactites, then the distraction began.


    Not easy, distracting Dark Elves. They were a diligent lot. One had to do more than just sprint through a sentry¡¯s line of sight to make them commit. That was why the Vampire dropped down in front of one and neatly twisted his head off, then put her fist into the chest of a second. Quick, easy deaths. These Elves were good, but they weren¡¯t inherently stronger than a human Knight. Fragile things of wet, crimson paper to the fists of a Vampire as old as Hexeri.


    Well that got their attention. Through the dark, Collin could clearly see as men and women- the Elves ran a mixed-sex fighting force- leapt to their feet and came storming around to give chase. Hexeri was already sprinting her way from them, crossing a dozen paces before the first flash of burning magic could illuminate the night.


    She really did look fearsome, in that light. Hair like coal, spattered with blood, eyes a deeper red than any of it. Collin had seen predatory animals interrupted from a feast with less gore and blunter teeth on them.


    And that was a good thing, because the scarier a sight the Dark Elves saw killing their men, the more of them would be inclined to give chase.


    She carried herself off at a surprisingly low pace, and Collin soon saw why. Only twenty or so Dark Elves were after her, the rest standing warily guard around their camp, suspecting exactly what was happening. For a second he feared the plan was doomed. Then Hexeri slowed, turned, and smashed into her pursuers.


    It wasn¡¯t as easy a fight as it might have been, but it was over quickly. Shadows and blood dancing around at her command, shredding the Dark Elves apart in mere seconds.


    More importantly, proving to the rest that this enemy couldn¡¯t be caught with half-measures. More broke off from the camp to pursue her now, many more. Twenty, fifty, a hundred. Then more still.


    Hexeri sprinted off into the darkness, magic flying all around her, even being clipped by one particularly close streak of lightning. She disappeared, then her pursuers did.


    Which left the camp relatively unguarded. Collin made his move.


    To begin with, he started simply. Taking out one guard, then another. He was careful not to draw his bow back its full length, ensuring that the arrows didn¡¯t produce the whip-crack signifier of supersonic flight and give away his position. Against enemies this fragile, four-tenths of their speed was more than enough.


    One after another the Elves went down, falling as a singular corpse in some cases, blown apart at the seams in most others. Collin fell into the old rhythm of combat, barely thinking save to spot targets and run through the mechanical motions of loosing another arrow. His back and shoulders began to twitch with the low heat of muscular exertion, fingers numbing and burning at once. It was a manageable strain- another advantage to keeping the projectiles slow and weak. Soon enough he¡¯d dropped more than a dozen Elves, perhaps a quarter of their defenders, and those who remained got clever.


    Boots scraped together, shoulders meeting shoulders, and they formed a solid square around their prisoners. Bound and unarmed, the Kaltans were immobilised and unable to do anything but watch their captor¡¯s backs while Collin watched their fronts.


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    Magic flashed, shields rising up. He experimented with an arrow, which broke against the arcane barrier without penetrating. Collin was too far away for even his own eyes to recognise anything on the Dark Elves¡¯ faces, but he couldn¡¯t help but imagine smugness burning away behind their eyes.


    Well, it wasn¡¯t the end of his plan. He¡¯d suspected they might have a trick up their sleeve.


    And Collin had his own.


    He crept closer, gliding through the territory as quietly as he could, keeping low and out of sight. Fortunately he¡¯d had the metallic limbs of his bow darkened, as was standard Ragner tradition, and the rest of their structure was pure keratin, so there was no risk of his position being given away in a glint of moonlight. Collin closed until he was no longer confident of doing so without being sighted, just fifty paces from the enemy¡¯s formation. Then he reached into his pack.


    Shaiagrazni was a bastard, but he really did make some powerful weapons. Collin held one of them now; an unassuming ceramic cylinder, completely filled with liquid. Even he had a hard time imagining it would do what he¡¯d been told it would, but there was hardly any choice in the matter now except to find out. Collin threw it.


    Inside, the liquid had filled as close to one hundred percent of the container as Shaiagrazni was physically able to ensure. That had been the most important part of its creation, because even the slightest bubble of air inside would have made it not only ineffective, but crushingly deadly to its wielder.


    The cylinder- apparently called a grenade- impacted its enemy. Collin let his smile bloom at the sight.


    He¡¯d known, intellectually, to expect a large explosion. But he hadn¡¯t known quite how big it would get. The liquid contained within that weapon had been more powerful than the stuff Shaiagrazni¡¯s cannons used to propel iron balls the weight of small children across miles of terrain, and Collin was fairly sure he¡¯d even used more in that device than he did in the usual cannon blast. The Dark Elves¡¯ shield shuddered, its entire length trembling and quivering as deep ripples ran along its suddenly-visible surface. It held, but barely, and Collin saw the weakness clean as day.


    Feeling generous, he helped it along to failure by putting a supersonic arrow into the part that looked weakest.


    The shield collapsed, the Elves stumbled as their magic broke, and before they¡¯d even righted themselves a second of Collin¡¯s grenades came down on top of them. He really was glad he¡¯d stashed them in so many wagons, rather than keeping them on him. Glad, too, he¡¯d heeded his father¡¯s advice to always have a spare weapon hidden within grabbing range, or else he¡¯d have snuck back to the site of their ambush and found nothing.


    More than anything though, he was glad Shaiagrazni was so good at making weapons, because the sight of close to thirty Dark Elves being blown into wet meat was satisfying on a level he struggled to describe.


    Collin recovered from the display before the survivors, which he reckoned was fair enough. An arrow caught a skull between its eyes, ripping off everything above the jaw, and those six or seven left turned and fled without another word. Also fair enough.


    But they had friends out there still, and Collin was in no mood to fight more Dark Elves than he absolutely had to. He took his time putting each one of them down before they could meet their allies, and enjoyed it as he went. It was a shame, almost, that Shaiagrazni¡¯s growing power was leaving him closer to the day where he¡¯d run out of the Dark Lords bastards to kill.


    It was what it was, he supposed.


    He reached the captives quickly, and got to work more quickly still. Plucking Dark Elf blades from the ground, he freed a dozen and handed the weapons around with orders to loose more. They, in turn, helped to untie others. Soon enough men were being unbound at a rate of hundreds per minute.


    ¡°Rangers!?¡± Collin called out, desperately sprinting among the men, searching for his chosen best. ¡°Bring me the Rangers, there¡¯s another fight coming and we need every elite we can get our hands on.¡±


    But it was dark, and Kaltans- even the best trained- were not Rangers themselves. Collin found only confusion among those he asked. Still, time was on his side. Hexeri must have been leading the rest of the Elves on a merry chase, because even with the passing minutes rapidly compressing themselves towards an hour, he soon found his men.


    The Rangers were in sorry states, half-starved. Probably the Dark Elves had done that just in case of a break-out, as they were now facing. Clever bastards. Collin was quick about preparing however. He¡¯d not been able to drag many weapons from the place they¡¯d been ambushed, regardless of how many had been there there were limits to what he could carry. A steel bow for each Ranger, and a few dozen spears for those who weren¡¯t already armed in Dark Elf weaponry.


    It was a shoddy fighting force, outnumbered two to one by the enemy. But it was a damn sight better than they¡¯d had before. Particularly with the Rangers.


    Half-starved or no, they were still Rangers. And they all moved quick and calm as they got into position before their captors could return.


    <hr>


    Ado had not actually been sure what the first step of her plan would be until the moment she suggested it. She¡¯d not much expected to even get so far as to give it voice before the King, let alone see him heed it. In the following night, though, she was given ample time to consider her words.


    She found no better alternative. Either she¡¯d chosen well or foolishly, but no matter what her strategy was the finest she herself was capable of.


    Perhaps Silenos Shaiagrazni could have done better, or rather she was almost certain he could have, but she¡¯d been alone and she¡¯d made her move without help.


    Now all that was left was seeing whether it had saved her.

 Book 2: Chapter 35

    The waiting was worse than it had been before. When Ado had first arrived in her cell, with nothing to look forward to but her own execution, the days had congealed together into a single, homogenous torment. Now she felt every second as an isolated stab at her will.


    She¡¯d never understood, as a girl, how a person might go mad in captivity. Now she knew. When everything was so similar, when each hour brought entirely nothing new, it was terribly easy to grow lost within one¡¯s own thoughts. And the thoughts of a person finding themselves jailed¡­Well, they were things to induce madness without a doubt.


    This time, however, Ado was not waiting so long. Or at least she didn¡¯t think she was. It was hard to tell, but she certainly slept less before being drawn out of her prison this time. Awaiting her outside was not a hooded executioner, but a more standard noble¡¯s escort. They took her through the palace and deposited her, once more, in the King¡¯s office. The man, if anything , looked worse than he had before, seeming to have surrendered an extra decade of his life overnight, and shaking as he poured himself rather more wine than he¡¯d been drinking when last they met.


    A good sign, Ado hoped.


    ¡°The High Priest is dead.¡± The King told her, his words direct, but his voice forced into a fearful whisper by his own tumultuous emotions. ¡°Assassins sent by the Dark Lord, they permeated our defences and slew him in the dead of the night.¡±


    Ado nodded, in understanding. As far as explanations went it was quite a pedestrian one, but she hoped that would only make it all the more sturdy over time. The King did not strike her as the sort of man who might maintain an elaborate lie, however better it might otherwise obfuscate their crime.


    ¡°I¡­Apologise.¡± He continued. ¡°For not taking the true threat of the Dark Lord seriously enough, and I pledge my city¡¯s forces to Silenos Shaiagrazni. For as long as I remain in power after this.¡±


    He didn¡¯t expect to live? That surprised her, Ado had taken him for a true fool to have acted so obviously against his own interest without realising it. Now she knew differently. He was just a good man, one who¡¯s own life was not the most precious thing to him. She felt herself suddenly moved by the display.


    But she hardened her heart carefully. Emotion was a mental fault she could not afford to humour, now of all times.


    ¡°Then my own forces are welcome into the Kingdom.¡± Ado guessed, stifling the urge to grow confident at the fact. The King nodded.


    ¡°There will be rebellions.¡± He croaked. ¡°Blood will spill. So, so much blood¡­¡± The man swallowed. ¡°Yes, they are allowed into the city. In fact I will announce the High Priest¡¯s death only once you have positioned your forces behind its walls.¡±


    Ado nodded, finding herself more and more convinced of the man¡¯s competence with every passing word. It was disheartening to know she had not come with any great weight of military power, but she had more than one Shaiagraznian grotesquery. And one might almost have been enough on its own.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Ado replied, and was surprised to see the King¡¯s eyes grow hard and angry.


    ¡°I did not do this for you.¡± He spat. ¡°Don¡¯t thank me, don¡¯t you dare. This is for my people, for the children of Wudra and the followers of God, understand?¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡± She nodded, suddenly careful, again, now that she¡¯d seen his temper give. It appeared Ado had found one of the lines one couldn¡¯t cross.


    ¡°Leave me.¡± The King scowled, leaning back in his chair and looking suddenly¡­ shrunken. ¡°Please.¡±


    Ado left him.


    Outside, she was not particularly surprised to find Folami waiting for her, and even less surprised to see a look of utter fury coating his face. Ado waited for the smug satisfaction or urge to gloat, but nothing came. She felt no victory, looking at her brother, just a nagging sympathy.


    You had everything you ever wanted, then had it taken away. I can relate.


    Ado felt that sympathy, and she crushed it as completely as she was able. There was no time for petty emotion now.


    ¡°Are you happy now, murderer?¡± Folami asked, hatred reaching a new height as he spoke, voice trembling under its weight. ¡°It wasn¡¯t enough to just aid a butcher, you had to become one yourself, is that it? Or do you somehow think the HIgh Priests¡¯s death is the fault of others when you as good as ordered it?¡±


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    It was fascinating how little his words reached her. Ado just walked around her brother, heading to her own rooms. They had been the ones she ought to have been staying in from the start, large and indulgent as any she¡¯d ever set foot in. The rooms of a King- or a Queen, in this case- and a conveniently short walk from the centres of Wudra¡¯s command.


    Folami, though, followed her.


    ¡°Do you not even intend to defend yourself?!¡± He snapped. ¡°Or do you not care about being thought a killer, do you see no issues with that title? Damn it woman, answer me.¡±


    They were in her quarters, now, and Ado was pleased to see a pair of guards awaiting her within them. Big men, both of them. Doubtless, they had their fair share of Vigour pumping through every vein to have been assigned the task of watching her. They would serve perfectly for what she needed now.


    ¡°Men, beat my brother, but do not kill or permanently injure him.¡±


    For a moment, the room was silent. Then the sound of steel scraping on steel rang out as armoured men moved. Folami stared, swallowed, took a step back and opened his mouth with a face twisted tight into regal defiance as he made to speak.


    His words were silenced by the first gauntleted punch slamming into his cheek.


    His head snapped back, and he lost his footing near instantly. He was not allowed to fall, however, for the second guard grabbed him and hoisted him upwards for a second blow to fall upon his gut. Folami wheezed, folding over, trying to curl up as more fists came down on him. It was no use. Within moments his skin was a canvas of bruising and his body was shaky with pain. Ado watched his half-dazed form dragged from the building and tossed out into the adjacent hall.


    She waited to feel something, a touch of pleasure or satisfaction, but she was still just as empty as before. Ado had not hurt her brother out of spite or self-gratification, she¡¯d simply done it because it needed doing.


    Like Shaiagrazni himself. Rulership was not something she¡¯d understood before his arrival. How could it have been? Her only exposure to it had been exclusively through the lens of imbeciles, and how vastly more gifted than any of them she was. Now she¡¯d seen a true ruler do his work, however, and she understood the place of cruelty in it, just as she understood the place of kindness.


    There was little place for the latter in this world, though. Ado could be kind when humanity did not make itself her enemy. Until then, they¡¯d need correction.


    A knock took her door, and for a moment Ado wondered whether her brother had actually come back. But no, he was not a strong man- not strong enough to weather the sort of beating he¡¯d just received and continue bothering her in spite of it. This was someone else.


    ¡°Enter.¡± She called, not bothering to take a suitably regal position in her seat, just standing in the open and waiting to speak with her visitor. Ado hadn¡¯t known who to expect, but Rochtai had certainly not been among her first choices.


    The Magus was looking better, which was to say he had put on some of the huge volumes of weight he¡¯d lost and no longer had quite so pronounced a pair of bags under his eyes. The wear of his ordeal under Shaiagrazni was still apparent at a glance, but he kept it hidden with considerable skill. It was natural, she supposed, for a Magus to hold his emotions tightly concealed. Even when they were as crushingly intense as his must have been.


    ¡°My Lady.¡± He nodded, respectful now. It felt strange. Ado had always seen a superior in Rochtai- a tutor. Now, though, their stations could not be more reversed. Were she one of her brothers she¡¯d have been raised to expect such an eventuality, told as she grew up that it was her birth right.


    Yet another entry to the endless list of ways in which they were fractionally advantaged over her, she supposed.


    ¡°Magus.¡± Ado nodded, sensing a desire for formality in him and deciding to follow suit. It was only appropriate, either way, a ruler could not simply fraternise as they saw fit.


    ¡°You managed to turn things around.¡± He noted, smiling through his thick beard. ¡°I knew you would. The moment we received the call to enter, I knew it was you. Mind, it came just in time, a few of our forces were eager to simply barge our way in.¡±


    Ado winced. That would have been a disaster. Wudra was not as sophisticated as the armies of House Shaiagrazni, but they were still among the strongest of the continent¡¯s nations. Thousands of Paladins, scores of thousands of normal men, and no small number of contracted Magi from Magira in wake of recent events to boot. Her meagre escort would not have lasted very long at all in a direct confrontation, let alone an offensive siege.


    ¡°Fortunate timing then, indeed.¡± She noted. Rochtai nodded sagely, and paused for a moment, apparently struggling to say something¡­Difficult.


    ¡°I am afraid, however, that your timing could have been somewhat more fortunate.¡± He continued, ¡°Because the Dark Lord has already dispatched rather a large force our way.¡±


    Ado swore. She should have known, the King had accepted her terms far, far too easily. Of course the Dark Lord was coming to crush them, he¡¯d be an idiot to miss the chance of removing Shaiagraznian forces while they were isolated like this, and reanimating Wudra¡¯s armies after the fact¡­


    It might well tip the entire war in his favour.


    ¡°How long do we have?¡± She asked, abruptly. Rochtai was quick in giving his answer, as practical now as he¡¯d ever been. Perhaps more.


    ¡°Days, at best. They drew incredibly close before being sighted.¡±


    That was what one might have expected, without Kaltan Rangers surveying the horizons. It would have been amusingly ironic, to see Wudra fall for their own refusal to adopt such a useful tool, were it not so pathetically tragic. Particularly if it were not dragging Ado down with them.


    She would not fail. Sooner die than fail.

 Book 2: Chapter 36

    Hexeri had been chased by a lot of things over her unlife, which was not an uncommon boast amongst Vampires. The usual, to start with. Illiterate, shit-smelling lynch-mobs, Paladins, that sort of thing. Over the years she¡¯d faced down a few more notable pursuits- two Heroes at once as she¡¯d dealt with a few weeks ago had been the highlight.


    One hundred and fifty battle-trained Dark Elves, though, might have been a new level of fucked, even for her.


    Elves were humanoid, but not quite the same. There was actually some debate on which species came first. Predictably, both tended to prefer themselves as the progenitor race. The Elves did seem to have certain advantages, however, in regards to making claims of innate superiority.


    They were faster, by far. An ordinary Elf of any kind made the quickest Vigourless humans look sluggish, and this exponential advantage remained even when both species trained to strengthen themselves. Hexeri had seen Elves smack crossbow bolts out of the air, cross rooms before a human could even register their movement. Even, on one occasion, witnessed a particularly fast member of their species sprint across the surface of a lake.


    Vampires were quicker, but only just. And there were a lot of Dark Elves after her now. Dark Elves were among the more physically potent varieties.


    Hexeri used every trick she could think of, dragging them through tough terrain, slipping in across passages that were easily wide enough for her but struggled accommodating her pursuers in their multitudes. The Dark Elves hounded her all the same, wise to her tactics from the first chase, and now not nearly as cautious in their pursuit.


    There was no helping it. Hexeri had dodged magic as long as she was likely to manage, she had no choice but to turn and head back to the site of the prisoners. Either Collin Baird had freed his men¡­


    ¡­Or she was sprinting into the jaws of death. Funny, how Hexeri just kept on finding her life balanced atop the hinge of human will. She supposed that was the consequence of living in a world with so damned many of them.


    Her feet pounded the dirt into crushed debris, and the wind rang in her ears like icy fingers of air clawing down atop a mountain¡¯s peak.


    Miles. Hexeri had to run miles. Had that ever been hard? It had, once before, when she was still a living thing of fragile meat and temporary strength. And now it was hard again, because though she crossed the span in mere minutes, every step she took was hounded by blasts of magic. Dirt shot up in great fountains around her, the air convulsed as heat difused along it and whipped up great winds in protest. She felt her skin ache and blister with the temperatures, knowing that a mere human would have been incinerated in such conditions.


    She ran, all the same. Because to stop for even an instant was to die.


    Hexeri came to her destination, and her heart sank as she realised it held no assembled force of spearmen and freedom-drunk warriors. The Dark Elves continued their pursuit, now only dozens of paces behind her rather than scores, and the end drew nearer.


    That was when Baird¡¯s first attack came, one of Shaiagrazni¡¯s explosive devices.


    Explosions weren¡¯t a foreign thing to Hexeri- despite how they preached of their cerebral removal from petty human prejudices, Magi didn¡¯t tend to like Vampires anymore than anyone else- but it still shook her to feel the concussion of one so powerful detonating so close to her. Every tooth in her mouth rattled, her ears throbbed with the pressure, and she almost lost her footing for a second. The temptation was too much to resist, she risked a glance over her shoulder to see what it had done to the Dark Elves.


    Apparently, it had done a lot. A grizzly mountain of death met Hexeri¡¯s gaze, so mangled that she struggled to tell one corpse apart from another.


    More Dark Elves were coming, though. Spreading out, diffusing like dusken mist under a harsh morning sun. They were nothing if not rational, the Elves, and scarcely hesitated to act in whatever way they deemed most effective. She watched them step over convulsing, dying comrades without so much as a glance downwards and continue their assault.


    By now, Baird¡¯s preparations were coming to light. His Rangers were first among them, letting out a volley of arrows which tore into Elves and dropped another dozen or so in sprays of visceral scarlet. She snapped out of her own daze, snatching the beads of blood from the air and sending them into surrounding enemies as jagged knives and thorns. They only got that one solid volley off before the Dark Elves closed in for melee.


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    It was not a long battle, but what it lacked in length it more than made up for with raw savagery. Baird had done a fine job arming and freeing prisoners, because there stood perhaps a comparable number of spearmen to Dark Elves- even before the initial explosion. Still, they didn¡¯t last long. Defensive formation broken, bodies sundered apart, blood splashed out in all directions. Hexeri herself even felt slightly sick watching the mangling occur, but was far too occupied by her own killing to take much note of it.


    Fortunately, Dark Elves were logical. Humans were not prone to unrelentingly fight until their force¡¯s numbers were entirely exhausted, and Elves did not even feel the insane adrenal vigour which sometimes compelled their shorter cousins to battle so fiercely in the first place. They had to kill no more than thirty before the enemy fled.


    But in killing those thirty, they lost many more. Virtually every spearman was cut down, and two Rangers to boot.


    Hexeri found Collin Baird kneeling before the slain elites, face low, hands tightened into stone-dense fists. There was a purer strain of hatred burning on his face than she had seen anywhere else.


    ¡°Friends of yours?¡± She asked.


    Baird didn¡¯t look up at her, he just shook his head. Hexeri saw the tear glint on his cheek, despite the darkness of the night around him. A Vampire always saw such things. It was as much a curse as their weakness before the sun.


    Because one could not see and smell a person¡¯s thoughts the way they did, and not understand them. Even while surrounded by hateful fire and sneering mobs, they understood them.


    ¡°My men.¡± Baird breathed, a confusing mix of fury and misery in his voice. ¡°Rangers. Been at it longer than I have, in fact all of the ones still alive have. I¡¯m the only one left not in his twenties.¡±


    ¡°They died well.¡± Hexeri said, stupidly. He glanced at her with all the scorn her reply deserved.


    ¡°There¡¯s no dying well.¡± Baird spat. ¡°There¡¯s living and there¡¯s fucking that up. They¡­¡± He swallowed, closing his eyes and muttering something to himself as he stood. Hexeri listened in a moment, sharpening her ears with focus.


    ¡°First my dad, then the rest. One by one. They all die, and I keep living.¡± His eyes opened, and now she saw a ferocity in them that put even her back a step. ¡°And I¡¯ll keep on living until this is over, until I¡¯ve gutted that Evil Fucker and watched the shit spill out of him.¡±


    Hexeri saw, then, what Collin Baird truly was.


    ¡°We¡¯ve lost our chance to hinder the Dark Lord¡¯s forces.¡± She noted, mouth dry. And Hexeri didn¡¯t see even a scrap of regret upon Baird¡¯s face, only that hatred. The bottomless, consuming hatred that seemed to blot out every other facet of his cognition. He did not smile, nor did he scowl. Whatever expression was on his face couldn¡¯t be described in terms as human as that.


    He just showed his teeth.


    ***


    It was almost fun, hiding in the city of Torib. It brought Swick back to his roots. The advantages of a skyship were numerous, of course, but there was something to be lost in the virtual untouchability and security it provided. How did a man keep his edge, when he could actually afford to just drink himself stupid all day? How did a criminal remain swift, at all, when he had some magic vessel to provide all the swiftness for him? It was almost relieving to be rid of the thing.


    Only almost, though. Because despite all that, the skyship had still provided virtual untouchability and security. God, Swick really shouldn¡¯t have plowed it into the side of that fucking fortress.


    There were not many lifelines for them, within the foreign city. Swick snatched up all the ones he could get and counted them carefully. First came the basic, obvious fact of their having a decent chance to leave sooner rather than later. So long as they could find the individual known as Bal.


    More pressing than that, though, was that Torib was a racket town. Swick had spent most of his life in them, and that was no small thing. Racket towns were younger than most other kinds, coming into existence in response to the population boom that had struck the world over the last few centuries as magically-augmented crop growth and infrastructure became more commonplace.


    They were hell holes. Springing up simply by having the underclass of established cities emptied out into the world; ideally those guilty of criminality, but more practically just those who were considered undesirable by the rulers of their previous homes. Such people congregated, and the volatility of their new existences naturally bred just the sorts of things they were accused of partaking in to begin with.


    Swick had been born in a racket town, he thought. He couldn¡¯t recall his actual birth of course, but he remembered his mother in those early days between her squeezing him out and her dying from one of the numerous diseases ageing whores tended to contract. In any case, he had a familiarity with their general layout.


    Each one was different, of course, but there were patterns. Trends. Things that emerged as a racket town did- through simple necessity- tended to conform in particular ways with other such specimens. The Red Finger Crew had been born in racket towns, too, mostly. Which was where Swick¡¯s caution came from, because it meant there¡¯d be no navigational edge to be found against them.


    Yes, the people you betrayed all come from the same scum pile as you, Swick. No honourable thieving for you! Only the finest, most undeserving victims in your treachery.


    It gave him a leg up in navigating it, and that may well have been the only reason they¡¯d evaded capture so far. Particularly with the Hand being dragged along.


    ¡°This is ridiculous.¡± The man spat. ¡°Who designs a city like this?¡±


    ¡°Nobody.¡± Swick sighed. ¡°This is a racket town, like I told you, it wasn¡¯t designed. Just built one home at a time by people who¡¯d been chucked out of theirs.¡±


    The Hand¡¯s lip curled.


    ¡°Criminals.¡± He noted.


    ¡°Well they certainly are now, aren¡¯t they?¡± Swick snapped, feeling an unexpected irritation at the man all of a sudden. He¡¯d been gnawing at his last wick for a while now, and the apathy was becoming more irritating with each word. ¡°Now shut up and let me focus.¡±

 Book 2: Chapter 37

    Swick did focus, and he focused long and hard for all it achieved. The problem was, familiar with racket towns or no, the things were still bloody mazes. And a single man in all of that was a very small matter to be searching for.


    But doable, most of the time. He was Swick the Swift after all. The major concern- the only real concern- had been doing it with seemingly an entire city out for his head, and the enchantment upon his face no longer working.


    Swick had added it years ago, and at no small expense to himself. Some touch of mind magic meant to banish others from taking note of him. It wasn¡¯t all-powerful, those who knew him, and those who were searching specifically for him, had low chances of succumbing to it, but for those who only knew him by portrait and reputation it served as a powerful deterrent.


    Not a small advantage, with the bounty he had on him. But it hadn¡¯t worked. That concerned Swick, and he devoted almost as much time to reasoning out why as he did to seeking out their Bal target.


    The answer came to him on their third day in the city, hitting him between the eyes like a sledgehammer.


    ¡°Those mercenaries, the first group.¡± Swick noted. ¡°They were after you.¡±


    He directed his words to the Hand, who frowned at them.


    ¡°What makes you think that?¡±


    ¡°They can¡¯t have been after me, my face repels recognition and memory unless a person has met me personally. The only reason you could approach me was because you didn¡¯t mean to have me captured. Which means the bounty they¡¯re talking about is on your head.¡±


    Instantly, the Hand swore.


    ¡°Bugger.¡± He spat. ¡°Fuck. So¡­Fuck. That means it¡¯s the Dark Lord¡¯s doing, then. It has to be.¡±


    Swick had drawn the very same conclusion, but it still needled him to hear it. He¡¯d been holding out hope that he was wrong.


    ¡°Best keep our heads down, more than before.¡± He decided. ¡°We don¡¯t know what else might be looking for us in this city.¡±


    The Hand, for once, did not need any convincing.


    Another day passed, and they heard whispered rumours of the one they sought.


    Swick did most of the talking, now that they¡¯d confirmed his magic still worked, and so information gathering went a damn sight quicker than it had before. They soon had a list of aliases, possible locations and living habits to go by. Not a bad haul, he decided. Shame he wasn¡¯t charging his usual rates.


    ¡°When we find this Bal fellow, we need to take him by force.¡± The Hand noted. Swick glanced his way, baffled.


    ¡°Why the hell would we do that?¡±


    ¡°Because we can¡¯t afford to risk your skyship¡¯s repairs on him voluntarily saying yes.¡± Was all the man said, and his bearing suddenly seemed changed even as he said it. Back stiffer, face harder, hands flitting to a spot behind him as if they reflexively yearned to take some soldier¡¯s posture.


    Arbite, Swick decided, was not the sort of place he had any intention of visiting.


    ¡°I¡¯m injured.¡± He pointed out. The Hand rolled his eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re a Hero, and I¡¯m better than nine out of ten Knights. If some bloody treasure hunter can hold us both off at once then frankly I¡¯ll be heading back to Abaritan and stripping each one of the palace guards of their position.¡±


    He had a point, but still¡­Swick didn¡¯t like charging into fights. For all he knew, this treasure hunter could hold them both off at once. Or had a bodyguard who could. For all they knew the Red Fingers had figured out why they were in Torib and were squatting around him ready to ambush Swick the moment he made his move.


    Kicking down doors and cracking open heads was a fine strategy, sometimes. Make a habit of it, though, and one day you¡¯d meet someone better at it than you were. And you only got to make that mistake once.


    ¡°Do you have any alternatives?¡± The Hand asked. ¡°This man has been perfectly hostile to Kings and Queens until now, how exactly do you think that will differ with Shaiagrazni?¡±


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    Swick had to admit, he had a point. He was still connected enough to all the old rumour networks to know that the stories attached to his boss were rarely the good ones. For every anecdote about him abolishing poverty within his conquered territories, there were five more about the pain coat.


    Sometimes it paid to rule in such a way as to not make one¡¯s subjects think one was an insane murderous monster, apparently.


    ¡°Fine.¡± Swick conceded, feeling his nerves fraying as he did. ¡°Fine, bugger it, we¡¯ll do this your way. So long as you¡¯re aware of the risks.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I am.¡± The Hand replied, fingers nervously resting on the pommel of his sword. ¡°Believe me, I am, but I don¡¯t see that we have any alternative choices.¡±


    He was probably right there. Swick swore again, and then they headed out to find the treasure hunter.


    The first two spots had been either bad information or just unlucky searches, because they didn¡¯t find a trace of any Bal in either. The next, though, was altogether luckier. Third time being the charm and all that.


    It was a warehouse, large and squat of the sort a Magus might purchase in the hopes of converting it to some arcane workstation. There was no touch of magic to the air now, fortunately, but Swick still got the impression of strange and complex goings-on within the place. The hairs along his arm stood on end, and his mouth dried.


    ¡°Looks like a trap.¡± He noted, and the Hand scoffed.


    ¡°Looks like a bloody workplace, I know traps.¡±


    ¡°You know military traps. A trap to you is something that stops a thousand men from turning around while they stand shield to shield, you have no idea about spotting a trap in a street.¡±


    The Hand looked thoughtful for a moment, conceding the point with a nod.


    ¡°And you¡¯re not just being paranoid?¡±


    Was he? Swick sighed.


    ¡°I probably am.¡± He said at last. ¡°But still, if I¡¯m not¡­¡±


    ¡°Then it¡¯s a bloody disaster.¡± The Hand finished. ¡°Damn¡­We don¡¯t have any choice, we have to get this man, trap or no.¡±


    ¡°Trap or no.¡± Swick agreed, and so they waited.


    Fortunately, the treasure hunter named Bal was out of his workstation sooner rather than later. Swick¡¯s muscles had barely had the chance to cramp when he saw the door open and reveal a wreathed man striding out, without a bodyguard in sight. Tall, lithe and¡­


    Oddly familiar? Swick found himself frowning, trying to nail down where he¡¯d seen the man before. It was no use. The memory would come back to him or it wouldn¡¯t, but he had no time to waste on simply dragging his heels in anticipation for it. Now was the time to act.


    They paused only a few moments more, waiting for the treasure hunter to move across the street and draw closer to their perch. It was a good spot, relatively far from the street¡¯s centre and high up- which meant anyone shorter than eight feet would have no line of sight to them. The hunter closed, closed more. Finally closed enough.


    Swick lunged, slitting his thumb and filling the air with an arc of blood as his body raced it down to the ground. Clearly the treasure hunter heard something- his feet on the roof or his clothes dragging against the air- because they turned just in time to evade him.


    He landed right where they¡¯d been standing, and twisted aside from the blow he knew was aimed at his back. Swick saw the weapon miss him by inches- a damned bastard sword, and a big one- right before a boot crunched into his belly and threw him back. He stumbled, righted himself, parried a swing with one dagger and slashed for the enemy¡¯s wrist with his other. They swayed back just in time to avoid him.


    The Hand was behind them, swinging too, but he missed the treasure hunter by a mile as they shot to one side, rolled and sprang back up onto their feet. Circling, now, cautious despite their power.


    Swick¡¯s leg throbbed. Whatever was wrong with it had stayed wrong, despite the few days of healing, and the fractional amount of mobility he¡¯d regained was too little for an enemy of this strength. He sent a glance towards the Hand, who seemed to catch his meaning quickly. They split up, aiming to close in on the treasure hunter from two sides at once.


    The treasure hunter moved first.


    With a cry and a gasp, Bal raised his sword and just barely kept a swing from his enemy from reaching his gut. Swick moved to close and help, gritting his teeth against the burning of his wound.


    He had to admit, the Hand really was quite good. For a pen-pusher. But his enemy was more than one, more than ten cuts above the Knights he¡¯d so favourably compared himself to. Even backing off and giving up the very notion of offence, he was failing to keep his body safe from the sword swings that seemed to close in almost a dozen times each second.


    Swick felt around, feeling his blood where it clung to the ground, decided it was worth translocating and tipping his hand. He appeared within eight feet of the treasure hunter, lunging with both daggers at once and clearly taking the bastard off-guard by how he retained his head.


    Not off guard enough, though. Swick was still slowed by his leg, and the blade came up before his attacks could land. He felt metal screech on metal, stumbling back, hissing as his injury flared up again. The Hand was already encircling their foe however, squatted low and swinging for the belly.


    A nasty wound, that, if it landed. It didn¡¯t though. The treasure hunter whipped aside and slashed downwards.


    Swords were bad against armour, at least with cuts and hacks. But there were limits to any rule, and apparently the hunter¡¯s strength was well past the limit of that one. Swick heard links of chain snapping apart as steel ate through steel, turning the air crimson where the Hand fell back. He was moving a lot, and a glance told Swick the cut had been shallow. Lucky, nothing more.


    He growled, sliced the back of his hand and whipped it out in front of him. The treasure hunter moved, dodging, twisting, but just barely letting a fleck of crimson catch his arm. Swick translocated before he could even notice the failure.

 Announcement

    Hello everyone, we''re pleased to announce the launch of Author''s Nightmare!


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    Bernard, Kenny and C¨¢do hadn''t intended to do anything particular when writing their novel. However they find themselves magically transported into the world they created. Unfortunately for them, it''s far from a nice and gentle fantasy world.


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    They¡¯ll need to work together to advance in the cruel lands they created, but first comes survival. And if they''re able to feed themselves, they might be changed in doing what is needed to ensure that. Because people react differently to strife and power, and you never quite know what a person will do in a given situation until it¡¯s done.


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    Author''s Nightmare</a>


    by Of Ranting and Ramblings


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 Book 2: Chapter 38

    The connection was a moment of glorious reaffirmation. Even wounded, Swick was still Swick. Even skilled as they were, this treasure hunter was no match for a Hero. His dagger bit through their shawl, then opened up the shoulder beneath. They pulled themselves from it, cloth snagging on the blade and ripping itself open longways at their retreat to reveal a face beneath rains of tattered fabric.


    Swick paused, the Hand paused. The damned sky probably paused, for all the pausing that was going on. Because not a one present had been expecting a damned woman beneath all that flowing fabric and impossible speed.


    Perhaps predictably, the woman herself did not pause. She came flying at Swick, if anything faster than before and far more ferocious. He was backing away again, parrying, dodging, trying his best to ignore the growing pain of his leg and aware the entire time how much slower he was growing. Every swing brought Bal¡¯s blade closer to him, every parry was nearer to a fail than the one before. Swick winced as he saw his death coming.


    Then the Hand¡¯s words came out .


    ¡°Felicia!¡±


    Finally, the woman paused. Only for a moment though, because Swick¡¯s dagger caught her clean before the eyes in that brief moment¡¯s respite. Pommel first, given that he was a gentleman and she a useful ally, but with every ounce of strength he could muster. The woman shot back like she¡¯d been fired from some giant crossbow, landing several of her own body length back from him and groaning.


    Sometimes, in a man¡¯s life, he was forced to make a decision. To consider who he really was, and what sort of tales he wanted in his legacy. Looking down at his worthy opponent, seeing her grunting and stumbling to her feet with her sword lying yards away, Swick found himself certain what that was for him.


    His dagger¡¯s blade came down to rest atop all the big veins in her neck, and she froze the instant steel touched skin.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go twitching now, there¡¯s a good girl.¡± He breathed, suppressing the urge to wince at his damned leg all over again. ¡°You made a good fight of it, but I don¡¯t think there¡¯s any doubting that you¡¯ve lost now, is there?¡±


    And there bloody had been until that very instant. Hurt or no, Swick would never have won against this woman easily. She was beyond strong.


    Perhaps even a Hero, or close enough. The Hand might as well have tried helping him with harsh language.


    To Swick¡¯s surprise, the Hand himself rounded on him rather than Bal. The man looked furious, and not entirely sure of where best to direct his rage.


    ¡°Be gentle with her, you oaf.¡± He spat. ¡°This is Princess Felicia.¡±


    In that single sentence, everything snapped into place within Swick¡¯s mind. The woman¡¯s way of walking, her posture. The sheer militarism of it all. The handling of that bastard sword of hers, and now other things too. With her body uncovered, and her hands no longer busied with his imminent demise, Swick was able to observe the woman¡¯s dark skin and darker hair, her tough, sharp features and the sinewy steel of her not-inconsiderable musculature.


    And the look in her eye. Like they were orbs of flint, the pupils clumsily carved into them by a drunkard¡¯s chisel. He¡¯d been a damned fool to have missed so obvious a resemblance to King Galukar.


    ¡°Treasure hunter.¡± He frowned, staring at her. Well, it certainly sounded like a Galukar thing to do. The woman spat at her feet, suddenly seeming more angry with him than she¡¯d been during the actual attack.


    ¡°What are you here for, you rat?¡± She asked.


    For some reason- just basic association, really- Swick assumed the glare and harsh words were aimed at him. He realised only after a moment that it had been the Hand who Bal had intended to receive them. He drew his blade back, figuring the conversation would be a shade less awkward if she were able to actually move her head without fear of losing it, and fairly certain she¡¯d not be trying to hack off any more limbs. For the moment, at least.


    ¡°I¡¯m here for you.¡± The Hand replied.


    ¡°On my father¡¯s orders.¡± Bal noted, phrasing it like a statement of fact rather than a guess.


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    Well, in her defence, it actually was.


    ¡°I am.¡± The Hand said, testily. ¡°But I see no reason why that should impact things here, because your father is acting on the advice of another.¡±


    At that, the woman snorted.


    ¡°Well there¡¯s a first time for everything I suppose.¡± She sighed. ¡°Shaiagrazni, right? Somehow it¡¯s typical that the first person to actually sway him on anything would be the second most evil creature this world has ever seen.¡±


    Suddenly, Swick found himself rather more confident in the decision to ambush her. Particularly knowing she was Galukar¡¯s. A drop of that man¡¯s blood would¡¯ve made anyone harder to persuade than a mountain, and this one seemed to hold pints.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t about King Galukar-¡±


    The Hand¡¯s attempt at replying was crushed beneath the woman¡¯s answer, which came out in a great roar demonstrating such volume and potence of lung that Swick found himself wondering whether she might have killed a Vigourless man just by shouting.


    ¡°Everything is about him.¡± Bal snapped. ¡°Even now, a hundred miles away, everything somehow manages to be about him. So why don¡¯t you just get lost and let me put a few hundred more between us, see if that fixes things?¡±


    The Hand paused, clearly reassessing his conundrum and reconsidering his approaches. Swick could appreciate that. He didn¡¯t like the man, but he¡¯d noticed his cleverness quick enough. And he saw it more clearly now.


    ¡°Then forget him.¡± He shrugged. ¡°And ask yourself this; how would you like to sit inside a skyship again? How would you like to fly one?¡±


    It really was remarkable how quickly the woman changed her tune.


    Or perhaps not. It was, after all, a damned skyship. Those were rather valuable when they weren¡¯t on fire and sticking out the side of an ancient castle.


    ¡°Conditions.¡± Bal- Princess Felicia- began. ¡°I¡¯m not working for anybody, I¡¯m a freelancer. I don¡¯t have to speak with my father either, and Shaiagrazni isn¡¯t going to come anywhere near me with his freakish magic. I also want a ton of silver. A ton, literally, as my payment. And I want an open position as the ship¡¯s engineer for me to come back to take and refill whenever I want it, no matter how much time passes after its repair.¡±


    Swick was slow that day, because it took him quite a while to piece things together even despite the obvious hints.


    ¡°You¡¯re the engineer?¡± He realised, with a frown. Bollocks, maybe he shouldn¡¯t have brained her between the eyes quite so hard.


    Princess Felicia, apparently, was still rather annoyed with him for ambushing her. It showed in how she replied.


    ¡°Wow, you¡¯ve recruited a genius I see. Is this the moron who smashed his skyship into that building or am I to expect an even higher grade of stupidity in my future encounters?¡±


    The Hand sounded weary as he replied.


    ¡°This is Captain Swick, yes.¡± He sighed. ¡°I would ask that you show him¡­Every courtesy.¡±


    She spat at her feet, and the man sighed again.


    ¡°That aside, your terms are¡­Doable.¡± He winced, even as he said it. ¡°I do hope you realise a ton of silver is no small sum, even for Arbite.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± The Princess sighed. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m asking for it. Completely reasonable thing to ask for a skyship, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Swick found himself grinning as the Hand squirmed. He really did like this one.


    ¡°So we have an agreement.¡± The Hand tried, and the Princess shrugged.


    ¡°Mostly I was asking that to see if you¡¯d actually offer it.¡±


    The Hand actually grew irritated then, which was a sight Swick didn¡¯t get to relish for long before his fury was covered up like so many other great treasures.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a game.¡± He snapped.


    ¡°Correct.¡± The engineer growled back. ¡°It isn¡¯t, and unfortunately for you you¡¯re hinging everything on convincing a woman to make a return to her most hated place in the world. If I want to say no, I¡¯m completely in my right, and if a ton of silver doesn¡¯t sway me then you have no right to judge me either.¡±


    Swick frowned at that. He wasn¡¯t sure about judging, but if a ton of silver didn¡¯t sway someone, he reckoned it made them a madman.


    There were more pressing concerns than that, however.


    ¡°We should get moving.¡± Swick cut in. ¡°We were pretty¡­Loud.¡± He looked around, to the street they¡¯d churned up with dodged sword swings and thrown Hands. ¡°And there are people after us, I don¡¯t like how easily they could catch us here.¡±


    The engineer scoffed.


    ¡°And that sounds like it¡¯s not my problem, if I want to stick my neck out for my father¡¯s thugs then it¡¯ll be another ton of silver on top of it all.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡± Swick growled.


    ¡°So am I.¡± She growled back. ¡°I still don¡¯t even know if I¡¯ll be working with any of-¡±


    The arrows were in the air before she finished, and both she and Swick were diving within the blink of an eye. He hit the ground,rolled, came up to his feet and turned to see the metal shafts sticking out of cracked stone in walls and the floor. Bal had evaded them all too, if anything by a wider margin than Swick thanks to the crippling injury she wasn¡¯t suffering.


    Unfortunately, the Hand was not nearly so quick as either of them. He dropped with an arrow plunged deep into his shoulder, hissing and twitching on the floor where hot ichor poured out of him. Scraping boots caught Swick¡¯s ears from all directions, and he didn¡¯t even need to look up to know it was the Red Finger Crew closing in for him.


    He fought of course, translocating around, slashing, headbutting. From the corner of his eye he saw Bal doing much the same, though faring better by far thanks to not being nearly so strong a focus for the attacking mercenaries. Betraying a hundred elite fighters, Swick supposed was bound to have its occasional disadvantage.


    Come to think of it, he¡¯d betrayed so many that it was a wonder he was only just suffering the consequences now. Swick stumbled from the battlefield, catching a sword across one rib- bad- and feeling an arrow dig into the small of his back- very bad. His Heroic flesh was like tough armour, but the weapons of men as strong as these were perfectly capable of bypassing that. He could already feel his strength failing.

 Book 2: Chapter 39

    Swick¡¯s flight through the street was not as long as he might have hoped. Whenever he tried something clever, tossing a blood-crusted object high to translocate away, it was blocked as a Magus wrapped it in some shield to halt its path, or an archer shot it from the air using the same preternatural dexterity common among Kaltan Rangers.


    He was a rat in a maze, desperately fleeing towards some exit. And with every passing moment, he was becoming closer to being a trapped rat. Swick didn¡¯t feel any great weight of fear, but he felt no hope either. His chances weren¡¯t good, anyone could see that.


    And so it came as no surprise to him when one group of blade wielding mercs drove him right into the waiting weapons of another. Thirty on one would have been manageable, at his best. Even when the thirty were each as good as these men. Thirty on one with his injuries, and reinforcements coming, was not. Swick gave up, and they were quick to bind him.


    They didn¡¯t take him as far as he might have expected, their base of operations apparently was located just a few hundred yards from Bal¡¯s. Unlucky, then. There¡¯d never been a chance of them missing the sounds of battle.


    He didn¡¯t bother trying to mount a resistance, just surrendered. Swick was done and captured either way, he reckoned there was no use in getting chained up with a few broken ribs when he could just pack in without a fight. Fortunately, the Red Finger Crew was not in a particularly vindictive mood, because they let him keep the remainder of his health as they escorted him away.


    Their base of operations was a fairly neat one, as far as disorganized rabble banding together as mercenary killers went. A big street that they seemed to have entirely rented out. They had a nice little perimeter set out, complete with wooden barricades to mark it out from the surrounding areas and hastily constructed outposts where unlucky sods would keep watch. In the center they¡¯d erected a large pavilion which Swick imagined was serving as their main living area.


    But there wasn¡¯t much imagination required to take note of that particular fact, because he was the one who¡¯d introduced the system to them all those years ago. He almost felt proud to see it surviving so long after the fact.


    His former comrades shoved him into the pavilion, and Swick was quickly bound to the floor in iron shackles so thick that they might have held a building aloft, and certainly would have resisted the pull of his meager strength. It was overkill, even without his injuries. But Swick couldn¡¯t blame them for the caution.


    It didn¡¯t take long before Swick met the man himself. Surrounded on all sides by over-eager mercenaries, he was, if anything, surprised to live for the brief span One-Eye even took to arrive. He entered with all the grandiosity a common merc could muster. As much as Swick himself had, once, all those years ago.


    A big man, One-Eye. Standing taller than the tent¡¯s doorway, and almost as wide as that of a common building, he ducked in as a great mountain of vascular solidity. His arms were bare, and betrayed lumps of iron-dense muscle clinging to every inch of them, skin tanned and weather-beaten, tough and calloused. Scars criss-crossed it everywhere, save for the hand.


    The hand was red. Pure red, as stark a crimson as Swick had seen anywhere but pools of fresh arterial blood, and revoltingly wet. He actually saw the tendons and tissues move as the fingers shifted, veins jumping, ligaments bunching. It was a study in anatomy, and a practice in holding one¡¯s stomach contents in place.


    And it was Swick¡¯s damned fault, like so much else in the world.


    ¡°Alright, Captain.¡± One-Eye grinned, wearing the face of a man who was more than just pleased. Triumph lit his expression, bringing that rare illumination that seemed to stand in balanced opposition to all the darkness of life at once despite its fleetingness. Swick couldn¡¯t blame him, his was a grudge older than some adults. And it was more justified than most.


    ¡°I¡¯ve not been your Captain for a while.¡± Swick noted. One-Eye smiled.


    ¡°And we drink to that lovely fact every night, believe me. Don¡¯t we lads?¡±


    A round of grumbled agreement rang out among the room, unanimous and downright eager. It would¡¯ve been enough to hurt Swick¡¯s feelings, were it not so completely understandable.


    ¡°Can¡¯t say I blame you.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Lots of folks I¡¯ve fucked over less¡¯d be perfectly fine to do much the same.¡±


    One-Eye seemed surprised, but not taken aback. It was a dull, scarcely-felt sort of response akin to a man finding one more piece of beef in his stew than he¡¯d expected. About as intense a reaction as Swick had ever gotten from the man.


    Save for the time he¡¯d hidden behind him to take cover from that skin-rending curse responsible for ruining his hand. Or the time he¡¯d called that Kaltan¡¯s bluff, only to find he actually was a Ranger and have it demonstrated with an arrow in his ally¡¯s eye. Or the time he¡¯d drunkenly agreed to hold that pass in the Siege of Tibiltar, where One-Eye had lost a bollock to a stray trebuchet stone from the attackers.


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    Come to think of it, those occasions weren¡¯t nearly so rare as they ought to have been.


    ¡°Do you know why we¡¯re here?¡± One-Eye asked, suddenly. His voice was soft, and it was all Swick could do not to piss himself the moment he heard it. One-Eye¡¯s voice was hard, gruff, pointy. Except for when he was truly enraged. That was when it got soft, like the muscles in a tiger¡¯s legs slackening the precipitous instant before it bounced. His heart was like a drum, and he had to fight against the instinct to gnaw off his own hands for freedom as he answered.


    ¡°That¡¯s a deep question, isn¡¯t it?¡± Swick smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve never been a religious-¡±


    One-Eye¡¯s fist was not a Hero¡¯s, but he was a big man and he had no small measure of Vigour pumping around in those corded veins of his. It knocked the wind from Swick, and he gasped for more. Eyes watering, head spinning, pulse pounding in each ear. All Swick could do was regret two facts; that he¡¯d chosen to divert his power into translocation instead of sticking to the path of raw physicality, and that his former subordinates had so carefully scraped and cleaned all the blood from his battleground and hiding place after capturing him. There¡¯d be no escape.


    ¡°Always were a joker, weren¡¯t you?¡± One-Eye said, cheerily. More cheerily than before, come to think of it. It was almost as if he enjoyed beating the tar out of Swick.


    ¡°Sense of humor.¡± Swick gasped. ¡°Important-¡±


    ¡°-For when everyone you know keeps dying.¡± One-Eye finished, face darkening. ¡°Aye, I know. I remember when you first told me that, the day we met. I think about that a lot. Think about how stupid I was, then, not to realize what it said about you that being your ally was such a dangerous task. But not as stupid as I was later, to stick around, eh?¡±


    Swick could tell he was expecting an answer, but for once he couldn¡¯t think of one. He took a moment, caught his breath, bit back his pain. Spoke without bothering to think.


    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡±


    It didn¡¯t surprise him to hear his own words, but it sure as hell surprised One-Eye. The man might have caught a whole nest of wasps in his mouth for how long and wide it remained open.


    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± Swick replied. ¡°And in more ways than you know. I¡¯m scum, always have been. A cowardly, conniving piece of shit. I run from fights, I run from responsibility, I run from guilt. And when I can¡¯t live with all the running, I run right down a bottle to bury it. I got people killed, I got you maimed. I¡­¡±


    Swick recalled the moments before the crash, the mix of horror and faith in his crew. How misplaced the latter had been. How One-Eye¡¯s brother had been among the men to believe in him.


    ¡°I killed your brother, too.¡± He whispered, eyes dropping under the weight of his shame. ¡°I haven¡¯t had a drop to drink in months, haven¡¯t¡­Stabbed a single back either. It took that for me to realize what was wrong with me, how both bled into each other.¡± He swallowed, all humor dead and buried already. ¡°Devrin,¡± Swick continued, using his former friend¡¯s first name for the first time in a long time, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    One-Eye paused, and so did the room.


    The silence was thick enough to cut with a knife, then thickened even further until no knife in the world would have managed to even scratch its stony surface. Just when he thought the pavilion might erupt with the conversational pressure, One-Eye spoke at last.


    ¡°Aye, well, that¡¯s very big of you to admit Swick. Really, I mean it. Congratulations. The hardest part with tackling addiction and dependencies is always recognising your own problems, and it really is easy to get trapped in a cycle of reliance like you did without even realizing it. It¡¯s brilliant that you managed to snap yourself out of yours, especially after so long.¡±


    Other voices cut in, at that, all as eager and earnest as One-Eye.


    ¡°Aye good on you, mate.¡± One merc said.


    ¡°Keep it up lad.¡± Added another.


    It would have been rather touching, had it not been so bizarre. Fortunately One-Eye brought things back to more familiar territory before Swick could begin to further disconnect from what reality seemed eager to tell him was happening.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that doesn¡¯t excuse the people you hurt, though. Your problems were yours, not ours. And you let them affect you to the point of ruining things for everyone around you. That demands an answer, my friend. Blood asks for blood, and all that, aye? Some scores can¡¯t be settled with silver.¡±


    ¡°Only iron.¡± Swick echoed, licking his lips. They weren¡¯t dry. Moments from death, inches from ruin, and his lips weren¡¯t dry. Well that wasn¡¯t a surprise. He¡¯d stared the reaper down enough that it was almost mundane, these days. And the years of boozing had dried his mouth out more than fear could ever have managed.


    There came a time, a man just got tired. No two ways about it. Would he like to live more? Sure.


    But that didn¡¯t look like it was going to happen, and Swick had come to terms with that fact a long time ago. You had to, growing up in a racket city. Because the end was after you from the beginning.


    One Eye moved. Swick didn¡¯t see how, he wasn¡¯t looking, but he heard the sound of a heel scraping on paved street as his mountainous weight shifted. It slowed the world, quickened his thoughts, brought the idea in an instant where before it might have taken slow, sluggish seconds.


    You got used to staring down death, in a racket town, but if you ever got out of one, it was because you¡¯d got even more used to sending it packing the other way before it could close in on you. Had to be quick, after all. Had to be Swift.


    ¡°You¡¯ll regret killing me if you don¡¯t listen first.¡± Swick blurted out, wincing, fully expecting One-Eye to smash his brains out anyway. It would¡¯ve been the smart thing to do, given their history. Swick had always been a good talker.


    But the man hesitated, maybe out of sentiment, maybe because he was just that slow of a learner. Either way it was an extra few breaths.


    ¡°Listen.¡± Swick repeated. ¡°And listen well, because I have a job offer you¡¯ll probably be interested in. And the best part is I won¡¯t be your boss.¡±

 Book 2: Chapter 40

    Ado was not a general, and far from an expert on the art of war. As something of a politician, however, she fancied that there was something to be understood about the logistic


    al aspect of battle, if nothing else.


    And as far as she could tell, the logistic chances of each man in her forces killing one hundred undead each was fairly limited.


    Perhaps that was an exaggeration, as far as she could tell there were only a million marching towards them, after all. And it was far from the Dark Lord¡¯s finest. Venka¡¯s army had been a sizable fraction of that, from what she¡¯d heard, with most of its composition being entities of considerable power. This was just¡­


    Corpses, reanimated and thrown hastily at the enemy. Battlefields made empty and weaponized at random. It was the military equivalent of breaking a bottle over someone¡¯s head.


    But ten men with bottles were more than a match for one with a sword, and ten to one odds were on the generous side of current numerical estimates. Her blood ran cold as she saw the forces close in.


    There were many advantages to an all-undead army, but by far the largest was food. The total lack of it meant that the greatest limit on any gathering of bodies was effectively gone.


    And by God, was she staring at a gathering of bodies now.


    Wudra¡¯s best were gathered, and that was no mean thing. Ninety thousand men at arms, all trained to a standard almost the equal of Kaltans. They manned the ancient cities outer wall, for the most part, sheer numbers necessitating that they spill out of its more defensible fort. Besides, even if Ado had the space to concentrate them all within the center she couldn¡¯t have done it. Ordering the men to abandon the city at large would have gotten her lynched within the hour, not the wisest beginning to a defence.


    And she¡¯d not had much to do with this one, either. She wasn¡¯t a warrior, and while her academic knowledge of war allowed for the occasional piece of useful insight, she¡¯d been frustratingly reliant on Wudra¡¯s military minds.


    Which, she suspected, were total shit. But that was aristocracy, Ado supposed.


    Good Lord, I¡¯m turning into Baird.


    The Lord Paladin was out there, somewhere, Ado knew. On the outer walls, ready to meet the enemy first. She¡¯d been told it was most effective to have him in the fighting as soon as possible, so that he could do his work in wearing the enemy down. Whether that was true, she had no way of knowing. She lacked the knowledge. Fuck.


    Her thoughts were interrupted by the scrambling sprint of a messenger, whose face she had already turned to long before the speech came. Small boy, too young to fight, clearly, but by the speed of him he¡¯d make a decent warrior one day. It sickened her a little to be thinking like that, and Ado buried the thought by listening.


    ¡°Gener, uh, I¡­¡±


    ¡°Queen Mortascia.¡± Ado gently corrected him, finding the scramble for proper titles far, far more tedious than she had shortly after first meeting Shaigrazni and claiming her throne.


    ¡°Right, apologies Queen Mortascia, Prince Folami is seeking an audience with you.¡±


    ¡°Seeking?¡±Ado asked.


    The messenger winced.


    ¡°He¡¯s forcing his way over here, and none of the guards are willing to risk hurting him by stopping him.¡±


    Figured. Well that was fine, Ado had been careful to surround herself with men who had rather less scruples than that.


    ¡°Send him on.¡± She instructed, bracing herself for whatever was awaiting her.


    Folami did not take long to bring himself before her, storming over at a hurried pace. Ado resisted the urge to swallow as she laid eyes on him.


    ¡°Brother, whatever this is, it will need to wait, I¡¯m busy-¡±


    He silenced her, instantly, by kneeling. Ado stared, stunned. Folami spoke.


    ¡°My Queen, you must forgive me. I have acted improperly, treacherously, and deserved every response you showed and more. I ask for the chance to win back your good favor through deeds in the following battle.¡±


    For one moment, Ado was left scrambling for what to say. In the next she had it, and let the words leave her as a calm, cool stream.


    ¡°You have my permission.¡± Ado said, at last. ¡°Now go on and redeem yourself.¡±


    Folami nodded, getting to his feet, turning and heading off to do just that. Ado watched him leave, still frowning. What had happened to cause this change?


    Or was it just an act to lower her guard? She couldn¡¯t know, and had no intention of relaxing until she did. But either way there were bigger threats to her- and others- for the time being than her little brother and his potentially troublesome ambition.


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    Minutes more passed, then the siege began.


    As Ado had been told was typical, the Dark Lord¡¯s forces came on as a simple tidal wave of flesh. Almost climbing over one another to smash into the walls, and completely ignoring the retaliatory shots of trebuchet stones and ballistae, Magi and archers. It was impossible to count them, and impossible to count those destroyed with each passing second. Scores, perhaps. Scores of casualties, thousands each minute.


    She did the relevant mental calculations, and her blood chilled as Ado realized just how tiny a droplet in the endless ocean of their hordes that was. There would be no winning this. She knew that instantly, no matter what the Paladins insisted. There would be no destroying one million undead.


    They continued hammering into the walls, seeming to do it almost randomly at parts. Ado wasn¡¯t sure what the plan even was on their enemy¡¯s end, and even briefly wondered whether they were intending to have their primitive, rotting undead claw down the stone battlements with fingernails and teeth.


    But the fighting continued, and their true purpose became terribly clear. Ado watched as undead began to climb undead, forming mounds of their own flesh to scale, drawing ever closer to the tops of the walls. Then jumping onto them.


    Well, it made sense she supposed. In some terrible, revolting way, it damn well made sense. If one had the numbers for that, and cared more about seizing a city quickly than anything, and could replenish any losses with interest by actually taking it¡­It made fucking sense.


    And it might well spell their ruin.


    Burning oil tipped down onto the undead, and achieved nothing as their deadened nerves failed to so much as spasm at the heat. Bolts and arrows ran through skulls, thankfully dropping them, but as fire was concentrated on the bases of those towering, fleshy siege-engines yet more bodies scrambled around them at the bases to shield them from harm. Ado scanned the horizons, trying to sift through the endless rivers of rotting meat for something resembling a leader to the chaotic mess of their enemy¡¯s assault.


    She found none. Either they were hiding beyond the limits of human sight, or there were so many simple zombies in the attack that picking out even a large or clearly advanced figure from among them was impossible.


    Probably, it was both.


    ¡°My Queen, you need to get back from here!¡± Ado glanced over, to find a Paladin was speaking with her. She frowned.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be killing undead?¡±


    ¡°I, we¡¯re saving ourselves for the fortress, your grace. But that fortress will be the front line before you know it, the undead are breaching our outer defenses terribly fast.¡±


    ¡°Ah, carry on then.¡± She shrugged, watching the carnage unfolded and feeling somehow rather fascinated by it all. And not afraid.


    That surprised Ado, and she found herself trying to piece together why. Had the fear just been driven out of her by an imminent execution? Was she just emotionally overloaded? Had she gone suddenly insane?


    The latter, somehow, seemed the most likely. Particularly as she found herself chuckling upon seeing three undead at once lose their heads to one man¡¯s swing.


    ¡°That fellow over there,¡± She indicated, ¡°I¡¯d like to see him raised to-¡±


    A scream cut the air as several more undead pounced upon the man, dragging him down and tearing him to a thrashing corpse with savage bites and punches. Ado sighed.


    ¡°Nevermind.¡±


    ¡°Your highness.¡± The Paladin insisted, ¡°Please, I really must insist.¡±


    ¡°Well that is a shame, because I find myself needing to insist as well.¡± She giggled. ¡°Really sir, I don¡¯t know what you think will keep me any safer here in the fortress, I¡¯m far from the actual fighting and at least here my men can look at me for a source of morale.¡±


    A trebuchet stone smashed into the base of an undead pile. Lucky shot, that. Very lucky- the bases had been carefully left beneath their lines of sight. Thousands of undead tumbled down, those higher up falling close to a hundred feet onto those below. Bones broke, thrashing stopped. It was rather a nice dent in the enemy.


    Just a hundred more hits like that and we¡¯ll have actually thinned the herd.


    ¡°Besides,¡± Ado added, ¡°We¡¯re actually not doing that bad, look for yourself.¡±


    She did hope it wasn¡¯t just wishful thinking on her part, but the rate of killing on her own side¡¯s part seemed to have increased as more and more undead difused their ranks around the city. And walls were ever an advantage. Suddenly the idea of each defender killing no less than ten attackers seemed¡­Plausible, if optimistic.


    ¡°All the same,¡± The annoying Paladin insisted.


    ¡°Oh very well.¡± Ado sighed. ¡°I¡¯ll keep from hanging back here.¡±


    The Paladin relaxed, for all of a second before Ado headed to the front, magic building. It had been foolish of her to even wait as long as she had. Their defense needed Magi, and as far as she could tell Ado was the most powerful one in the entire city.


    At least until the doors finally got kicked down, that was. God knew what the Dark Lord would be throwing at them.


    Ado hurled ice in a way she never had before. There was nobody close to give her any sort of appraisal or examination, but if there had been she was fairly sure she¡¯d have gotten higher marks for her magic than ever before.


    The undead probably didn¡¯t agree, but then they were somewhat biased by being the ones she was blowing to pieces with it.


    Icicles as long as an arm smashed into bodies with all the speed of a crossbow bolt, fully impaling them then continuing on to hit even more. Flechettes, as Shaiagrazni had called them, tore through a dozen in one volley, tiny finned darts that entered the body with far less fuss than they left it and painted the enemy¡¯s non-existent ranks with rotting viscera. She conjured walls over the sections undead were leaping to, watching as numerous enemies simply bounced from the barricades and fell down onto their thrashing brethren below.


    And that gave her an idea, after which Ado stopped hurling ice entirely, and began simply conjuring great boulders and darts of the stuff to drop down onto the enemy below. Gravity did the killing for her, and the few times she glanced down to watch the results, it did it well.


    But there was more fighting than what was happening immediately around her, Ado knew that much. A hundred other skirmishes were occurring at a hundred other points of the wall, and most were doing far worse than hers. Word soon came that one section had fallen, then another, then a third.


    And after that, the order to retreat was given, and Ado found herself seized forcibly by strong hands and practically dragged back towards the central keep.


    She shot a few glances over her shoulder, and found her heart sinking at the sights. Fortunately, the undead were focusing on the defenders. Ado imagined it was to press their advantage, to keep the feral things from tearing apart civilians who might be made into yet more undead, or any other number of things.


    Unfortunately, she was one of the defenders. And they¡¯d already lost thousands in the fighting for their walls.


    Siege engines kept the undead at bay just long enough for ninety thousand men to pack themselves deep inside the fortress and seal the gates, then a new kind of killing began. The kind exchanged between cold walls, without sight, fought on only the sounds of an enemy. Death was yards from her, and Ado knew nothing of it save the sound of its cool breath hitting the nape of her neck.


    The undead didn¡¯t keep her waiting for long, though. Undead never did.

 Book 2: Chapter 41

    The castle was a cage. It wasn¡¯t as cold as Ado¡¯s cell, wasn¡¯t as dark, and the company she found within its stony embrace was so great as to contrast her previous isolation to an almost laughable extreme. But it was a cage. A prison, a cell. It was an unshakeable, inescapably tight embrace. Its doors opened from within, locks obeying keys held at her will. But it was a cage, because there was no leaving.


    Anyone who set a single foot beyond its outer wall, now, was dead. The sounds of endless undead hordes smashing against its exterior made that abundantly clear. Even with the fighting taking up every entrance point that had room for fighting to occur, she could hear them over it.


    For Ado¡¯s part, she was still involved with the slaughter. There was simply no choice in the matter. She had power, and she had the nerves to use it, which meant failing to do so would be tantamount to suicide. But her current conditions weren¡¯t quite as favorable as they¡¯d been just an hour earlier.


    Wudra¡¯s central fortress had been built for just such an attack, long ago, and Ado found no shortage of advantages within its walls. Each gate seemed to house a cacophony of native edges at one end, primed and perfect to turn any attempted assault to so many bloody ribbons as magic and metal rained down upon the invading enemies. Ado herself cast enough ice to freeze a river, watching time and again as her power blasted rows of undead apart. She stopped only when exhaustion made her, taking refuge behind conveniently placed cover until she¡¯d recovered enough to continue the devastation.


    But there were limits to any creature¡¯s stamina, and she was no exception. Magic or no, fragile undead or no, safely shielded by fortress walls or no. There were always limits.


    And one million was a number almost beyond the reckoning of any.


    First the Paladins started dropping, their Vigour and training, armour and arms, all proving an inferior match for the sheer multitudes staring them down. Some died as heroes, barring enemy violence from reaching other lives with their own bodies. Others went miserably. Dragged down, taken by surprise, simply giving in as their strength finally abandoned them and their will finally broke. All made more or less as much of a difference as each other, however their lives ended. Because each one meant there was one less elite warrior to crush the reanimated bodies coming on as a flood. Each one was that single, deadly step closer to an end for every other life in the fortress.


    And they were far from the end of it. As Ado held one of the main gates, she saw the King joining the fray to beat back a particularly savage enemy advance himself. He wore armour of resplendent silver, enchanted with a magic so fierce she could feel it even over the hum of necromantic power flooding the air so revoltingly. He swung a sword which looked more like a sunbeam than any construct of metal and mechanics, lopping enemies fully in half, taking chunks out of stone surfaces on his backswing. At his side were half a dozen Paladins, seemingly invigorated by their King¡¯s presence, all doubts regarding treachery and coups forgotten before a snarling enemy and royal ally.


    But the King, too, was nothing more than a mortal man. And he was not immune to the rare creatures of potency among their enemy. A Fomori opened his throat up down to the vertebra with a single swing of its great tendrils, and in one stroke the royal line of Wudra was bereft of its patriarch.


    The battle raged on around him, heroism made somehow inconsequential by the grander carnage unfolding in its proximity. Ado herself barely even glanced at the King¡¯s corpse.


    Heroes, she had learned, did not truly exist. There were simply those who survived and those who didn¡¯t. Today, it seemed, there would be none of the former. She continued casting.


    One stride at a time they gave ground. The outer sections were taken at the steep price of many tens, even hundreds, of thousands undead. The median points for a fraction of that. Each new area of their collapsing defense was bought more miserly than the one before it as exhaustion, fatigue and death slowly sapped the fighting strength of Wudra¡¯s defenders. Ado herself found magic an increasingly stubborn familiar, her will and powers blunted with the overexertion hard fighting demanded of them. Fingers numb, eyes bleary, wits savaged, it was all she could do to even identify the great blocks of frosted water she sent smashing into enemy ranks.


    Desperation set in quickly enough, always eager to pounce on any situation like Ado¡¯s and make itself known. This time, though, there was a terrible, rational flavor to it. This time they really didn¡¯t have any other options save for the madness it was making look so appealing.


    Plans were discussed to spearhead an assault beyond the walls, to try and take the head off the Dark Lord¡¯s army by killing its leadership. Plenty remembered the early assaults, when entire attacking forces had been rendered harmless and aimless by the death of the greater undead around which they gathered. And all knew they had no chance of holding the city conventionally.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Ado vetoed the idea, if only out of risk reduction. They were holding, still, and holding well. There might well be another time to act brazenly and dangerously later, a time when they could do so more easily and safely. Estimation of their enemy¡¯s inexhaustible numbers failed now, but Ado¡¯s glances beyond the windows told her they¡¯d been thinned.


    By a hair.


    So they would continue their defense until they¡¯d managed to thin them by another. Every minute advantage made a difference, and they needed every one they could get. She got back to fighting.


    A gate fell, then more undead were pouring in through yet another vulnerability. Arrows flew, bodies hit the ground, and they were forced back. For half an hour. They came back, they always fucking came back, and this time the defenders were low on ammunition. Divine magic churned the air with holy castings and appeals to the heavens, igniting necrotic flesh, restoring stamina, reknitting wounds. A second wind hit the defenders.


    They used it to hold for an hour more, mangling more of the Dark Lord¡¯s army until his attackers had to scale walls of their own slain allies before they could even reach the actual defenses. Even this did not slow them, not even by a shade. Ground started losing again, Paladins died, Magi died, everyone was dying. Ado¡¯s brother.


    He fought bravely, heroically. He died no differently for it, throat torn out and entrails spilling from him as the endless horde continued. Another casting of divine magic came seconds too late to save him. Ado¡¯s heart broke.


    She gathered the advisors and Paladins, spoke quickly. They prepared their spearhead.


    Their assault began from a window, superhumans leaping or gliding themselves down through the air as every defender still within the building unleashed all they had in a single, controlled volley designed to batter the enemy and leave them briefly stunned. It worked, for seconds, and they all hit the ground killing.


    Ado was among them, because there was nothing more important she could be doing now than unleashing the power of a Magus upon the battlefield.


    They were a wall of Vigour and might, dozens strong and barging through the horde. Everything that came within paces of them died, instantly, split or crushed apart, pulped, liquefied and allowed to fall at their feet. They closed slowly, inexorably on their target and Ado felt a flutter of hope.


    It was interrupted as the Elves came.


    Ado recognised them, vaguely, by species. Not the specific breed, but their tall, lithe forms and sharp, thin features were unmistakable. They moved like eels, seeming to disappear from the path of sword swings, bettering even a Knight in physical speed and dwarfing him in dexterity. They halted the advance almost completely, two scores of razor-sharp elites to engulf their hackneyed assassination squad and crush their chances.


    There was no hope now, Ado knew that, and she was almost certain every man and woman fighting beside her knew to. But somehow that didn¡¯t have them fighting any less hard. Somehow, it only bolstered their fury. Maces swung, axes and polehammers with them, magic roared out. Ado put an icicle the size of a man clean into an Elf¡¯s face, watched his head just come apart like something crushed by a siege stone. His corpse disappeared under the thousand feet thrashing all around them, and another pace was earned. Paladins were dying again, momentum taken, but she didn¡¯t care. Because they could still bleed the Dark Lord¡¯s forces. They could still make him pay as deer a price for their lives as was payable, and leave his victorious army a ruined, crippled thing not able to take a single city more.


    Her heart ached, and Ado thought of Folami. Her treatment of him, all her mistakes. She realized she was staring down into her last few moments alive. It was funny. Ado had always intended to die properly, dignified and aging in her bed, surrounded by family.


    But a death was a death, and somehow she didn¡¯t mind this one as much.


    The movement ahead caught her, eyes flicking up just in time to behold the sight of an iron bolt flitting through the air nearly faster than human perception. Ado froze, the world seemed to slow, and she traced the projectile¡¯s deadly path across the battlefield. That was an end. But who¡¯s? She found herself without an answer, and cursed the one responsible for sending her out without even knowing the enemy¡¯s army had so potent an archer as to fire it.


    And then it struck home, and Ado¡¯s worries were displaced by a gaping, gasping confusion.


    ***


    Collin had nailed the Dark Elf perfectly, and he allowed himself a smile as the head just sort of¡­Came off. Neck surrendering to the momentum of his arrow, meat ripping, vertebra bidding each other a tearful goodbye. The cranial missile disappeared from sight and bounced off somewhere among the thrashing undead. He¡¯d already nocked and drawn another arrow by the time it did, eyes still on Ado.


    The idiot was stunned, staring, pausing. Rookies. Collin really wouldn¡¯t ever understand why the human instinct in battle was so often to freeze. It was just asking to be killed, and he was almost tempted to put a bolt through her foot as a reminder.


    Instead, he put it through another Dark Elf. The slightly more productive option, perhaps.


    Around him ten more Rangers were loosing ten more projectiles, while Hexeri was doing horrible, awful things to everything that got within ten feet of her. Collin actually felt slightly sick watching her fight, a hilarious state of being, but perhaps a reasonable one. Combat with arrows and knives only did so much to prepare a man for watching a child whirlpool of blood liquefy whatever it touched.


    There¡¯d not been many places they could have headed and done anything of substance, so they¡¯d all taken their harassing force- now re-armed after pilfering the spot of their capture- and headed off to help Ado.


    It had been a smart decision, because she damned well needed it.

 Announcement!

    Hello everyone, we''d like to announce a book we''ve been working on for quite a while now.


    God Of Hell is live on Royal Road!


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    God Of Hell</a>


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Nero died and awoke in hell.


    A grinning face, a gun to his head. That was the last thing Nero saw in life. A fitting end. He''d made his fortune by helping the rich and powerful exploit others and get away with it. Unfortunately, death is fairer than life.


    In hell, Nero is thrust into the middle of an oppressive regime with humanity at the bottom and Demonkind at the top. Worse, a mysterious imp insists Nero and his forbidden demon slaying magic have some pivotal role in overturning it.


    True or not, he''ll need to master his newfound powers just to survive this hostile world. And maybe, just maybe become the God of Hell somewhere along the way.


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 Book 2: Chapter 42

    Another arrow, this one got a Fomori. It didn¡¯t die, but its day certainly wasn¡¯t a very pleasant one from that point on as two more Paladins smashed it down. Collin just moved on, picked another target, shot. He was going for the powerful enemies, the rarer ones who tended to actually hold fights like this together. Normal undead were stronger than humans, if only for the manic frenzy in which they fought, but their ability to damage a truly strong individual- like a Paladin- was limited by their basic physicality. The killing blows in a fight like this would mostly be coming from stronger constructs that attacked those distracted by their lesser brethren.


    So Collin slotted those instead. One at a time, killing twice or thrice a second, feeling his many quivers slowly empty of the hundred or so pounds of iron he¡¯d been carrying. That was fine, he had backups placed right next to him. Collin was in a good spot, with plenty of sight lines, good defensibility and a lovely summer breeze coming in from the East. The only thing which would have perfected his little rampage was if he¡¯d had a picnic.


    But life wasn¡¯t perfect, he supposed. Collin settled for just imagining one as he turned a Dark Elf¡¯s skull into several pieces of a Dark Elf¡¯s skull.


    Up ahead Ado was still fighting, but Hexeri had reached her. Even Collin couldn¡¯t hear the words exchanged, catching only the occasional one, but as far as he could tell she was doing her job of orchestrating the retreat. Good, they¡¯d all die very very quickly if they didn¡¯t get the fuck out of there. He was no white knight, and he¡¯d not been able to find a conveniently located sunrise to emerge over when he arrived. This wasn¡¯t a saving of the day, just a saving of some of the idiots who¡¯d survived its night.


    Collin took a Lich¡¯s arm off, and actually surprised himself, that he¡¯d gotten through its defenses. The momentary distraction sent a spell it had been weaving unstable, and it and everything within fifty feet was incinerated. Shame he couldn¡¯t count all the extra kills, because that would¡¯ve pushed him to the top of the scoreboard by a mile.


    At a glance, he saw Ado and Hexeri were now making their way back. Hemorrhaging men, as people surrounded on all sides tended to do, but managing steady progress. Collin shifted to protecting them directly; interrupting killing blows, icing particularly stubborn resistance leaders, keeping them from losing any limbs or heads as best he could manage. They were a good hundred feet away, but at their rate he found them almost on him within a minute.


    That was when Collin saw that he, now, was starting to become surrounded. Not quite as thickly, but certainly moreso than he¡¯d have liked. It was time to make a hasty retreat, he decided, and so he gave out the order for their Hail-Mary.


    It had to be said, as far as diversionary ambushes went, several dozen fucking Vampires was hard to beat. They just came flying at the undead- their fellow undead, Collin supposed- and started killing. Crushing skulls, punching off limbs, slashing apart several ranks in as many seconds and making a nice, comfortable space for the spearmen to take formation. It was a nice, careful, orderly retreat with everyone covering everyone. And that wasn¡¯t an easy thing to do. It took dozens of hours of drills just to hold a shield wall properly under the sorts of pressure they were facing now, scores more to properly move in one and keep it cohesive. And if these weren¡¯t Kaltans, Collin had no doubt the introduction of Vampires would¡¯ve had their formation coming apart.


    Every single one of his soldiers would have been an elite in any other army, and by God did they kill their way off that battlefield. The thinned ranks still at their backs came apart like opened curtains, and Collin¡¯s Rangers and Ado¡¯s coterie all packed themselves safely within the formation as they moved off.


    Almost half an hour had passed in total from Collin¡¯s first arrival when they were finally, properly safe and free of the carnage. Everyone present dropped down and started gulping down oxygen like it was going out of fashion. Collin didn¡¯t blame them, he was too busy doing the same.


    ¡°Head count.¡± He barked out, galvanizing his own thoughts only with a considerable effort. Grunting, groaning annoyance answered him, which was itself rather promising. Irritated soldiers had rarely suffered the worst they could have.


    Officers headed out, speaking to serjeants, who tallied the men. Collin had a spare few minutes whilst that was done, so he attended the matter closest to his heart.


    No Rangers dead. That was something, at least. He wasn¡¯t sure whether he¡¯d survive another of them meeting their maker. Not without the Dark Lord himself keeping the unlucky sods company.


    Night came on sooner than any of them would have liked, Collin most of all. The dark was always the enemy of most men. Ordinarily, he¡¯d have appreciated it. Kaltan¡¯s Rangers always did their best work at night, after all, when their enemies were blind and their attacks unseen.


    But the Rangers were a small sliver of his forces today, and they would be for years to come. Ten. It was pitiful. Sad, tragic. Ten fucking rangers left from a force which had once boasted hundreds. Collin took a moment to recall General Venka, then spat at his feet in the memory.


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    Shortly after that, the fires started. Undead didn¡¯t like fires, but they just couldn¡¯t help but start them up whenever they were unleashed on a city. Humans needed fire, after all, and so many houses were things of straw or light wood.


    So many panicked people kicked over lanterns, or threw them at their attackers. And fire left unattended- like by a city claimed by death- spread like¡­


    Well, like wildfire.


    It was wild, at least. And it was awful. The flames started as a dull glow, like rays of dying sunlight peeking out over the crest of a horizon. Then they grew. Soon enough much of the city seemed engulfed in the conflagration, history and life consumed as one. Collin wasn¡¯t optimistic- stupid- enough to hope that the Dark Lord¡¯s forces were sitting on the pyre, they¡¯d have been cleared out long before it started.


    But there¡¯d be no more trouble from them, that much he was fairly sure of. Even with an army of unthinking automatons it took a while to properly organize a march, and never longer than after a fight. Particularly a hard one.


    So they could all sit back, rest, and watch the show. He glanced around, curious to see what would await his searching vision.


    Well, there wasn¡¯t a surprise. That was for sure. Collin saw haunted fear, hatred, regret. Guilt, misery, defeat and horror and disbelief. So much disbelief. But mostly he saw hatred.


    Good. He might have expected that much- this was, after all, a company of veteran warriors- but it was useful to have the confirmation. Fear was useless, regret a mixed bag. Guilt was better, misery worse, defeat a practical end to any utility he might have found. Horror was fear, writ more, and disbelief led to madness more often than battle.


    Hatred, though, was good. Collin could work with hatred. He had worked with hatred. Hatred got things done, it turned men into killers, into soldiers, into winners.


    And they would win. Staring at the distant blaze, wincing at the thought of whoever might still have been trapped within it, Collin promised himself that much. They would fucking win.


    ¡°Thinking about revenge?¡±


    Collin almost stabbed the source of the voice, and halted just in time to avoid introducing Queen Ado to a pathetically ignominious end. She was beside him, waiting expectantly. Expectant of what?


    An answer. His thoughts were still slowed by combat, trapped in that paradoxical state of lightning-fast cognition aimed everywhere, and at nothing in particular. Adjusting to conversation was like trying to cook with ice.


    He managed it fast. Collin had plenty of practice.


    ¡°Lucky guess.¡± He shrugged, though it¡¯d been more of a safe one. She made lots of those, he¡¯d noticed.


    Without prompting, the young Queen took her seat beside him, and Collin stiffened. He glanced over half anticipating hostility, but saw none. And that made him all the more ill at ease.


    It wasn¡¯t that he had limited experience with women. It was that he had no experience with women who weren¡¯t whores or soldiers. A life spent killing was good for lots of things, but conversation with the smaller sex was not one of them. Fortunately she seemed to have more to say, lubricating their discussion conveniently as she did.


    ¡°My brother died.¡±


    As far as openings went, Collin had heard better. He shrugged. Shit conversation was about the only kind he ever had anyway.


    ¡°Sorry to hear that.¡±


    ¡°He died badly.¡± The woman continued, hardly seeming to hear him. ¡°Painfully.¡±


    Collin shrugged again.


    ¡°It happens. He take any undead out first?¡±


    She glanced at him, frowning.


    ¡°A few.¡±


    ¡°Then it wasn¡¯t a waste at least.¡± Collin replied. ¡°That¡¯s about as best as you can really hope for, anything else¡­All bets are off.¡±


    She studied him for a few moments before speaking once more, seeming to hold a greater focus now and letting it bear down upon him.


    ¡°Do you have any brothers?¡±


    The question was a surprising one, though it shouldn¡¯t have been.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Did you?¡±


    Collin hesitated a moment longer this time.


    ¡°Yes.¡± He said, after a second. ¡°I did. Three of them, all older. Dead for years now. One went in the uprising- my dad tore the cock off the man responsible. The other two¡­The Dark Lord¡¯s bastards got them.¡±


    And then they got all his friends, then they got his dad, and one day Collin¡¯s luck would run out and they¡¯d get him. But he¡¯d not die in a waste, either. And he intended to kill a lot more than just a few before he went out.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that.¡± The Queen told him, voice sounding suddenly tight. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for¡­A lot.¡±


    Collin thought about that.


    ¡°Thanks.¡± He said, awkwardly. The woman smiled for a moment, and he wasn¡¯t sure why until she spoke.


    ¡°It¡¯s relaxing, speaking to someone who isn¡¯t a politician. You have no idea how stuffy it was in there. Or¡­Well, you probably do actually. I¡¯d dared to hope my brother would be of some help but he was even worse. Stabbed me in the back, went along with everything the others said just dripping smarm and¡­¡± She hesitated. ¡°And I had him beaten once I was back in charge, tossed around and humiliated. Even after he helped me. I was¡­So cruel.¡±


    The woman¡¯s eyes were wet, and Collin looked away. He was struck by the sudden urge to say something, and simultaneously by the sudden absence of anything which might be worth saying. His mind scrambled for long moments to coin a response before his mouth finally went off on its own.


    ¡°Bottle it.¡± He said, quickly. ¡°Pack it up, and cram it down deep somewhere. All that grief, that upset. Keep a hold of it, then use it. You¡¯ll know when. A fight, a chase, anything like that. Won¡¯t be long, in our line of work, before you find someone you don¡¯t mind splashing it all out onto.


    Collin was rather eager to find one for himself, even just saying it. The Queen, though, seemed to find the idea rather less appealing. She studied him like a leper, sympathetic and warm. It pissed him off.


    ¡°When did you first start doing this?¡± She asked. ¡°Fighting, warring. Killing.¡±


    He thought about it, and realized he didn¡¯t actually know. There¡¯d always been cause to train in his house, even before the uprising. Collin had been very young when it started- though already practicing even then. And once it was over¡­Well, half the cutthroats in Kaltan might have gone for the price he¡¯d had placed on his head by disenfranchised nobility.


    Then the Dark Lord had come, and started a fight which dragged everybody in regardless.


    ¡°A while.¡± He said at last.


    ¡°That must have been hard.¡±


    Collin felt his lip twitch, resisted the urge to snarl.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t. It was something that needed doing, so I did it.¡±


    Ado eyed him, face an unreadable mask. ¡°I think I finally understand the feeling.¡± She whispered.

 Release Rate Update

    Hello all!


    A.C. here, and with an update at that.


    The New Dark Lord release rate is going to be bumping up to 3 times a week: Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.


    This is while we''re releasing God of Hell daily and Author''s Nightmare daily¡ªdid I mention that we''re also working on a May release?


    Well, we are.


    We''re also planning on 6 new releases between March 2025 and January 2026¡ªone down so far.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Our days right now are an indiscriminable stream of waking up, writing, and passing out on our keyboards.


    I call it "The Year of Madness," Ian calls it, "Ah! Fuck, fuck, fuck¡ªmore fucking writing!"


    You can pick which one you like best!


    In all seriousness, however, thank you for all your support during our slowing down of NDL''s release rate.


    It has meant a lot to keep seeing people tuning in while we got our affairs in order.


    Oh yeah¡ªcheck out our Patreon!</a>


    It has Author''s Nightmare with 71 chapters ahead of Royal Road, God of Hell with 15, and New Dark Lord with 20 chapters ahead of Royal Road.


    All in one plan for $10 as well!


    (Also, you get a 7 day free trial.)

 The New Dark Lord: Book 2 Chapter 43

    Galukar had quickly exhausted his throne room¡¯s pillars in his fury, smashing apart each one with a single wrathful blow as his temper withered away and his fears grew sharper and more numerous. He¡¯d thrown the rubble, watching stone smash into walls like sling bullets and splatter debris across the hall. He¡¯d stamped his feet, and sent cracks the length of infantry lines snaking out to every corner. He¡¯d screamed, and watched the windows shatter from the pneumatic power of his lungs.


    He had tortured the world in every way his transcendental strength could manage, but none of it had brought back his daughter. Felicia was still missing.


    She was not hiding in any of her usual retreats, nor had a more thorough search of the palace yielded any other spots which might have obfuscated the girl. So far as any of Galukar¡¯s spies, advisors or guards could tell she had simply vanished.


    Galukar had been an inch from sending each and every one of them to the gallows for their incompetence before Shaiar talked him out of it, soothing him as she always did. It wasn¡¯t lost on him, why. Their sons were watching his fury with fearful eyes, and that almost started Galukar¡¯s rage all over again.


    First he¡¯d lost a daughter, and now fate seemed to threaten him with a dozen more by showing his young warrior-heirs as no more than snivelling cowards. Bad enough none had been deemed worthy of the Godblade-


    But he had other concerns, and one was great enough to swallow every other thought in his head after mere moments. His damned daughter was missing, and the whole world seemed intent on conspiring to keep from returning her to him. Galukar had to fight the urge to go and seize his trusty blade from the vaults. A war would distract him; and if he could use it to search the lands of a nation most likely to have seized his daughter, so much the better.


    For one moment, Galukar wished only to scream again. He stopped himself. Shaiar was still by his side, concerned and touching one arm in cold comfort. His sons stood less than ten yards away. None of their ears would withstand the extent of his lungs¡¯ capacity, and Galukar would not deafen a dozen family members for lack of one.


    Hours passed, and his rage, confusion and fear grew ever stronger. Solutions continued being suggested, tried, failed. Galukar found new things to unleash his fury on. Soon enough he was rending iron in his impotent, helpless anger. It was only after hours more than he finally received word of a hopeful variety.


    ¡°Your grace, there has been an update regarding Felicia. Your skyship- it returned mere minutes ago, and upon the deck we found-¡±


    Galukar was sprinting for the vessel like a stone cast from the greatest of Abaritan¡¯s trebuchets, his footfalls cracking the smoothe stone of his castle¡¯s floors with each stride. In under a minute he was before the vehicle, confirming the report with his own eyes. It did not weaken his anger.


    Felicia was, in fact, beside the vehicle. Grinning. Always among the older of his children, she was taller than any of her brothers or sisters and had yet to heed the lessons regarding her habit of showing teeth and tongue with too-wide smiles or laughter. She looked like Galukar, a shade, though he saw no resemblance now.


    ¡°Where have you been?¡± Galukar snarled, the words escaping him in a scraping grinding assault. If his daughter noticed the fury, she was content to not even mention it. Felicia just grinned back up at her father with pride.


    Pride, for convincing an entire nation its heir had been stolen.


    ¡°I have returned, father!¡± The girl declared, speaking as if hers was the presence of some High Queen, and not an eleven year-old girl with too much headstrong independence for her own good. ¡°My voyage on the skyship has been a success!¡±


    ¡°Your voyage.¡± He echoed, not confused as much as enraged. Felicia continued, seeming to grow hesitant, finally realising her father¡¯s rage.


    ¡°Yes. I¡­I snuck onboard before it left, I wanted to study it while it was in flight and learn how to repair it. When I grow up, I want to repair all your machines Father, and I want to build new ones for you- like this skyship!¡±


    Galukar closed his eyes tight, muttering a curse. This old obsession again.


    ¡°You stowed away.¡±


    The captain was beside them now, speaking himself with the fearful tempo of a man who feared death. He damned well should have.


    ¡°Apologies my King, we were already a day into the journey before any of us knew she was on the ship. But¡­Princess Felicia has more than a passing skill with mechanics, she¡¯d make a good engineer if you don¡¯t mind my saying so.¡±


    Galukar jerked his head up, affixing the man with a stare which left him withering into nonverbal trembles and hesitation. He held the glare for a long moment before turning it, finally, back upon Felicia.


    She met it unblinkingly, as she always did.


    ¡°How many times.¡± Galukar began. ¡°Do you need to be told that your place is not as an engineer, Felicia?¡±


    His daughter glared back now.


    ¡°It should be!¡± She snapped. ¡°I¡¯m a good one, the captain himself said so- all the crew agree. I can help Arbite by-¡±


    ¡°YOU CAN HELP ARBITE BY DOING YOUR DUTY AS A PRINCESS.¡± Galukar roared. ¡°By letting us find you a good husband, by producing some heirs for him and showing him our line¡¯s fertility, by carrying Arbite¡¯s legacy across into other kingdoms and helping to bargain with your hand.¡±


    Felicia actually flinched, now, finally showing the respect due to her father. It was too little, too late. Galukar started for the skyship, temper flaring again.


    ¡°I see what my mistake was.¡± He snapped. ¡°I¡¯ve been too lenient with you, tolerated your oddities for too long. Well no longer.¡±


    ¡°Father, what are you doing!?¡± Felicia asked, a note of fear to her voice.


    ¡°What I must.¡± He snapped, then struck the vessel with all of his strength. The wooden hull, proof against siege weaponry, came apart into a spray of splinters and chips as a section of it the size of Galukar¡¯s own body was smashed inwards. He punched again, destroying more, and more. Dozens of blows raining upon the precious construct of magic, each one leaving it that small part less complete.


    Felicia screamed and cried, but Galukar ignored her. Advisors protested and roared, but he ignored them too. Some things were more important than war or commerce. Within a few minutes, the corruptive vessel was nothing but a mangled pile of raw material. No more capable of flight than a boulder.


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    Perhaps he would find some use for it as kindling. Galukar turned back to the captain and his daughter.


    ¡°You, sir, are out of a job.¡± Galukar snarled, eyes now fltitting to Felicia. Hers were red and puffy with tears, fury burning on her face. ¡°And you¡­You need to start behaving properly, and stop being so damned troublesome. You are a Princess of Arbite Felicia, not an engineer and not a magus like that freak Mortascia¡¯s daughter. Start acting like it.¡±


    ***


    His eyes opened, and the first thing to strike Galukar, the first of all his innumerable sensations, was the density of physical agony.


    It was everywhere, and everything. An acid pumping through his veins, a bolt of lightning dancing across his nerves. It scoured every other sensation from him as easily as sunlight did the flickering lumosity of candlefire, rendering all the other informational pangs of his body an irrelevance next to its bottomless mass.


    Galukar gasped, and cried out. Then choked on his own sounds, lungs convulsing with their own torture, before finally falling into a weak, pitiable mewl. It was something. It meant he still lived, it showed he drew breath, it sent another wave through him to provide assurance that he still remained intact enough for feeling and thought, motion and deeds.


    But it was torture, nonetheless.


    ¡°The King!¡± A voice rang out, high in pitch, exclaiming its shock and hope with that single sky-grazing note. It stung his ears, among the few body parts not already quivering with pain. ¡°He¡¯s awake!¡±


    Galukar heard scuffling feet as the message was carried off, and shifted where he lay. The movement gave him another shot of agony, but this one was blunter. Or else less surprising. He had chance and cognisance to examine his sensation and make a more articulated summary of his damages.


    The back. That was where most of it lay, the skin opposite his ribs and down to his lower spine. It was raw and wet, where the Demon had clawed his viscera apart like it was that of a common man. He could smell the wounds, taste them. There was a dark corruption to them that only a Demonic touch could induce.


    It was of no concern. Already, Galukar could feel it dying. Fighting a losing war with the divine magics of the Godblade that infused his body, the magic was being systematically purged from his anatomy like rot burned out of a mundane wound with flame. That it was still there at all, he thought, was testament to the entity¡¯s power. And perhaps explanation for his current condition.


    Groaning, he sat up. More aches, more stabs, duller still than the last. Galukar was wounded, but not crippled and certainly not dying. Once the last of his slain enemy¡¯s power was purged from him, he would begin to heal at his usual rate. Within a week he would be killing as well as ever.


    But a lot could go wrong in a week, and he didn¡¯t know how much time he¡¯d lost already.


    ¡°You¡¯re awake.¡±


    Galukar looked up, recognising the voice but not placing it until he laid eyes on its owner. Sphera, the Necromancer. She looked different. Worn down. Her youth seemed to have been destroyed by whatever span had passed in his unconsciousness, fatigue and stress etching deep lines across her smoothe face where once there had been none.


    ¡°How long was I asleep?¡± He asked, fearing the answer now more than before. She sighed.


    ¡°Eighteen days. The army is in retreat, and has been for a while. You killed the Demon, and the enemy was too dishevelled by its destruction to chase us at first. But we got no more than a day¡¯s march on them. Even with our magi sabotaging the roads at our backs, they were able to threaten us with pursuit before we¡¯d galvanised. That kept us on the move long enough for them to try and slip around. We¡¯ve been giving chase, and are just barely shy of catching them now.¡±


    It was a damned lot to take in, Galukar had to admit, but it barely registered to him. One concern was stronger than any other.


    ¡°Where is my sword?¡±


    The Godblade. As much as he hated to say it, as harsh a truth as it was, that weapon was worth more than any man. Any thousand. It was the very future of the world. In Galukar¡¯s hands it had done nothing but evil, but in another¡¯s¡­


    In another¡¯s, one day, it might well bring true peace. And if nothing else, it was the hope of that that left him worried for it.


    ¡°We have it.¡± The Necromancer assured him. Galukar exhaled.


    ¡°Where?¡±


    The Godblade was sealed in lead, stone, iron and ice. Galukar approved. Nothing less than that measure- however improvised it clearly was- could have done justice to the level of security inherently demanded by so precious a weapon. What left him questioning, however, was the fearful regard it received when finally back in his hand.


    ¡°It was hot.¡± The Necromancer explained, still eying it wearily. ¡°When it fell out of that Demon. Hotter than I knew things could get.¡±


    ¡°Fire is hot.¡± Galukar snorted, rather irked by so brazen a display of cowardice. The Necromancer seemed more irked still by his response.


    ¡°Not like this. It was glowing. Like iron from the forge, but blue instead of orange. And brighter. So bright we had a man go blind from staring too long.¡±


    Galukar swallowed. That was something.


    ¡°How did you move it?¡± He asked, after a moment. ¡°It cooled down?¡±


    ¡°We cooled it down.¡± She replied. ¡°First we couldn¡¯t even go near, the men we sent out got blisters just from reaching out to within a foot of it. We had to leave, then, anyway. So while the army was organised into a march, I had Magi douse it with water and high speed winds. By the time we could go it was cool enough that a length of iron hooked around it from afar was able to hold and drag it behind us. We¡¯d tried the same trick before cooling it, in case you¡¯re wondering. The chain melted on contact.¡±


    Galukar swallowed again, eying his weapon. There wasn¡¯t a blemish on it. Ancient iron seemed not even to recall that it had ever been resting within a Demon¡¯s bowels at all. Damaged, perhaps, at a cursory glance, but no more so than it had been when he¡¯d first laid eyes on it. Just chips and chinks born from untold millennia of history.


    If anything in the world could destroy the Godblade, Galukar had never heard of it. Apparently the death throes of a Demon was not a sufficient test to prove the limits of his relic.


    Better to die than let such a thing fall into the enemy¡¯s grasp, he reminded himself. Better to die a thousand deaths.


    ¡°What are your plans now?¡± He asked. ¡°Or rather, what were they before my awakening.¡±


    He saw a flicker of irritation in the Necromancer¡¯s face, and recognised it easily enough. Galukar had seized command from others many times before, and grown accustomed to the inevitable protests that came with it. They¡¯d never bothered him in the past, and they didn¡¯t bother him now. Some things just needed doing.


    ¡°We¡¯re readying for a re-engagement with the enemy.¡± She said, sounding oddly¡­Blunt. As if she¡¯d carefully hollowed herself of concern or anxiety. Galukar recognised that, too. And he approved. It was the mark of a disciplined mind, even in one as dark as her.


    Disciplined did not mean well-aimed, however. Galukar frowned.


    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious.¡± He noted. ¡°We had a chance to hold them, once. We had the perfect ground possible and an army at full strength. Even that was doomed the moment they unveiled Demons among their ranks, to try and force an engagement now would be suicide.¡±


    There was fire in the Necromancer¡¯s eyes, however. Fire and steel. Enough to remain strong in the face of Galukar¡¯s disagreement.


    ¡°We have no choice, the entire strategy we¡¯ve formed relies on an enemy slower and weaker than we¡¯ve left them.¡±


    Galukar recognised that look, he¡¯d seen it before. Seen it recently. It was the very same one that burned in Arion Falls¡¯ eyes.


    ¡°Girl, there are things in your life beyond throwing it away in service to something else.¡± He replied, finding his own voice reduced to a shaky whisper.


    ¡°Strength is the greatest virtue and weakness the greatest sin.¡± She replied, mechanically. Galukar recognised the words well, they were Shaiagrazni¡¯s. ¡°If I can further Master Shaiagrazni¡¯s plans then I will, whatever it takes.¡±


    He eyed her, finding his heart growing heavy.


    ¡°Yes, I suppose you will.¡± Galukar sighed.


    To lose a child was torture unlike any other that existed. Galukar ought to have known, he¡¯d lost many over the years. All of his sons, through violence, and more than one daughter through marriage or alienation. He doubted it was anything comparable to lose an apprentice, but that duty of care and culpability remained. If the sting was even one tenth of one hundredth of one thousandth so sharp¡­


    He hit the Necromancer, almost before he even knew he was moving. Galukar was careful to hold back- he always was. He held back against Knights, and he held back just a shade more against the Fleshcrafted skull of Shaiagrazni¡¯s apprentice.


    But not that much. She still left the ground, shot back, thudded hard against a thick wooden beam and brought half a tent down by smashing through it, landing in a dazed heap and providing no further argument against Galukar. She¡¯d been right, in a strange way. They really did need to delay that army. But she would be of little help compared to what she might contribute by returning to her Master anyway.


    And it had been rather satisfying to strike her again.

 The New Dark Lord: Book 2 Chapter 44

    The Necromancer was not pleased once she woke up, and Galukar was rather surprised by how long it took her. Ordinarily a blow to the head left someone unconscious for moments, if even that. Any longer and it suggested something had gone very, very wrong. She slept for hours. But it was just that, sleep. Galukar realised soon after she lost consciousness that he had not damaged the woman in any permanent way- simply made her succumb to what she¡¯d been staving off for weeks. Fatigue.


    She slept, and that was all. Genuine, true sleep born from nothing more complex or sinister than exhaustion. It wasn¡¯t until almost an entire day had begun and ended that she finally woke up.


    More than enough time for a good army to manage twenty miles, and apparently enough for an army of Kaltan to march almost thirty. Galukar might have been impressed were they not dirty, disreputable traitors intend on subverting the will of God.


    Their destination was not yet in sight, by then, but they had covered up a considerable stretch of the journey. More importantly, Galukar was back in command, which meant the Necromancer wasn¡¯t able to seize the army back around with orders, no matter how loudly she barked them. Days, marching, distance covered and morale slowly trickling back to some semblance of normalcy. Galukar was surprised to find he enjoyed more prestige, not less, for his near-defeat against the Demon. It might have been reassuring in other circumstances, but the awe he saw directed at him now only told him that the entity enjoyed a truly terrible level of fear in their soldiers. He couldn¡¯t be the man who did the impossible for killing one, not if they were to be convinced to so much as stand before another.


    Galukar half-expected to see the war camps in tattered ruins, so disastrous had their outing been. He didn¡¯t of course. They were as far from the devastation of open combat as they had been at the start of the conflict, and unscarred as an infant. If anything the assembly of tents had grown, diffusing and spreading across the landscape like some infection in a wound. It put into perspective how great a success Shaiagrazni had found in gathering forces for his budding Empire.


    And that, Galukar knew, was what it was. An Empire. He had no illusions about Shaiagraznian conquest stopping once the Dark Lord was beaten. They were simply trading one for the other.


    Which was fine by him, because he¡¯d seen the one.


    Galukar saw the army break apart as they finally neared their destination. Men hurried out like scattering rats, running to what he imagined was a mix of wives, whores and places with drink. In that order, he could only hope. His own path was different, such indulgences hadn¡¯t held any sway over him for a long while now. He was surprised to find the Necromancer trailing after him still, looking better but nonetheless wrung out after her ordeals during his unconsciousness.


    That was fine, Galukar had no issue with her pushing herself behind the safe pickets of a war camp. He continued to the main command tent, stepping into the pavilion and searching quickly.


    ¡°Shaiagrazni!¡± He called out. ¡°We have returned!¡±


    Galukar searched with his eyes, first, then his hearing. There was no sight of Shaiagrazni, and no returning call of the caster to indicate he¡¯d been heard. Instead another voice struck him, higher, softer, and twisted with amusement.


    ¡°Ah, you were rather quick.¡± Lilia the Vampire Queen breathed, having taken a seat near the centre of the room and swivelled to gaze upon him as he entered. ¡°I take it all did not go according to plan, then?¡±


    If she was concerned, the woman- the thing- gave no indication. Simply smiled away, as if the prospect of many thousands dying was of no consequence at all.


    Galukar felt the words clogging his throat like snow piled up before a cart, and had to force them out. They tasted bitter. Defeat always did.


    ¡°The enemy surprised us.¡± He said at last. ¡°Not in any ambush, they moved exactly as predicted- even had the conventional forces we¡¯d expected to find. But they had more. A Demon.¡±


    It was a rare pleasure to see the Queen of Vampires taken aback, a very rare pleasure. Galukar didn¡¯t find it in him to enjoy it however.


    ¡°I see.¡± She replied, voice suddenly a shade strained. He understood completely. ¡°And this Demon, where is it now?¡±


    ¡°Back in Hell.¡± He growled. ¡°But there were more, weaker, but more. And I suspect we¡¯ve not seen the limits of the Dark Lord¡¯s capacity to summon them either.¡±


    The Vampire didn¡¯t answer instantly, apparently content to take a moment reserved for thought. When she finally spoke her voice was calm, but far from relaxed.


    ¡°I see. And where were the Dark Lord¡¯s forces that you last saw?¡±


    ¡°Heading this way, perhaps a dozen leagues from us. With luck they¡¯ll be here in one day, without it their attack will come at night.¡±


    The Vampire nodded. ¡°Very well. We shall handle it when they come, then. It seems we¡¯re to fight a second defensive battle.¡±


    Galukar felt his anger grow, then. The sheer coolness of this one was more than just unnerving, it was potentially disastrous.


    ¡°We need to act quickly.¡± He snapped. ¡°Urgently. Where is Shaiagrazni?!¡±


    ¡°He is busy.¡± She replied, evenly. ¡°Far too busy, I think, to tolerate any sort of disturbance at all, even from me.¡±


    ¡°Master Shaiagrazni has done this before.¡± The Necromancer pointed out, apparently feeling the need to speak at last. ¡°During the siege of Kaltan, he locked himself away for days. I¡¯ll bet he¡¯s working on some new project to turn the tide against our enemy.¡±


    Galukar was inclined to agree, but he still recalled the long days Shaiagrazni had needed to finish his last. And how much smaller the enemy¡¯s army had been then.


    And more than anything, he recalled the total immunity Demons had to any kind of disease or pathogen. Even the kinds a Fleshcrafter might produce.


    But he said nothing. There was nothing to say, after all. He¡¯d had a single chance to avert their current situation, and he¡¯d failed the moment he fell unconscious from that damned sky.


    ***


    Ado was beginning to think that Kaltans were not, in fact, human. They¡¯d spent an hour marching before finally reaching the carriages Collin Baird had brought with him to rescue her, and though the distance and time were not nearly as long as some she¡¯d seen crossed, they were long enough to make clear the difference between them.


    There was a great gulf separating normal men from veteran soldiers, that much Ado knew. What was news to her was the still greater one between a mere soldier and the hardened killers of Kaltan, and that was to say nothing of their damned Rangers. At the pace they set, despite her carefully maintained fitness, her own lungs and sides were screaming in pain within a few minutes.


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    It wasn¡¯t for lack of effort, that she lagged behind. Ado was giving all the effort she could have been asked to, and was motivated to do as much by the sight at her back. A burning city, smoke still billowing from it, embers still glowing bright. Brighter, really, against the ever-darkening landscapes.


    She knew intellectually that there was little danger at risk of emerging from the giant pyre. Intellect had very little to do with her legs, though, and the sight of such a momentous blaze seemed to compel them into movement unlike anything else she¡¯d experienced before.


    Ado continued marching- almost jogging- until her mouth tasted sour with stomach acid and her every breath was a chestful of burning coals. Then she marched some more.


    Fortunately, Ado was saved from pushing herself to exhaustion or death by the carriages. They were rare things, rarer than perhaps any other variety in all the world. So few, after all, were made by Shaiagrazni¡¯s own hands. And none were faster.


    The Paladins took convincing, but in the end the argument was won more by the vehicles¡¯ speed than anything else.


    Of course their shock had more than a little to do with it, and there were still those who insisted on trying their luck in the wilderness alone. Ado didn¡¯t even pity them. She¡¯d seen first hand what religious stupidity could do to harm others, she was rather satisfied to see it finally harming those who actually owned the sentiments. The sensation of winds whipping her anew certainly helped.


    On a carriage- a real, Shaiagraznian carriage- she was safe. Ado surprised herself by feeling the sudden certainty, even as she revelled in it. Titles, authority, alliances and promises of politics- all these things had shielded her before. None had proven above the ravages of circumstance and convenience. But the sheer speed of these vehicles¡­That was something to be relied upon. That was a simple fact of the world.


    Baird did not seem to share her thrill, he did not seem to share much of anything going on in Ado¡¯s head. As usual his eyes were kept ahead, face cold and still, everything about him denying the moments of fleeting vulnerability they¡¯d shared before.


    Good, she decided. Ado would have squirmed at his very presence had anything changed, what she needed now was consistency. Even if that consistency came from a cretin being cretinous.


    But he never really was, was he?


    Her thoughts bristled. Ado would have to apologise to him, properly. Eventually. But not now.


    ¡°Fuck.¡±


    Baird¡¯s utterance snapped Ado out of her stupor, and whipped her eyes around to fall upon him. His face remained unchanged. At first. Slowly, though, the dawning horror thickened.


    She stared ahead, scrutinising the distance for any trace of whatever it was which had caught his notice. She saw none, temper fraying.


    ¡°What are you looking at?¡± She demanded, glancing back at him, and finding Baird now turned to the head of the Vampires.


    ¡°You see it too?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Of course.¡± She replied, both of them matching the other¡¯s tone nearly exactly. Dread, Ado realised, was crushing every other trace of expression in either mouth.


    ¡°See what?!¡± She growled, fear raising her voice¡¯s volume now. Applying a pressure at the back of her throat which demanded escape through frantic speech. Fortunately, it succeeded in drawing Baird¡¯s gaze back to her.


    Unfortunately, his gaze was even more dark with focus and fear than before. Better to be skewered through the belly than affixed with a stare like that.


    ¡°The warcamps are up ahead.¡± He told her. ¡°Ten leagues or so, not very long at all by these carriages. But the Dark Lord¡¯s already on them. And his armies are bigger than ours. Exponentially bigger. It¡¯s like watching a lake try to fight the ocean.¡±


    Fuck.


    ***


    The armies had gotten bigger. Galukar didn¡¯t think it was just through reanimative work on their route to the warcmaps, something more was afoot. Doubtless they¡¯d united with other forces on their way, bolstering themselves by concentrating strength and turning the great compound against them.


    It was the very thing he¡¯d been meant to prevent from happening. Everything really had fallen apart when that Demon had rendered him unconscious. A twinge of pain flared up at Galukar¡¯s side.


    He¡¯d healed faster than he expected, and was now more or less combat-ready. But for once that didn¡¯t fill him with any measure of confidence. Not staring at that force, and certainly not knowing what would be waiting among the ranks of undead and abominations.


    ¡°Hm, more than I might have expected.¡±


    It was Lilia who¡¯s voice he heard, and Galukar turned to see the creature still wore her infuriating mask of confidence. She stepped forwards, clothing changed, now, in style. Her broad, flowing dress was gone and replaced with more form-fitting combat-appropriate apparel, hair bound behind her, leggings and boots protecting her lower body. The transformation was a stunning surprise, but it did nothing to instill confidence.


    A woman with fashion consultants might have coined a similar transformation. That did not make her a warrior, nor did it mean this Vampire knew the first thing about what they were staring down.


    ¡°You could at least take that smile off your face.¡± Galukar grunted. ¡°The enemy will cut it off you soon enough either way.¡±


    She grinned.


    ¡°Oh my, that does sound violent. I¡¯ll have to do my best to deter them then.¡±


    He noticed the Vampire gave no hint about how that might be achieved, simply watched as their enemies closed ever further in.


    ¡°We¡¯re doomed.¡± Galukar sighed, watching the enemy¡¯s approach. Oddly, he felt no strong emotional response to the knowledge.


    He¡¯d not always known he would die in battle, but he¡¯d certainly hoped. The Godblade¡¯s wielder wasn¡¯t immortal, just well-preserved. Within a few more decades his weapon¡¯s capacity to sustain him would have failed, and he¡¯d have surrendered to old age. Better to fall with a weapon in his hand and a mound of dead enemies at his feet, than that.


    The Vampire, apparently, did not see things the same way.


    ¡°Relax.¡± She grinned. ¡°This will go better than you think, and Shaiagrazni is still preparing his latest project.¡±


    If she told him to relax one more time, Galukar might well start his final rampage with her. He growled, tightening his grip on the Godblade, waited.


    Their position was good. Excellent, really. It was the total wealth of every force Shaiagrazni had yet mustered. They had Magi hired from Magira, and those nations who had been using such individuals. They had Kaltans, of course, and Abaritans to form the bulk of their military. Conscripts taken and carefully trained for weeks to as great a quality as was possible in so meagre a time.


    In any other battle- perhaps truly any other in all of history- they would have had the numbers. A quarter-million men extracted from countless leagues of countryside. Today, though, they were outweighed several to one.


    And they didn¡¯t have a fortress like they had last time.


    Their defences were hastily made things, walls of bone and that ¡°keratin¡± stuff Shaiagrazni used so much, without even lacing from the iron that made his personal armour so fiendishly resilient. They stood thirty feet or so, and encircled most of their camps. Most. In truth, it was more of a giant wedge than anything else, a force multiplier to cut into the enemy¡¯s frontlines and maximise their casualties for as long as the fight continued its infancy.


    Once they were fully encircled, though, that would vanish. There were defences at the back, made to turn the sole entrance into a viciously-deadly choke point more savage to traverse than any conventional breach. Still, the enemy today could get through with simple numbers.


    Galukar started pacing, then stopped himself as he remembered the countless eyes which were doubtless scrutinising him for such fear. He halted, turned back to stare at the enemy, fought the tremble which threatened to seize him.


    ¡°Relax.¡± The Vampire repeated, as Galukar did not remove its head. ¡°They¡¯re closing in, now, we¡¯ll be able to do something soon.¡±


    Even as she said it, arrows started flying. Not Ranger bolts, cast across a full mile to remove heads from mere pin-pricks in the distance. Regular arrows, wielded by the bulk of their military. Three hundred yards, that was where they¡¯d start from. Men could cover that much distance in scarily little time. Undead in even less.


    Another minute passed with torturous length before the Vampire finally sighed again, and started moving forwards.


    ¡°Well, I think it¡¯s about time we made a start on this battle.¡± She headed to the front of their battlements, then dropped down below as if the thirty feet were mere inches and landed without so much as a bend of her knees. Then she continued walking.


    The enemy was one hundred yards from them, now, and only ninety from her. Closing like a black tsunami, Galukar almost looked away. He was about to see the Vampire torn to pieces.


    Ninety paces from her. Then eighty, then seventy- and Galukar could start to differentiate the snarling voices from one another. Fifty, and he could see twisted faces behind helms and salivating maws stretched wide for her flesh. Thirty, and his heart was pounding as the Vampire remained where she was and simply stared out. Was she frozen with terror? Was she petrified? Or was she just delusional.


    He started for the edge of the wall, meaning to haul the bitch back by force. He could make it, Galukar thought, he could save her.


    Twenty paces, and the Vampire called out a single word. A word that ran through him, cleanly, like the edge of a spear cutting through meat. Galukar froze.


    ¡°Halt.¡± Ordered the Vampire.


    And the enemy halted.

 The New Dark Lord: Book 2 Chapter 45

    Two hundred thousand, or thereabouts. It was Lilia¡¯s record.


    Not that she¡¯d been counting much, recently. These days- these centuries- she¡¯d been laying low. It was a good habit to get into, she¡¯d found. Keep one¡¯s power to oneself, and it would always surprise others. Particularly one¡¯s enemies. And the greater that power happened to be, the more tempting it was to unleash upon the world at any given moment, the greater the surprise would come from it.


    Well, two hundred thousand enemies enthralled within a single word was a greater surprise than she¡¯d been banking on. One hundred and eighty would have sufficed, the extra twenty thousand was just a nice bonus.


    There weren¡¯t many battle plans that withstood contact with the enemy. None, however, survived contact with one fourth of the army they had been made for suddenly turned into frenzied berserkers and thrown backwards into their own allies. On another day Lilia would have preferred to save the move for a more opportune moment, to dismantle the enemy¡¯s organisation right before an offensive.


    But there would be no offensives today, not from her side. She was hardly surprised. Vampires were ever out-numbered when they came into conflict, and if anything five to one odds was a damn sight closer than she was used to handling.


    A twinge of fatigue caught her, and Lilia had to fight for a moment to retain her focus. Two hundred thousand. It was the very pinnacle of her power¡¯s limitations, and she was feeling it more with each second that passed.


    Lilia was well accustomed to the pull of magic leaching from her reserves. She steeled herself, focused her will, and sent the enemy against itself. Two hundred thousand smashed into over a million like twin earthquakes meeting, and she actually thought she could see the moment both sides came into contact from the shaking of the air.


    It was an illusion of course, and though the fight looked balanced from her angle she knew better than to expect anything but what came next. Her controlled enemies- some human, many lesser undead- were simply torn to bloody scraps as they fed themselves into the meatgrinder of their own army. Lilia was careful to march them quickly, making the most of her limited period of control.


    An army that size- or a force that size in any case- could have held against the remaining eight hundred thousand invaders for ten, twenty minutes. With a suitably picked position and strong command, even close to an hour. But Lilia didn¡¯t want them to hold. She couldn¡¯t want them to hold, as she lacked the ability to control them for that long. What she needed was damage, as much as possible. So she sent her enthralled enemies into the rest as great jagged clubs, whipped them into a mindless, savage frenzy and watched as they killed indiscriminately.


    Their fellows were surprised, briefly. And that went a long way in maximising the carnage she unleashed. Within minutes the numerous lights of her magical control had been extinguished however.


    It was impossible to gauge the remaining numbers, but Lilia could only hope they¡¯d killed a good hundred thousand or more before falling.


    ***


    Perhaps, Galukar thought, it would be a good idea for him to look into learning magic. It was an impossible thought to avoid, seeing the Vampire lay waste to so many thousands with nothing but a thought.


    A smile caught his face, as he leapt down over the battlements. Fat chance of that. Galukar wasn¡¯t a young enough man to run around learning new skills, certainly not of that magnitude. He was stuck with power and a nice big sword.


    But then, that had always served him well in the past.


    Undead, many of them. Uncountably many. Galukar smashed into their ranks like an avalanche and swung once. He cleared a space out everywhere within eight feet of himself as bodies came apart, but it was filled up within a second.


    So he swung again, and again, and again. They were nothing, these creatures, mere space-holders. If he could reliably fight nothing but them then he could slaughter each one of their million-strong army without any help at all.


    But of course, he couldn¡¯t.


    A Fomori reared up, half again his own height and three times his weight. Its body was a forest of barbed limbs whipping around, deflecting from the Godblade, missing Galukar¡¯s dodges, splitting nearby undead fully in half as they overshot their target and stopped too slowly. He took a moment to read the thing¡¯s tempo, then struck. Two arms came free with one swing, a third with the second. Galukar¡¯s final attack had no limbs to interrupt it and sank in deep through the torso, then erupted from its back. He flicked his elbow, cutting the creature in half as he freed his weapon.


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    Blood coated him, his enemies, the floor. More came. Galukar swung at them like the rest.


    It wasn¡¯t his goal to personally kill every single enemy attacking the camps- that would have been impossible even for him. Merely to force a conflict. If the enemy knew the legendary King Galukar was going on a rampage at their centre, they would concentrate units there to kill him.


    Which would slow them down in redirecting those same units to encircle the camps, buy time before that happened. More time meant more arrows spat into their ranks, more stones dropped onto their heads, more of Shaiagrazni¡¯s cannons belching fire and death to punch jagged holes into them. Time, now, was a commodity more precious than gold.


    More precious than blood.


    Fomori came in from all sides now, as expected, and Galukar jumped. He didn¡¯t land for close to ten seconds, hitting the ground like a falling star, impacting with such force that he actually saw the air shimmer as a concussive wave maimed and floored everything within paces of him. Then he was moving again, spinning, swinging. His sword was an arc of destruction; a farmer¡¯s scythe. Around him were not enemies, but crops. Galukar was quick in his harvest.


    He had no way of knowing how many he killed, by the time he¡¯d counted the corpses made by any single swing he¡¯d already completed two, even three more. Dozens died with each attack, that much he knew. And still they were galvanising.


    Just as planned.


    Then he glimpsed him, and his heart felt suddenly close to bursting. Tall, taller than Galukar, and clad from head to toe in black metal. He wielded a flanged mace, its shaft long enough to be gripped with two hands, and his body burned with arcane power so dense that it was hitting the air as visible light. The Dark Lord.


    The killer of Galukar¡¯s sons, just a few dozen paces away and staring at him. A roar escaped Galukar and his destruction doubled in speed as he hacked a path towards the caster, all semblance of strategy purged from his mind by the sudden, irresistible killing need that was washing his thoughts.


    Galukar forgot about how their last bout had ended, forgot he was standing within a few hundred yards of a Vampire more powerful even than himself, forgot everything in the world save the Dark Lord, what he¡¯d done, and how he had to die.


    ***


    Some part of Collin felt ever so slightly inadequate, at the sudden, cataclysmic shift which befell the battlefield as Lilia turned her will on the enemy.


    He ignored that part of him, and stamped it underfoot. Such feelings were far too impractical for a warrior- let alone a General- and it was virtually impossible to even give them any true consideration next to the weight of relief washing over him. He¡¯d always been good at counting, one had to be for any future in command, and as far as he could tell there were around two hundred thousand undead being conducted backwards into their own side.


    That wasn¡¯t everything- only a fraction of their true numbers. But it was one hell of a fraction. It was a chance.


    ¡°COME ON!¡± He roared. ¡°THEY WON¡¯T LAST LONG, THIS IS OUR ONLY CHANCE TO HELP!¡±


    Soldiers were brilliant, really. With normal men Collin might have had to give them a reason to charge into the mouth of death, not with soldiers. Whether Paladins, pikemen, Kaltans or Rangers they were all the same. None of them needed telling twice, and all barely even needed telling the once. They had an enemy, they had an order, they had weapons and a defensible position which was nice and short of suicidal to try and hold.


    And they had an opportunity to do some damage. They all rushed off like the glorious, near-suicidal bastards they were, carriages tearing down to pour in through the back off the warcamps and let them disembark within.


    ***


    King Galukar hit the wall.


    He¡¯d been a full hundred yards ahead of it, and it surprised even Lilia to see the speed with which he was thrown. Crossing that span in under a second, the King smashed into the solid construct hard enough to send blocks of splintered bone spinning away from the impact even as he himself hurtled over it and disappeared on the other side. The Godblade fell down after him.


    One hit, that¡¯s all the Dark Lord had needed to turn away the greatest warrior humanity had ever produced. She smiled, as always, and felt a stab of genuine fear touch her unbeating heart.


    She couldn¡¯t have done that. And neither could her Sire.


    A pack of Fomori came for her, charging in one cluster, evidently eager to tear her apart lest she unleash more of the power from before. She didn¡¯t, but there was plenty of other magics Lilia had at her disposal.


    Fomori were undead, but they had the trappings of living creatures. They held blood in their bodies. Lilia boiled this blood, instantly and with a single thought, in all three at once. She added her magic to the natural pressure of liquid so quickly turned to gas, and watched as four towering bodies erupted to tiny slivers of pulverised meat.


    A bit got on her shoes, because it was just that sort of day.


    From the corner of her eye, Lilia caught the Dark Lord¡¯s metal-masked face turned towards her. His head tilted in thought, then, with a gesture so slight she almost missed it even with her preternatural senses, he directed his creatures towards her in force. A moment later, he was striding across the battlefield behind them.


    It seemed he had recognised her as the true threat. Just perfect.


    Undead came so fast, they actually started forming mounds, physical piles that moved and shifted towards Lilia almost like they were falling. She blew them apart, of course. Contemptuously. Not even looking as she felt for the blood lying dead in their veins and dragged it out by force, then turning it into a hundred thousand razored flechettes that she sent scything through the rest of the horde all while staring at the Dark Lord head on.


    Which of them was the stronger? Him, clearly and without question. Which meant she had every reason to leave him as uncertain of that fact as was possible, and confidence seemed the most obvious first step to doing so.


    Lilia was almost convinced she might have fooled the caster, and then the Demons erupted from all around him.

 The New Dark Lord: Book 2 Chapter 46

    They were a multitude and a minority, a horde and an elite. They were formless, shapeless. Made of matter, Galukar thought, but no kind he¡¯d seen before, and endlessly dynamic. Their bodies shifted, melting, boiling, freezing from one shape to another. In one moment the Demons were animalistic, as if their forms had been welded together from the material of several lesser beasts. Then they were things of artifice, fanged boulders and taloned trees. He saw one take to the air as a string of numerals, another begin to glide its way beneath the ground, propelled by a subterranean wind of whispered prayers.


    All of them, though, were powerful. He could feel that much. All of them were true Demons, not familiars.


    Galukar let his roar cut the air to ribbons as he charged past them, heading on an intercept for their commander. The Dark Lord was just halfway to the Vampire when Galular¡¯s Godblade came flying for his head.


    To the bastard¡¯s credit, he was fast as ever. Perhaps faster. The Godblade whistled by him, and his mace was coming around like an arrow. Galukar caught it, felt the strength disparity between them and grit his teeth. He slid back, heels digging trenches in the ground, body slamming into undead swarming behind him and reducing them to scraps of pulped meat with the collision.


    Just as he stopped, the Dark Lord swung again.


    Galukar had not felt a pressure like this since¡­Well, the last time he¡¯d fought the Dark Lord. It was novel, to be the weaker party. To feel his unyielding strength at risk of surrender, to gasp at the twinge of pain lancing down his bones as they absorbed impacts greater than their own musculature might have conjured. The novelty wore off fast, however. Soon all that remained was the fear of it.


    The Dark Lord swung, and Galukar melted to one side. His enemy¡¯s mace hit the ground like a certain fortress Galukar recalled falling from, and he saw the dirt erupt as if thrown high by a volcanic blast. Everywhere within paces the ground disappeared, making way for a jagged crater littered with pieces of pulped undead and misting ichor.


    It was, perhaps, the greatest testament of pure strength he had ever seen a man¡¯s weapon make. It was casual, over in an instant. The mace was after him before the dirt had even finished its flight. Galukar parried again, this time launched fully from his feet and sent to drop down hard atop a row of undead.


    Fortunately, they made for rather a soft landing. If a disgusting one. He felt bones break beneath him, and got up to the sickly sensation of ground viscera clinging to his back. Galukar ignored it, forcing himself to his feet and watching ahead to see the Dark Lord closing properly on the Vampire Queen.


    He expected the fight to end quickly, even instantly. It did not.


    Vampires were not made of the same stuff as humans, Galukar had to remind himself as he watched Lilia duck back, flit away, weave beneath and around every swing that came for her. She was faster than him, Galukar thought. Nothing near his strength of course, and not still closer to his fleetness than one would have guessed by their sizes. But fast enough for an advantage.


    And with more than just speed to her name.


    Galukar saw the Vampire lunge forwards and burst apart, illusion so life- undeath-like that it almost fooled him until the creator had finished preparing her next attack. Blood, a great wave of it as weighty and high as any which might churn atop the skin of an ocean. It smashed into the Dark Lord faster than a sling bullet, dozens, hundreds of tons of mass washing over him. Had he been a castle wall, Galukar had no doubt there¡¯d have been nothing left but stony detritus stretching to the horizon, and a ground scraped clean of all structure.


    But the Dark Lord was not a castle wall, he was tougher. The blood parted against him, sending him back a step and scything apart the ground around him until he stood at the tip of a great, elliptical trench eroded yards deep into the dirt. Everything behind him was obliterated. He was unhurt.


    The Vampire didn¡¯t pause to stare, and that was what saved her. When the Dark Lord swung his mace she was already leaping to one side, and the concussive blast missed her. It continued onwards, punching a jagged, bloody hole in the ranks of undead at her back then continuing on to drill through a gritty hilltop fifty paces back. By then, the Dark Lord had closed in and started swinging.


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    But then so had Galukar.


    Their weapons met with a sound like lightning striking a boulder, and the impact ran along Galukar¡¯s arm with such intensity that he felt the hairs wither atop it as force turned to heat and ignited them. He turned the Dark Lord¡¯s mace aside, stepped in, then punched him.


    It surprised Galukar, to find himself resorting to such a low blow. It certainly surprised the Dark Lord, sent him back a step, even, and left a dent in his helm. A small one, barely even there, and a sorry reward for the throbbing of Galukar¡¯s knuckles.


    But evidence, nonetheless, of a mortal enemy. Those thoughts were buried however by the attack of an immortal ally.


    Her blood was not a wave, this time, but a streak. One that moved so fast it had already passed the Dark Lord by the time Galukar¡¯s vision caught it, a great, sustained jet of liquid which chased the enemy as he fled from it. A wise decision, Galukar thought, for such velocities would surely be devastating on impact. Still the caster ran, darting back, ever ahead of the attack, yet slowly finding his ground shrinking. Finally he stopped, planting his feet and raising his mace to guard it.


    The attack passed through him, and Lilia appeared at his back. The real Lilia, not an illusion, and wielding a very real torrent of blood which she now cast out into a jet just as fast and dense as the first. This one, though, impacted directly.


    A flash of light, and a rain of stinging impacts ran down Galukar¡¯s body. A moment later the sound hit him, sharp like a whip crack. He realised what had happened only when he saw the Dark Lord sent flying, and smelled the acrid scent of cooked meat upon the air.


    Impact, direct and unbroken. An impact so great as to send droplets of blood rebounding outwards faster than the noise of their collision, and flash-burn the organic tissue as it smashed into metal.


    The Vampire was gathering more blood, now, and Galukar stared at her while she worked. If it came down to it, if he had no choice, could he kill this creature?


    No. Without a doubt, damn it, he could not.


    Galukar roared, swinging just in time to force the Dark Lord back. He watched as the caster wavered, drawing away from him, head flicking to the Vampire. Body shifting slightly. Then the Demons came.


    They were a mist of matter, and even that descriptor seemed too concrete a term for the stuff they were made of. Talons came for him, Galukar ducked and swung blindly, his sword biting into something that wasn¡¯t, but felt like it was, and cutting apart the not-stuff with a paradoxical jerk of his arm. He rolled, came up, felt something hit him with force but no mass, then soared backwards to roll, churn the dirt, rise again. He swung, swung, swung, screamed and swung. Backing, ducking, fighting the whole world at once. The enemies were without number, without counting, they closed from every angle they could have, and all the rest as well.


    Occasionally, Galukar caught flashes of other combat. Little glimpses. A Ranger on the walls, a Knight at a breach, and of course the Vampire Queen still locked in her hopeless battle against the Dark Lord. But mostly all he saw was the abominations swarming him from all sides, and the great edge of wrought iron he was using to fell them.


    He felt his panic rising, fear growing, doom looming. There were too many for him to defeat, too many by far. And the undead swarming around them were keeping any of their magical units- casters and the line- from pooling their strength behind his to vanquish the Demons. His body was accruing damage, losing strength. And faster than the enemy¡¯s abominations were losing numbers.


    Galukar let out a roar of fury and frustration that seemed to shake the ground. No, not seemed. It did. Except it didn¡¯t stop as his screaming did, in fact it even grew more intense. A trembling before long, intense enough that undead were visibly rocked by it. Galukar had time to stare in incomprehension and wonder at it.


    Then the dirt beneath him burst upwards.


    It was a creature of such size that for several moments, Galukar¡¯s mind refused to even believe it was a creature to begin with. A worm, he thought, though larger than any he¡¯d seen. Its body spanned the width of a castle gate, at least. Mouth extending outwards far enough to swallow entire squads of men. Galukar saw as much when it did just that, undead disappearing by the dozen within its maw as it burst from the ground. Its body continued upwards for a few moments, turning, arcing down, then landing upon a separate section of enemies.


    They, too, disappeared. Swallowed instantly without so much as a struggle. Galukar saw ridged armour around the creatures, deflecting magic and arrows like they were pinpricks. Thick musculature contorting as the creatures landed back down and propelling them back under the earth. He saw heat hissing off them, air rippling with the temperature of their gargantuan bodies, and he saw the hand of their maker as clear as day.


    It seemed Silenos Shaiagrazni had finished his latest project. Galukar looked around for the man, even while the battlefield turned to mutilated chaos around him. It did not take long to find the caster. He had never been one for discretion.


    Shaiagrazni flew high overhead, and he was in his abominable ¡°combat form¡±. It towered, rippling with jagged muscle and armour plating, eyes a pair of bottomless pits, body adorned with a multitude of weapons. Some, through their travels, had made their purpose terribly obvious. Others were horrifically unknowable. All he wagered would tear apart the fortifications behind their creator in moments.


    But he had another goal today, and he was staring at it with a monomaniacal heat.


    ¡°That trembling.¡± The Vampire Lilia called out, snatching Galukar¡¯s eyes around to find her lying prone and wounded before the Dark Lord. ¡°I suspect that will be the last sound you ever hear.¡±


    Shaiagrazni charged.

 The New Dark Lord: Book 2 Chapter 47

    Then.


    Ensharia- the Paladin- walked away. There was a multitude of things Silenos ought to have done in response. Variations of ending her life made up the bulk of them. She had disrespected him- challenged him- and left his service. She had made it clear her efforts would no longer be directed to aiding his ends. No longer was she a valuable asset, now she was only a non-entity. One who had defied the will of House Shaiagrazni.


    Silenos watched her turn and leave, striding along the field of convulsing, choking orcs and shredded metal. He did not strike her down, did not seize her for some work of transcendent cruelty. He did not do anything at all but watch.


    Turning himself, Silenos headed back for the ruined city of Kaltan. He moved his grotesquery to carry him with a thought, crossing the kilometres of land in under a minute and quickly deposited within the city. He was not exploring it long before finding King Galukar, littered with wounds of varying severity, panting with exhaustion. The man¡¯s eyes were hard, and¡­Strange. Sympathetic, Silenos realised. It was almost novel to receive such a look from a being so immensely beneath him. He might have derived amusement from the rarity, were it not so immediately concerning.


    ¡°It¡¯s your apprentice.¡± The king told him, eyes not meeting Silenos¡¯.


    With all that had transpired, with the carnage Silenos had walked through just to reach the inner fort, he would have been lying to claim he was surprised. All the same, the news irked him more than he had expected.


    ¡°Where is his corpse?¡± He asked.


    King Galukar began to lead the way, wordlessly heading through the ruin that Kaltan had become. Silenos studied their surroundings as he followed.


    Everywhere had at least some trace of the combat, and most places had many. Silenos saw barricades still half-standing where they¡¯d been hastily assembled and more hastily torn down, chokepoints clogged with arrow-riddled corpses, piiles of limbs where defenders had been overwhelmed by their enemy.


    Buildings were more rubble than structure for the most part, though those situated deeper into the city stood with less obvious a ruination. Silenos knew he¡¯d find deep wounds in them, regardless, if he took the time to look.


    He did not of course, the devastation was no concern of his. Barely providing sufficient visual interest to be worth studying as he walked, and affecting only the most irrelevant worms who had taken part in the city¡¯s defence. Still, he eyed it. A considerable level of destruction for a pack of orcs.


    The greatest surprise was stumbling upon a slain grotesquery. Silenos had known, intellectually, that his creations would be lost in the fighting. It still struck at the newly-grown emotional centres of his cerebrum to see it with his own eyes.


    ¡°That one took a lot of killing.¡± The king noted. ¡°Saw it go down myself.¡±


    ¡°How did they kill it?¡± Silenos asked, even as he scrutinised the carcass.


    ¡°Ballistae, a lot of them. At first. Then after a while they started dousing it with flames using their casters, the armour started to blacken¡­¡±


    Silenos sighed. It had been an obvious oversight on his part- he¡¯d made the creature¡¯s armour resistant to heat, but not to the point of total immunity. Flames could carbonize and weaken it, simply slowly and without any appreciable thermal transfer to the meat below.


    Now he knew the consequences of such a shortcut, it never paid to underestimate an enemy.


    Well, Silenos was not left to dwell on it for long in any case. They were soon at the hallway. He looked around, noted the dissipating magics of several moderately potent undead, and his apprentice¡¯s corpse not so far ahead.


    Falls had exsanguinated, clearly. His skin was paled by the loss of blood, eyes glassy and staring out into nothing. It was strange to see him in such a state. The boy had been a fool, but not lacking for intelligence. Merely sense. However brash his judgement, there had always been that underpinning cognitive weight behind every thought.


    And now there was nothing.


    ¡°He died well.¡± King Galukar said. ¡°Heroically.¡±


    It was a ludicrous concept, good death. Death was death. No singular act could ever compare with the infinite potential a mind and talent like Arion Falls had possessed, within a century he¡¯d have been among House Shaiagrazni¡¯s Named. Within five he¡¯d have been one of their finest.


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    And now he was a corpse, body leached of its heat by the air. Inert as a rock.


    ¡°What did he say?¡± Silenos asked, surprising himself with the question. ¡°Before the end. Did he have any¡­¡±


    Last words? It was a laughably pathetic question, but Galukar was already replying before Silenos could recant it.


    ¡°He asked me to give you his apologies.¡± The king replied. ¡°He wanted me to tell you he was sorry he¡­Couldn¡¯t be better.¡±


    ¡°Leave me.¡± Silenos said, before he¡¯d even realised he was speaking. The king hesitated, but only for an instant, and was soon gone. Silenos found himself alone. Alone with his thoughts, and for the first time since he could remember they were making themselves hostile, bitter company.


    Without even thinking about why he approached his apprentice- his corpse- and leaned down to lift him from the ground. Falls was light. There was no surprise there, bodyweight was a scant obstacle for his enhanced body. Silenos was in his laboratory within minutes, laying Falls down across the table. He began his examination.


    The cold, mechanical realm of diagnosis and appraisal was something his mind was far more accustomed to, and the focus of it swept over Silenos like a cooling rag banishing desert heat. He probed Falls physically, first, finding no trace of arcane malfeasance in his wounds. Then he turned to the purely supernatural examination.


    That was always the harder. Magic was not natural to humans, not innate. Everything he understood about it was learned only through hard, tedious efforts to defy his own nature. But Silenos had done that for so long that it had become his nature. He persevered.


    He had expected to find familiar sights in Arion Falls¡¯ body, a cursory examination merely meant to confirm his suspicions before the process of reanimation could begin. That would have resolved nothing of course- his apprentice would be his apprentice no more. Robbed of the ability to grow, to properly learn, even, and forever stagnant at the power he¡¯d held upon death. But it would have been one ally more if nothing else. A short term gain, partly compensating for the loss of so great a long-term investment.


    Silenos did not even get that, however .


    There was interference about Falls¡¯ very essence- that deep, innermost point of magical and cognitive coalescence that primitives throughout history had called a soul. It was not a carefully made kind.


    Not an attack, of that much Silenos was quickly sure. Had something managed to strike at so sensitive a part of his substance, it would scarcely have been left intact. And no traps awaited him, which might have been left by a cleverer and more subtle enemy.


    Besides, this world did not seem to have many, if any, who had mastered Necromancy to such an extent. The Dark Lord certainly hadn¡¯t, and unless Sphera was merely a poor identifier of talent no others could exceed even him.


    Silenos probed the work more carefully, concern slowly mounting as he noticed its endless peculiarities. It followed no structure he had ever encountered; not House Shaiagrazni¡¯s, and none of the more formalised hedge-casters his people had long since absorbed back in their own world.


    If he had not known any better, he¡¯d have guessed that it was some mere improvisation. An attack, perhaps, that unexpectedly struck through Falls¡¯ defences but¡­No, he had no such defences against this order of assault. It didn¡¯t make sense.


    The answer came to him all at once, a flash of inspiration that banished ignorance and calm both in a single stroke.


    Silenos could find no trace of external attack, because there was none. Falls had done this to himself.


    With that in mind, he looked at the work through a new lens. Stopped searching for design, and instead focused upon intent. The boy was a greater genius than he had suspected, from what he saw, for only a true prodigy could have wielded Necromantic soul magic even this precisely with only the barest relevant training. Could Silenos have managed that with his experience?


    He wasn¡¯t sure. It seemed increasingly likely that Falls¡¯ talent was greater even than he had believed.


    And increasingly likely that he might be saved.


    There were an endless number of things a Necromancer might do to the soul of their enemy, but Silenos could imagine only one a panicking, dying man might think to try and do to his own. Sure enough, Falls had begun the delicate process of anchoring his spirit to its body and keeping himself from truly detaching.


    It was that moment of transition which truly separated the dead from the living, magically speaking. House Shaiagrazni had yet to learn specifically why, but they knew very much about its significance. It made all the difference in the world.


    And it was useless.


    Silenos saw the fact quickly, but he kept looking. Not willing to allow so valuable a prize as Falls disappear, stubbornly clinging to the notion that he might save him and wasting ever more time in the useless effort. But there was no saving him, and no salvaging what he had done.


    In his genius, Falls had successfully kept his soul from undergoing the transition between veils. In his inexperience, he had done so by binding himself. And it was a clumsy, delicate thing.


    If Silenos tried to forcibly extricate his soul from it, it would shatter. He would be dragged from his corpse and cast out beyond even the typical sea from which dead things were drawn.


    There would be no bringing him back from that. No bringing anything back. That was a realm beyond even the reach of House Shaiagrazni.


    Silenos¡¯ Master had proven as much by her efforts to claim it, and the ever-present traceries of lightning scars that crisscrossed half her body no matter how many times they were Fleshcrafted away even centuries later.


    Entities dwelled there, and Silenos trembled at the very thought of attempting to pilfer what was theirs.


    He did not realise that his fist was coming down atop the counter until impact had already shaken it. Silenos saw the stone crack beneaeth his strength, felt the vibrations run up his arm like the recoil of his cannon. Then he felt the pain. A distant, cerebral thing which nonetheless told him his damage¡¯s extent. Aching bones, burst capillaries, tortured muscle. The actual fist itself was by far the worst for wear. Knuckles caved in and gushing ichor, misshapen and deformed by their harsh strike into the stone.


    Silenos stared at his hand, disbelief almost banishing his thoughts as he took in the sight.


    What in the world was happening to him?

 The New Dark Lord: Book 2 Chapter 48

    Now.


    It had been a lot of work, to properly prepare the local terrain for his new creations. A lot of work, but then so much of Silenos¡¯ accomplishments were these days. If nothing else he had proven his power was removed from the crutch of Shaiagraznian influence.


    Certainly, that of his latest grotesqueries was.


    They were thin things, relatively speaking, bodies made eel-like and slender to better burrow at higher speeds. Armoured, as all of his creations were, but more lightly. They relied upon ambush and the protection of their soily home to avoid enemy violence. And to that effect, they were quite a success.


    It had been the eternal weakness of Silenos¡¯ other forms that they were simply too large and exposed a target upon the battlefield. Once, his fellow Named had compensated for that, but those exotic magics were lost to him now. Only the Kaltan-made assassin-forms had been exempt from that shortcoming, which was where he had derived the idea for this latest innovation.


    In particular, Silenos wondered about their utility back in his own world. The idea of using ultrasonic vibrations to induce fluidity in granules of dirt of sand was hardly his own invention, but as far as he knew no other in House Shaiagrazni had made it practical before him. Such an invention may well leave House Shaiagrazni beyond even the advanced, modern weaponry they faced back home.


    Well, that was a matter for the future. It was the present he attended to now.


    Silenos dropped down, letting his wings fall away and reforming them into reinforcements for the anatomy of his combat form. This one was very much alike the others, save for a few, smaller differences.


    ¡°The Dark Lord, I take it.¡± He called out, dropping down before the caster and feeling the ground shiver at his four thousand kilogram mass. ¡°I have been waiting to meet you for quite some time.¡±


    He studied the man, and found himself surprised. The Dark Lord was powerful- almost the equal of Silenos in terms of raw magical capacity. It was no wonder he had crushed King Galukar with such ease, he¡¯d have distinguished himself even in House Shaiagrazni.


    ¡°Fascinating.¡± He remarked. ¡°You really have no excuse at all for such pitiably amateurish Necromancy.¡±


    The Dark Lord moved without saying a word, which almost made Silenos regret bothering to add vocal chords to his latest war form. His enemy held a mace, a great, thick one which likely weighed more than most men, and yet flew like a feather in his preternatural grip. Silenos had prepared for such a weapon- making sure to get a comprehensive report of how the man fought from Galukar long ago.


    He raised his arm, keratinous weapon meeting the dark metal and letting out a sound like cannons firing. Within a dozen paces of them undead were knocked down by the impact.


    Silenos¡¯ combat form was stronger than Galukar, but not by much, Mere Fleshcrafting could never have withstood the Dark Lord¡¯s strength. So it was fortunate, then, that his experiments in cultivating Vigour-infused tissue had been such a success.


    His strength held, and for one moment they simply remained locked in a contest of physical prowess. Such things were unbecoming for a Named of House Shaiagrazni, however, and Silenos put an end to it promptly. He raised his other arm, transfigured into his flamethrower configuration, and filled the air with white-hot death.


    The Dark Lord moved before it landed, dodging admirably fast. Forced to keep the muzzle velocity modest to avoid his burning liquid being dispersed uncontrollably and made ineffective, Silenos realised quickly that the weapon was a poor choice for so swift an enemy. Even at point-blank range he could avoid it.


    Silenos found his enemy¡¯s counter coming before his own follow-up, a swing of the mace which came with a twisting motion that gathered trailing shadestuff behind it. Fascinating. He did not know of many materials able to withstand the abyss¡¯ touch enough for such an attack, and was not left long to ponder it before the magic thudded into his guard.


    Silenos slid back, body shunted in spite of its mass. He heard popping as the substance of his keratin lance yielded to the Necromantic assault, though a glance showed that the weapon was still intact. Somewhat.


    It was time, he thought, to begin the secondary level of their battle- the psychological. There was a single critical weakness inherent to all casters that Silenos had discovered, and that was the ego. His kind were prone to thinking themselves infallible, invincible. Their arrogance reached the point of delusion. It was almost as if they actually believed themselves to be his equal, that the innate superiority enjoyed by House Shaiagrazni¡¯s foremost prodigy was somehow to be shared.


    A ridiculous misconception, but a useful one. He put it to work shortly.


    ¡°It was all a plan, you know.¡± Silenos noted, thrusting forwards with his own lance, and jerking the motion short. He¡¯d spent some time studying the clumsy, barbaric science of melee combat, and learned well. It was beyond him to internalize the thousand miniscule skills and habits that made a true expert in the area, but he did not need to. Simply seeing the way Galukar and others fought had been enough to give him some inspiration.


    Muscular tweaks, alterations to the mobility of his joints and a dozen other differences all added up to make his body fundamentally move differently and, more importantly, counter-intuitively to the eyes of a more experienced fighter. It was no substitute for that same experience of course, but it was something of an equalizer.


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    Where the Dark Lord had expected to turn Silenos¡¯ hand and make his stab go wide, it instead twisted in and bit down on his armour¡¯s pauldron. Steel would have been mangled beyond recognition- even were it made thicker than his entire torso. Whatever that black metal was, it was clearly made with magic. Silenos began to hypothesise.


    The blows came back to answer his, faster by no small margain. He blocked what he could, and soaked the others with his greater size and physical prowess. There were advantages to sheer mass after all, though the Dark Lord seemed eager to test them. His every mace swing left another crack across the mastercrafted keratin, sending shivers to visibly excite the air in shockwaves racing dozens of metres around them. No undead came to help- none were able to even approach save the strongest of them.


    Impossibly resilient metal forming his armour and mace- plus an unyielding potence of body to compound them. Silenos was rather certain this enemy made use of magic over kinesis; pressure, momentum, motion. Such powers could imbue a substance with temporary power which held for as long as its wielder remained focused, and far exceeded the possible bounds of ordinary materials. Even ones made with other magics.


    But it was not permanent, not like Vigour, and if Silenos was able to wound the Dark Lord- or distract him even- then there was every chance he¡¯d find a brief opening.


    However well-made the mundane materials of his body were, they would not withstand him. Not with Vigour empowering his Fleshcrafting.


    And so he spoke.


    ¡°Ado Mortascia is clever, but of course she never had any true chance of drawing Wudra onto my side of the conflict. I was simply banking on your fearing that she might to lure your forces to her. It was rather pleasing to hear how many you¡¯d committed. I was resigned to lose Baird, too, in his feigned failure to delay you, but you actually failed to even kill him in the process of falling for my bluff which only left my position the stronger. All of your victories over the past weeks have been illusory, set up and knocked down to draw you into this battle, in this field, at this day. I¡¯ve prepared the terrain quite well- even left my defences imperfect and incomplete to ensure you¡¯d take the risk of attacking.¡±


    It did not matter how true Silenos¡¯ words were, they merely needed to sound immediately, potentially plausible enough that the Dark Lord would consider them. Time spent doing that was time with his attentions divided. Silenos had found himself suffering in cases where he found his plans subverted by another, and what unbalanced him would surely work to unbalance this simpleton just as well.


    No sign of distraction came, so Silenos pressed his enemy on the physical level. As they fought, he reformed his flamethrower into a more conventional cannon, raising the half-finished weapon to ward off a blow which threatened to bypass his guard and feeling a stab of satisfaction as his enemy fell for the bluff. Obviously the Dark Lord had gathered information on Silenos¡¯ weaponry, he would have been disappointed if he hadn¡¯t.


    But however knowledgeable, however fast, there was only so much one could do to avoid a shot of near-hypersonic matter at point-blank range. The cannon was finished a moment later and spat out its attack like smouldering rock from a volcano.


    A small explosion rang out where the slug crunched into the Dark Lord¡¯s breastplate, keratin and bone splintering to pieces on impact with his- apparently still harder- armour. Silenos¡¯ eyes were inured against such pressure and light, and the Dark Lord clearly had a considerable portion of even his current strength.


    But he did not have his mass. Even as the energy of the projectile failed to do more than damage his armour, its momentum proved enough to unbalance him. The Necromancer¡¯s feet left the ground and he hurtled backwards like an arrow fired from a bow. Silenos saw him fall back, skull hitting the ground, body rolling. He came up in a crouch just as Silenos came down upon him to press his advantage.


    The lance struck a mace, sounding out again and scraping the top layer of soil from the ground around them. Silenos took a step forwards, forcing his enemy to retreat and capitalizing on his momentum as he swung and thrust more. He punctuated his attacks with periodic shots from his cannon, exploiting the enemy¡¯s newfound caution, driving him around.


    For his part, the Dark Lord was hard to trap. Every boulder Silenos almost pinned him behind he turned and smashed aside with a quick, casual swing. Every trap he avoided be it through agility or simple force. Clearly he was used to battling more physically powerful foes.


    Well, there was no matter. Because Silenos was not as unused to using that power as he had been.


    He was a surging tsunami, driving the Dark Lord like a minecart, chasing him and watching every place he tried to run. There were only so many times on man could evade a trap, only so much spacial awareness and skill could compensate for. At the end of the day Silenos had the mass, the strength, the resilience. And he had a weapon capable of injuring even himself to boot.


    His cannon fired, this time filled with compressed nitrous which deliberately missed the Dark lord by centimetres. The explosion at his back sent him shunting forwards, straight into Silenos¡¯ thrusting lance. The meeting of keratin and metal was like nails on a chalkboard.


    Once more the Dark Lord was sliding back, heels digging trenches, soil hissing and spitting as water was vaporized by the frictive grind of metal. He stopped metres back, just in time to duck another of Silenos¡¯ swings. This time he ducked right into a raising knee, catching the jagged barb Silenos had added to the tip right in his helmet. It scraped a chunk of, sending black flakes to rain away from him as he stumbled again.


    A dirty, simple brawling trick. Learned from Baird. Sometimes it was the simplest tactics which were most effective- Silenos had seen that much watching him spar with his Knights and grotesqueries.


    The mace came flying for Silenos, and he weathered it as it rebound from his head. His neck had been particularly reinforced, in this new form, with the Dark Lord¡¯s strength and blunt instrument in mind. He stabbed again while his enemy was stumbling away, then the cannon rose once more.


    A bluff, and one which sent the Dark Lord scrambling back into Silenos¡¯ next swing. Metal broke, limbs splayed, his opponent landed in a pile and scrambled back. Silenos chased him.


    It was almost disappointing to be faced with so insubstantial an adversary- with Lilia and Galukar keeping the Entities at bay there was no contest between them at all.


    The Dark Lord was up as fast as ever, though slightly clumsier now. His armour seemed to be slowly surrendering to Silenos¡¯ assaults, resilience pushed past its limits by Shaiagraznian magic, wearer not far behind. And yet¡­


    A confidence underpinned his motions that hastened Silenos to re-engagement. Even still, he was too slow.


    Silenos saw the Entities burst into reality between them, screaming, roiling infants wearing the entropic placentas of their own un-existence and sloughing them off into showers of decaying matter and discordant energy. They were wailing, convulsing faceless things whose forms he barely had time to even try and perceive before they, too, broke down. Consumed by the Dark Lord, all of their magical intensity compressed and imbibed into his own.


    He felt his enemy¡¯s power grow, and realised in an instant that he had been hasty. This fight was only just starting.

 The New Dark Lord: Book 2 Chapter 49

    The Dark Lord was stronger. He was faster, and he seemed suddenly without all the fatigue and wounded sluggishness which had been causing Silenos¡¯ advantage to grow by the attack. He had made an error, and it seemed like that error was about to kill him. It took a very young and a very stupid caster to die. He could only hope his hasty precautions over the past few weeks would be enough.


    Silenos raised his lance, missing the mace as it twisted unexpectedly low and thudded into his side. The impact hurt- more than the last few he¡¯d taken, cracking the keratin with a jagged pop and sending the kinesis of his wound to permeate deep through the softer tissues below. He stumbled back, guard instinctually shifting to protect his wounded side just as the Dark Lord¡¯s mace came around for the other. This time it hit an already weakened set of armour, cracking that fully open, and caving in a rib beneath it. Blood rose up into Silenos¡¯ mouth as his knee buckled.


    It shouldn¡¯t have been possible. He¡¯d never heard of a creature able to feed off the magics of an Entity, let alone several. The closest he¡¯d ever heard a caster getting was his own ritual to absorb from as part of a contract- and only he and Adonis had known about that. Whatever was happening now was beyond the scope of his predictions.


    But not beyond killing him.


    He fell back, too slowly. He guarded too weakly, he felt his combat form¡¯s anatomy slowly surrendering to the whittling blows of his enemy.


    And then the Dark Lord disappeared, hurled to one side with a supersonic whipcrack shaking the air in his wake. A moment later the sound of a cannonshot reached Silenos¡¯ ears. He looked to the side, and found himself truly surprised.


    For descending from the skies was Swick the Swift¡¯s airship; repaired and battle-ready.


    ***


    God, did it feel good to be in the air again. Swick had barely even known how much he¡¯d been dying, trapped down there on the dirt. Now he was free, now he was airborne, and the world was that much sweeter.


    The wind was a gentle caress on his skin, the skies a refreshing blast of oxygenated air to infuse his every breath with energy. There was the same old thrill to flying he¡¯d always felt, but stronger. Sharpened and intensified by years of neglect. He¡¯d forgotten how life felt up here, after so long of seeing it only through his fugue of alcohol. Now he remembered.


    But he didn¡¯t have the luxury of dwelling on it for long, because they were closing in on their enemy. Were it not for Swick¡¯s Vigour he¡¯d have been unable to pick anything out at all- unable to even remain on the deck of the ship¡¯s exterior with the speed they were moving. As things were he could just make out the Dark Lord fighting against Shaiagrazni at the midst of some great battle.


    Beside him, he just barely heard Felicia growl.


    ¡°That¡¯s the fucker, right?¡± She asked.


    Swick had glimpsed the Dark Lord once or twice- always from a safe distance of course. He nodded.


    ¡°Then ready these new weapons of yours, this one¡¯s for my brothers.¡±


    He hurried to do so, taking careful aim with Shaiagrazni¡¯s cannon and whispering a silent prayer of thanks to the insane Fleshcrafter for being so preemptive in outfitting the vessel with it. It was a bigger weapon, too, firing iron balls measuring a good half-foot in diameter. He loaded one, packed the back of the weapon with blasting oil, gave the signal. Waited for his own.


    They¡¯d not had long to rehearse, and Swick could only hope their aim was on point. Fortunately, luck was behind them.


    His ears shivered as the cannon fired, and the entire vessel trembled as if in fear of its own prow¡¯s weapon. A whipcrack rang out, sharp and sudden, and he heard a light popping as an air funnel formed and died all within a fraction of a second.


    The Dark Lord was hundreds of yards ahead- perhaps as much as half a mile. But the impact caught him in less than a second, aimed more perfectly than skill alone could possibly have allowed and bowling the caster fully off his feet to grind a deep gouge out through the dirt underfoot. He stopped sliding and rolling only after he¡¯d been driven twenty paces sidelong.


    Of course that was not much of an alleviation on their current situation. For one thing, the ground was still covered in shambling undead as far as the eye could see- while Galukar and Lilia both fought tooth and nail against swarms of¡­Something. Swick couldn¡¯t describe the things, seeing them only as physical anomalies in the periphery of his vision. They were powerful, though, and barely being held at bay.


    Right when Shaiagrazni collapsed from his wounds, and remained collapsed even while the undead around him started hurtling for his unconscious body with weapons raised and jaws wide.


    Well, that made priority number one quite obvious; stop their strongest fighter from being cannibalised in his sleep.


    ¡°We¡¯re going low!¡± Swick called, not needing to glance over his shoulder to know the command would be heard, heeded, executed. Rigging rerigged, sails raised as a windbreak, ship prepared to turn its velocity downwards, bleed the excess speed away and strafe over the enemies.


    It had always been among the deadliest manoeuvres a skyship could perform, but its mastery and frequent use was half the reason for Swick¡¯s reputation. He felt the deceleration start all at once, then continue with a sluggish consistence as they arced downwards. The undead were almost on Shaiagrazni- they were almost on the undead- the wind was a scream in his ears. He gave the order just as they closed.


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    Felicia was the one on catch-and-run duty, tethered to the deck and fast as anyone. She leapt overboard just as they came nearest to Shaiagrazni¡¯s form.


    While she did, in the precious moments before she dropped down to grab him, the cannons fired. All of them, at once.


    Powerful damned things that they were, Swick actually feared the ship might break apart from the recoiling force of their blasts. It held, though, and he was able to enjoy the sight of scores- even hundreds- of undead coming apart into clouds of vaporized viscera and rapidly spinning limbs. The air suddenly smelled of rancid blood and that strange acrid scent that always came with blasting oil detonations.


    And Felicia was dropping down in the distraction, grabbing Shaiagrazni just as the ship tore past. Both of them were dragged in its wake, rope croaking in pain at the considerable effort of hauling so heavy a load with so much speed.


    Then everything went wrong.


    A fireball came for the ship, breaking against its hull- newly reinforced with that keratin stuff Shaiagrazni used in his grotesqueries- but detonating in the impact. It sent flames blasting out in all directions, hot and dense. They engulfed Felicia and Shaiagrazni.


    Swick stared, fearing for one moment that he was about to see charred corpses where thered been allies mere moments ago. He didn¡¯t, of course, both Heroes seemed fine- the explosion had been far enough, the energy diluted enough by distance, that even Felicia barely had a singed eyebrow. But the rope wasn¡¯t filled with Vigour, and that was on fire now.


    More fireballs quickly distracted Swick from the fact, and he started barking orders again.


    ¡°Propulsion!¡± He roared. ¡°Full speed, sails down, evasion in light arcs!¡±


    It was a very important detail, that last feature. With the speeds a skyship could move, turning at anything but a shallow angle would incur huge changes in acceleration and deceleration to its mass. With something as heavy as it, such differences were catastrophic.


    Skyships were very rarely destroyed by enemy fire, directly. Mostly, when one heard about such a vessel falling in battle, it was because the idiot piloting it panicked under enemy fire and tore his own ship in half trying to avoid it.


    Swick didn¡¯t intend to make that sort of mistake, new hull or not.


    Within moments their speed was picking up, fireballs left far behind and even heavy trebuchet stones or ballista bolts not much quicker in catching them. They cut wide arcs around the army, circling over them with a league-long turning radius to manage their acceleration. Even that looked like just about the limit of what some crewmen could manage, but Swick didn¡¯t dare any less evasion than this.


    Besides, they had other things to focus on than just flight.


    ¡°Cannons!¡± He roared. ¡°Load the starboard set with blastshot, port with solid shot. Fire at will!¡±


    They were circling the enemy clockwise, which meant that starboard was facing the army. Swick had seen the Dark Lord¡¯s durability first-hand, though, and he wanted to make sure that they had as many fortress-cracking solid shots prepared as was possible if he suddenly attacked again. Hence the loading pattern on their port side, allowing for such weapons to be brought to bear with only a turning of the vessel. It would have to do.


    And it did. In moments, cannons were firing. All half-dozen of the heavy things spitting out their devastation in long volleys, one coming every minute and a half. There¡¯d not been long to drill on the way to the battlefield, but the Red Fingers were always quick to learn, and they¡¯d been careful to put as much work as they could into mastering the weapons. Twenty hours or so made a lot of difference.


    But the shells made more. Each one was only a thin outer skin of the bony substance used in Shaiagrazni¡¯s mass-produced projectiles, their interiors filled with blasting oil and smaller, solid projectiles about as wide as a man¡¯s pinkie. Upon impact, they detonated. Detonated powerfully enough that Swick could see the concussion as it distorted air and sent refractive waves running through it.


    And he could see the carnage better. Every cannon was a hundred, even two hundred dead or dying enemies. Within their first volley they¡¯d erased enough of them to man a smaller fortress.


    But they had the ammo for a good few dozen more.


    Swick left the boys too it, with orders to bring him back for any new concerns, and finally hurried to look at Shaiagrazni. Things had deteriorated there.


    The rope was still intact, despite the turns. That was good but expected- he¡¯d specifically chosen the thickest one they had, a hand-wide mass of fibre able to withstand over twenty tons before snapping.


    When intact. It wasn¡¯t now, though, and in fact it was still on bloody fire. Swick cursed, recognising the flames as some form of magic. It wasn¡¯t a particularly hard deduction given their vibrant green colouration, and ability to continue burning the rope despite being pelted at all times by winds in excess of a hundred miles per hour.


    Still, the rope held. For now, and it was being pulled back in. A few more moments- a minute, maybe, at most- and Shaiagrazni would be on deck.


    Swick heard the call an instant later;


    ¡°Captain! Come look!¡±


    He sighed. Of course things weren¡¯t that easy, when the fuck had they ever been?


    The Dark Lord was up, and turned to them. Swick¡¯s blood ran cold. He wasn¡¯t just facing them, he was close. He must¡¯ve crossed the battlefield without their noticing, carefully positioning himself at a point where the vessel¡¯s turn left it nearer to the bulk of the forces, setting a trap with himself as the killing instrument.


    And it was too late to turn away.


    Ahead, the air twisted and flashed vibrant crimson. Demonic energies, Swick recognised, were building, densifying, solidifying. The very atmosphere seemed to break down around them, conjuring a strong wind which sucked in everything nearby as the Dark Lord¡¯s power continued to congeal. Then it came on as a single wall, a deadly stormfront from which no escape was possible.


    For an instant, Swick froze. Fear flashed through his mind, punching the thoughts out of him, dragging him to memories of a looming stony wall and a fiery descent. Then his mind hardened, he gathered his wits, and he started throwing out orders.


    ¡°SLOW!¡± He roared, instantly. ¡°SAILS ONE THIRD DOWN, ANGLE THEM AT TWENTY DEGREES.¡±


    There was no hesitation, thank God, but he saw plenty of confusion. That was fine, Swick was almost confused himself. He started running. ¡°EVERYONE TAKE COVER.¡± Swick hit the wheel, watching his men disappear down under the decks. Then the wave was on him.


    It caught the sails first, snagging them, dragging with resisting air for a solid few seconds.


    The hull groaned, screamed, cracks forming and running along it measuring farther from head to toes than a man. The entire vehicle trembled with the strain, and Swick knew instantly it would have been destroyed already were it not reinforced so well by Shaiagraznian magic.


    He¡¯d banked on that, though. He¡¯d banked on everything that was happening. Swick had flown a skyship for longer than perhaps any other man in living memory, survived more crashing incidents than perhaps any ever.


    And now, he was stone-cold sober.