《The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]》


 The Grand Observatory – Prologue

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 The Fallen City – Chapter One

    The great chains binding the floating city of Rotaalan creaked and groaned as they swayed with the gusts of wind. They were as high as the birds, as high as mountains. Emalia withdrew the last of her climbing ropes from the chains and took a quick step back, eager to put some distance between her and the edge. The great stone blocks layering the top level of Rotaalan¡¯s surface ended suddenly where the city stopped and the sky began. She risked a glance back and felt her stomach tumble at the emptiness. The climb had been a horrid, almost never-ending struggle. And even now, she hardly felt safe and secure.


    Protect me, oh great Sunderer, Martyr of Humankind, Emalia prayed silently. Shield me from this fear. This weakness buried in my Soul¡ª


    A grip on her thick, fur-lined tunic tugging her gently broke her concentration. ¡°Please don¡¯t stand so close to the edge, Em. It makes me nervous.¡±


    Emalia turned and blinked, taking in the grim expression of her old friend and sworn guardian, Sovina. Clad in a mail shirt and quilted arming cap, gripping a handaxe with a sheathed official temple saber at her side, she was a sight to be seen amongst the uncivilized city-states of the north, not used to the armored women of the Nova Column. But here, in these ruins, she looked as if she belonged, capable and strong, even if under the surface, she were more caring, considerate, and kind than anyone Emalia had ever known.


    ¡°That sounds like an order,¡± Emalia tried with a smile, not quite able to rid herself of the shake in her voice.


    ¡°When it comes to keeping you alive here, it is.¡±


    Turning her gaze from her sole traveling companion, Emalia took in the towering ruins of the once-great city and Wonder that was Rotaalan. Built upon an island, fortified and stabilized with massive blocks of stone, multiple square miles were heaved into the sky with the sheer strength of old Sorcery. Spires and towers jutted up, some broken, others still looming like monoliths over crumbling homes of stone and brick below. There were temples to the true gods, bastions, stretching estates, wandering sections of broken aqueducts, and then the central fortification¡ªa keep matched only in the core cities of the Vasian Empire. Their destination. Looking upon such wonders, all thoughts of their dangerous height faded away. As a prophet of Raizak, she had her divine purpose before her.


    ¡°Let us hide the ropes nearby,¡± Emalia muttered, gaze lingering on the high walls and turrets of the keep. ¡°If there are looters here, we should be cautious.¡±


    ¡°There will be.¡± Sovina gathered the ropes and piled them in the darkness of a nearby ruin¡¯s doorway. When she was done, she gestured to the tree trunk-thick chain links they¡¯d spent the entire morning climbing up. ¡°If it¡¯s close enough to the shore for us, then I¡¯m sure some enterprising scoundrels will be rummaging through this place.¡±


    ¡°Even after what happened with its twin, Elansk?¡±


    ¡°Such people are desperate. For them, gold weighs heavier than their lives.¡±


    ¡°What a short-sighted perspective.¡± Emalia snorted, frowning off and adjusting her brocade headwrap.


    ¡°Maybe.¡± She shrugged. ¡°But no less true.¡±


    Conceding the point with a stretch of silence, she strode forward, Sovina at her side, ever watchful. Gazing around at the history before her, untouched by humanity for the last hundred years, the city was like a portal back into the days of old. At the height of the empire, when Wonders like this were a tsar¡¯s ambition rather than their downfall. But now it was a derelict, forgotten thing, falling slowly, its magic fading away like the wax of a burning candle. Nothing but smoke in the air now.


    They were less than a quarter mile from the keep, judging from their first glance at it, but as they wound their way through the city streets, avoiding piles of rubble and unstable foundations, it seemed the central fort never got any closer. And then, soon enough, it wasn¡¯t there at all. All Emalia could see were the rooftops around her, closed in like the towering shelves of the Column¡¯s many archives. She winced at the memory. Even though this was because of their gods, the priests didn¡¯t understand. They not only didn¡¯t believe her, but deemed her direct communication with Raizak as an impossible fabrication. It doesn¡¯t matter, she thought, shaking away the anxiety that welled every time she thought of home. They believe what they will. It has no bearing on me anymore. True as it might be, the thought sat in her throat like a stone, taking some effort to swallow and pull her attention back to the present.


    She had her mission, her purpose here. No concerns of the past would hold her back now.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Sovina whispered, stopping suddenly before her.


    Emalia nearly ran into her, then frowned past her shoulder. ¡°What is it?¡±


    Her companion glanced back and met her eyes, then slowly slid them down the street for Emalia to follow. Perhaps forty paces ahead, in the remains of an alleyway, was the form of a man. But not just any man. After a moment of concentration to pick up the details hidden by shadows, the cold weight of dread settled across her, thick and unavoidable. The rumors were true.


    There were Dead in the fallen city.


    ¡°Greyskin looks like,¡± Sovina muttered.


    It was a large creature, a head taller than an average man with hunched and crooked shoulders from which inhumanly long arms dangled, clawed fingers nearly scraping the ground. These kinds were only found in the lost Wonders of the world and edges of the frontierlands. Greyskins were larger, faster, and smarter than most other Dead. But that wasn¡¯t why they were feared so.


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    ¡°Ah.¡± Her companion saw it the same moment she did.


    The Dead was holding the arm of a half-dangling corpse, the hand held to its jaws as it tore off strips of flesh. The wet sounds of such evil carried, turning Emalia¡¯s stomach.


    Sovina took her by the elbow and guided them back in search of an alternative route. After turning a corner, she said, ¡°There are looters here, then.¡±


    ¡°Or were.¡± She couldn¡¯t shake the image of that creature from her mind. How it stood there, hunched and decrepit, almost human, yet far too monstrous. What did humanity do to deserve such a curse? Why can you not simply rid us of them for good, Rotaal?


    ¡°We¡¯re smarter than them. And we¡¯re not here to steal and pillage, right? Raizak will protect us; we¡¯re here for him, after all.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Emalia nodded, rubbed her face, and stood tall. They were on a different street leading into an intersection of sorts. At the center, a strange monument in the shape of an obelisk was erected, now crooked and clearly on the verge of collapse. She studied it, then the streets and buildings for a minute before turning and gesturing to a sidestreet. ¡°According to the notes, we should be getting close.¡±


    ¡°And if the gate¡¯s locked? Your passageway, then?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but if that too is blocked, we prepare to scale the walls.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Sovina gave a crooked, charming grin. ¡°More climbing.¡±


    The streets were as narrow as Nova¡¯s, but straighter, more structured in their design. It was as if each stone in the whole city were nearly planned with quill and ink, and the more Emalia considered it, the more likely it seemed that was the case. After all, everything would need to be carefully monitored and studied to ensure a perfect equilibrium, as her old tomes would put it. Like many of the ancient Wonders of antiquity, the floating cities of Rotaalan and Elansk were impractical. Food, water, fuel, and waste would have been large matters of concern. Indeed, it was those very problems that offered a hidden passage into the central keep.


    They picked their way through the ruins carefully, watchful of alleys and dark doorways where the Dead surely lurked. Sovina was in the lead now, her saber held low and ready, bobbing slightly with what Emalia could only guess as anticipation. Her companion wasn¡¯t bloodthirsty¡ªnot exactly¡ªbut she wasn¡¯t one to shy away from a good fight, as she¡¯d put it. At least one of us possesses such courage, she thought with a frown. We shall need it here.


    Soon enough, and without another sighting of the Dead, the tall walls of the keep emerged from the crowded sightlines of the city. Four tall square towers made up the corners of the outer wall, with multiple stone structures rising above them inside the walls. They had balconies with garden plots and open walkways with exposed courtyards to view the city streets. The limited information she¡¯d managed to find on the city¡¯s layout before she left Nova had not spoken much on the keep, but she¡¯d expected castles of the eastern hillsides, not what seemed like a fortified estate.


    ¡°I¡¯d think a floating city was enough deterrence to the enemy,¡± Sovina muttered as they paused to take in their destination, ¡°so why all the walls? For their own people?¡±


    ¡°Civil war and strife is the one constant of history.¡±


    ¡°Still, I figure their enemies would just fly in or some such Sorcery.¡±


    Or raise armies of the Dead. Emalia shivered, then directed them forward and along the wall. It was best not to think of such horrors of the past. She had to focus on the present. Unfortunately, the gate to access the inside of the walls, as she suspected, was closed. Two wide doors reinforced with iron were shut and, after a testing shove, also locked.


    Sovina craned her head back to see the top of the wall. ¡°Secret passageway it is then.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll need our torches.¡± Emalia felt for the knife at her side, suddenly wishing she had more to protect herself with. ¡°And we¡¯ll need to be cautious. Dead often dwell in such places.¡±


    Her companion took out two torches from her large pack and held them under her free arm. ¡°Quick and quiet, then. Nothing we¡¯re strangers to, right?¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    They circled the walls until Emalia spotted the small square building she was looking for. It stood a standard dozen paces from the walls, along with the other houses and businesses, so that it could be easily missed. But as Sovina pushed open the front door and the cloud-marred sunlight filtered inside, she knew her parchments were right, and this was no standard home. An iron gate barred entrance to a large opening in the ground, trapdoors tossed open, one off its hinges and hanging awkwardly to the side. But holding their attention were the half dozen skeletons piled up against the other side of the iron gate as if they had been trying to escape.


    ¡°I thought everyone fled Rotaalan?¡± Sovina asked, voice quiet and cautious.


    ¡°Most did. Some stayed.¡± Emalia approached, kneeling to observe the skeletons. Though she had only an academic understanding of anatomy and physiology, she could tell quickly enough there was damage to the bones. Cuts and scrapes and shattered pieces from punctures. ¡°They learned too late the inherent instability of Sorcery. The Great Martyr Raizak gave us knowledge, but it was his sacrifice that also birthed such¡­ temptation.¡±


    ¡°Poor fools.¡±


    ¡°They brought it on themselves.¡±


    ¡°Maybe these Sorcerers you speak of, but everyone?¡± Sovina asked, something soft in her voice. ¡°Aristocrats, even? What did they do to deserve this?¡±


    She studied the bones a while longer, the question hanging in the air. Finally, Emalia stood, brushing the dust from her tunic. ¡°Complacency in a broken system means participation in the act. They could have done something. They could have left earlier and not tempted the gods.¡±


    Sovina glanced her way but said nothing. Instead, she shook the door to the gate, and though it was old and rusted, it held. She tried her lockpicks on the keyhole, but it was too rusted, so she pulled out a prybar and shoved it near the lock, heaving as the metal squealed in protest. Such noise raised the hair on Emalia¡¯s arms as the thought of creatures of death running to investigate, so she closed the door behind her but could do little more with how rotten the bar lock was. I could have closed my eyes to the complacency and ignorance of my people, but I left. I put myself in the way of danger to do what is just. She folded her arms and watched as the iron gate fell to the side, opening the passageway into the dark descent under the castle. I am the hand of Raizak. He speaks to me, through me, and so it is my duty to fulfill his commands. The smell of stagnant death swirled up from below, turning stomachs. Her mind reeled with imagined numbers of undead ready to feast on her flesh. I am his hand in the land of humanity, of mortality. How many crawled in the shadows down there? How many were waiting?


    ¡°Focus on what we can control, Column-sister,¡± Sovina said, handing her a lit torch.


    She took it, watching the flames sputter and curl around the pitch-soaked fabric at the end. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, the echoes of her dreams lingered. Whispers spoken in the early morning as the sun colored the sky a faint yellow. Raizak, the Sunderer, Martyr of Humankind, her patron god, spoke of the dangers to come and the great necessity of her task. And how when she found the creature she was searching for, bound and half-broken, she would need to kill it and cut out its heart. Only then, with such an item, could Raizak breathe his second breath and return.


    Only then could the fallen world be saved.

 Prey – Chapter Two

    He squatted at the edge of the ruined structure, careful not to shift his weight too much lest it all come crashing down in a pile of rubble with him at the bottom. That was the problem with exploring old ruins, in Oskar¡¯s estimation: they had the habit of falling apart at the worst moments. Picking at the black ichorous blood crusted under his fingernails, he grimaced. Well, maybe that¡¯s not the worst thing about them. He tried rubbing it off on his dark wool cloak with little success. Bloody Dead blood. Can a man ever catch a break?


    ¡°Should we pursue?¡± Nifont asked, crouching beside him.


    Oskar frowned down at the small stone building the rich priestess and her armed guardian had disappeared into. ¡°They know their way around this forsaken place. Not sure how I feel about that.¡±


    ¡°The tall one carries herself well. She can fight. Not like most Column warriors.¡±


    He glanced over to Nifont, the sinewy, tough bastard of a man. In his stained and worn canvas that he wore so often, he might as well have been born with it. With his equally ancient hood that draped down to his shoulders, he looked almost part of the landscape. Like some dead thing wrought to life. But perhaps that was a bit unfair, even if he sat still as a corpse with the only sign of life being his flicking-about eyes.


    Oskar nodded slowly. ¡°See that blade at her side?¡±


    ¡°Gilded well, that.¡±


    ¡°They only hand out such sabers to the best.¡± He curled his lip and spit to the side, Nifont doing the same shortly after.


    ¡°Fucking priests.¡±


    ¡°Fucking Nova.¡±


    They sat there, both stewing in their own disgust till Oskar shook his head and slid away from the edge as quiet as could be on his achy knees, maneuvering the sheathed blade at his hip around the rocks. ¡°This city¡¯s got shit all besides other dumb pricks killing themselves over nothing. Let¡¯s see what this priestess has come so far north for.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± Nifont followed, and as they crept down the side of the half-collapsed building, he muttered, ¡°Not many more peasants running about here. Good for us.¡±


    Oskar snorted. ¡°Climb up to this place alone and shout your bloody head off at an arrow? And after all the story of icy blood in these parts. Hmph.¡±


    ¡°Living on the sea is the problem. That¡¯s the issue with eating nothing but fish, I say.¡±


    ¡°By the fucking gods¡ª¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re insects of the water. Ever see someone who eats nothing but bugs and pests? They¡¯re mad. My cousin moved to Ruila and lost his mind, started seeing apparitions!¡± He jabbed a finger into Oskar¡¯s back. ¡°Is that just my superstitions? Well?¡±


    Before he could respond with something sharp enough to shut the fool up, a voice interrupted them, ¡°Nifont, quiet your leperous tongue before I boil it from your skull. Rotaal should not be cursed with your absurdities. We are in the carcass of his greatest offering, show respect to the gods.¡±


    Oskar found himself caught between wincing and grinning at Nifont¡¯s expense. Feia always had a way with words for a lonesome frontiers witch with no education beyond toxic brews and curses a-plenty. He glanced back and exchanged brow-raised glances with Nifont, then continued to the base of the ruin through the rubble of what was once some poor prick¡¯s shop. There stood Feia, hand on her hips, remarkably wart-free face scowling away like someone had just stolen her favorite bone rings. Behind her were four hand-picked men, all lightly armed and armored for the long climb. They stood about in casual readiness only found in veterans, hands near their weapons, sitting on their haunches or leaning against the crumbling wall, but eyes always scanning, voices kept low. Oskar smiled despite himself at the comfort they brought him. Didn¡¯t matter how good of a fighter one was if he was surrounded by fools.


    ¡°Have you spotted the two interlopers, then?¡± Feia asked with a hiss to emphasize her distaste.


    Oskar was handed his helmet back from one of his men and buckled it over his long, greying hair. The helm was softly conical, with a mail aventail to protect the neck and sides of the face and a prominent nosepiece to cover, well, the nose, amongst other important bits. While it made a bit too much noise for sneaking about, it saved his life more times than anything besides a shield. He twisted it about to make sure it was snug, then picked up his backstrap-fitted, aforementioned shield. ¡°One¡¯s a priestess, everyone here should know. The other¡¯s her guard¡ªwell-trained. Column agents, maybe runaways considering their numbers, but either way, is everyone here fine with that?¡± There was a bit of shuffling, but no one raised an objection. Good thing Stanilo isn¡¯t here, he¡¯d not be happy about this. ¡°Alright then, let¡¯s see what¡¯s got them so riled up, eh? There may be some treasure in this gods-forsaken place after all.¡±


    Nods and grins met his words. He spared a glance to Feia, whose eyes were locked on his own, a dangerous smirk playing at her lips.


    He leaned in and hissed out, ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t expect to see other Imperials here, did you?¡±


    ¡°Course not. But that¡¯s beside the point, we¡¯re following¡ª¡±


    She held up a hand. ¡°I do not dissent from the plan to give chase. And if it comes to violence, you know how I feel about priests. I speak of the spindles of your threads of fate. Of your story, Oskar Koyzlov, son of goat herders, born of black dirt.¡±


    ¡°Enough.¡± He pushed past her, forcing her smirk to waver into a frown as she stepped back. ¡°I brought you here for your knowledge of Sorcery and the Dead, not your riddles.¡±


    ¡°Fine. But I speak not as a seer but as one who has a nose for the odor of schemes.¡± Her eyes flicked away to the others, then back to him. ¡°This will entangle us in machinations and plots. Priestesses do not come this far north without reason.¡±


    ¡°What could it be for then?¡±


    ¡°This city is a waste of death and decay, but something lies in its heart. What exactly, I cannot say.¡±


    He sighed, wishing for not the first time that instead of a thousand curses, she had learned to speak clearly. For all her knowledge, Feia was burdened by the weight of something adjacent to madness. Not quite there, but ever-tottering. It¡¯s cruel to blame her for that, though, he thought, thinking back to those dark days. No one gets through that whole. Oh well, what¡¯s dead is dead.


    ¡°Understood.¡± He gave her a nod and friendly pat on the shoulder, then strode past, knocking some life into his sore legs. ¡°Let¡¯s move then, everyone. We¡¯re following that priestess!¡±


    ¡­


    Emalia raised her sputtering torch and squinted through the murky darkness, praying that no horrid Dead might leap out to snatch her up. It was black as blindness and even with her eyes straining wide open, she could wonder if some curse hadn¡¯t taken her vision. But the torch illuminated their brief surroundings like a halo of something divine, and with it, she knew they were getting closer. They were inside a tunnel like that of an underground aqueduct, with brief and raised platforms on either side of a channel where water once ran through. It was impossible to tell if it was sloped down or up, how slight the tilt was. The walk was long and excruciatingly suspenseful. The slightest distant echo would make her heart pound and mouth go dry in fear, and she had to restrain herself from clutching at Sovina for safety. But finally, something was emerging from the darkness ahead.


    The stone wall gave way to a brief indentation, an alcove where the torch didn¡¯t quite reach. As they drew closer, she saw a doorway there, pressed into the stone, a thing entirely of iron. It had to be at least a hundred pounds, though even so, it was finely worked with swirling designs and patterns fitting a palace rather than some underground tunnel.


    Sovina gave grunted in surprise. ¡°First thing we¡¯ve seen that doesn¡¯t look like decayed rubbish.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Emalia muttered, running a hand over it, pushing slightly. ¡°I don¡¯t see how it opens.¡±


    Her companion leaned in, holding her torch near what seemed to be a tiny keyhole. She passed over her torch to Emalia, stuck her sword back in her belt scabbard, and brought out a rarely-used small kit. With practiced ease, she inserted two metal tools into the keyhole. Emalia¡¯s eyes lingered on her strong yet nimble hands for a brief moment, then flicked up to the dark tunnel behind them. If she strained her ears, she could almost hear something. An overactive imagination? Or are those footsteps? She squinted off, concentrating, but there was nothing. Not even the faintest of breezes.


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    Then a click.


    ¡°Got it,¡± Sovina whispered, withdrawing her tools and putting them away as she nudged open the door. It hardly made a sound as it opened, their torches lighting a small room with a staircase leading up.


    Emalia handed back the torch, gazing up. ¡°We need not ascend much. The creature should be held in the bowels of this place.¡±


    ¡°Shall I shut the door or block it open behind us?¡±


    She looked back, finding no obvious handle on the other side, only another keyhole. ¡°Block it open. I¡¯d rather have a quick escape should we run into any conflict inside.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡± After placing a piece of nearby rubble in between the iron door and the wall, Sovina stepped in front, blade out and glittering in the firelight. ¡°I¡¯ll lead in here. I can already smell the stench of the Dead.¡±


    Emalia nodded, taking a deep inhale to see if she could sense what her guardian could, but the air only smelled stale and old. She was trained for this. Sensing and fighting the Dead are Column-sworn warriors¡¯ skills, after all. With that, she nodded to herself and followed close behind. It was not a sign of incompetence or unpreparedness that she lacked much of what Sovina had, but just a matter of their respective specializations. She would have her own role to play, after all.


    The stairs were carved into the rock; arched supports curved overhead, though she couldn¡¯t tell if they were carved of the stone or added in later. The time it would take to chisel a path, let alone carve out stairs and arches¡­ She gazed upon the walls as she passed. This entire city is a testament to old glory. What have we lost that the eternal Vasian Empire cannot compare to its old self? That was the passage of history, her old teachers would say, with the ebb and flow of fortune and riches, but soon, Vasia would return strong and powerful as the old days of early imperium. But not if I fail.


    Sovina extended a hand, and they stopped. The stairs ended at a platform with one door on each wall, each of solid iron, though they had handles this time.


    ¡°Do you know the way?¡± her companion asked.


    Emalia scanned each, comparing the corridors to the parchment in her mind. Something tingled in her unconscious, her senses. A warning? A threat. ¡°Careful. This is a dangerous place. Progress neither straight nor right but left onto the main hall.¡± She approached the middle door and put her head to it, listening. On the other side, it was quiet, but something in her knew the silence was sinister. ¡°There was unstable Sorcery here. The kind left as a trap for thieves or assassins. I can only guess what has resulted of such decayed magic.¡±


    Sovina put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back. ¡°Let¡¯s keep our distance from it then.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Emalia gave a weak grin, then nodded to the left door. ¡°Through here.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t another narrow passageway or ascending staircase, but a straight hall of reaching arches as wide and long as a powerful druzhina¡¯s feast hall. The floor glimmered under the torches, and as Emalia looked down, her breath fled her in one astonished rush. The entire floor was a stunning marble mosaic. Pieces so small they could scarcely be separated from the whole created twisting spirals of gold, ancient iconography of heraldry of old houses that must have contributed to the city, entire figures of enrobed men and women posed like beneficent magistrates, dressed in furs, fine cotton robes, and imported silks. Two columns interrupted the scene, but even they were carved with caryatids of what Emalia immediately recognized as gods. On the left, Flaael, worshiped in many coastal cities for her dominion of the seas and the moon; she held a small barbed harpoon in one hand and held a veil over her face in the other. On the right, Elan, Flaael¡¯s sister and wife of the high god Rotaal; she held an infant in one arm and made a warding gesture with the other as fitting her role as goddess of family, purity, and the sanctity of peace.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing here,¡± Sovina muttered, and after drawing her eyes from the detailed and holy caryatids, Emalia knew she was right.


    For all the grandness of the hall, it held nothing. ¡°They had feasts here, perhaps?¡±


    ¡°I see no hearth.¡±


    ¡°Maybe they use Sorcery to warm it.¡± She walked ahead, careful to not let her attention be absorbed by the depictions of the gods, and looked for an exit. Sure enough, directly ahead was a passageway under an arch shrouded in darkness. Emalia headed towards it, torch held aloft.


    Once close enough, the shadow retreated to a small room, an antechamber of sorts, before a massive door of stone. It was huge and looming, carved with old words in the tongue of Sorcery, scrawled with runes like a monolith dug from the sands of the ancients, bearing laws or old myths in an ancient language.


    Sovina appeared beside her, torch suddenly fighting for its life as if it lacked air to feed itself. ¡°This is it, then.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a thing of Death. A thing of great warding power.¡±


    ¡°I feel the Sorcery imbued within. It¡¯s strong.¡±


    ¡°I can imagine.¡± Emalia squinted at it, recalling the many texts she¡¯d read as a consequence of this one door. ¡°It isn¡¯t a trap, per se, but more of a direct challenge. It does not conceal its danger, given you can read the forgotten tongue.¡±


    ¡°Can you?¡±


    ¡°I can understand enough to know what these inscriptions imply. And it¡¯s quite simple: if you try to open the door without a certain set of keys, you die. Instantly, painfully.¡±


    Sovina stared up at the gargantuan door. ¡°I¡¯ve trusted you that we could handle all we came across, but this frightens me. How will you open it?¡±


    ¡°With time and sufficient intention of Raizak¡¯s will, to start.¡±


    ¡°I look forward to seeing your intention at work, Priestess,¡± came a voice from behind.


    She spun around, torch whooshing, sparks flying, and found a half-dozen figures forming up at the entrance to the antechamber, only a half-dozen long paces away. One stood in front of the others, holding a shield with his other hand on the pommel of a sword at his side. Within a worn and square face, dark eyes glittered underneath an iron nasal helm, studying her intensely. He spoke Vasian, she thought in a moment of calm analysis. Not a local. An adventurer sort? A mercenary? Likely so.


    ¡°Stay back!¡± Sovina shouted, her torch abandoned to her side as she stepped before Emalia protectively, sword out and threatening. ¡°We are serving the Column, and your intrusion is not welcomed under the gods.¡±


    The man raised his brow at that as if he were unimpressed. None of the others behind seemed to change their stance or expression. ¡°I would imagine your intrusion hereabouts is not welcomed either. This is a holy city if you aren¡¯t aware. Or was. Not too sure on the current view of Vasia on Ruins, to be fair.¡±


    ¡°Retreat back into the darkness, scavengers. This is a godly mission¡ª¡±


    He yawned and turned to a woman beside him, whose hawk-like face was focused on them and dangerously sharp in its watchfulness. ¡°This is boring me. What do you say to speaking to the priestess there instead, eh? Figure she¡¯ll be less trite than her guardian?¡±


    Emalia swallowed. ¡°What my companion says is true: we are here on a holy mission.¡±


    ¡°Not one ordained by Nova, I can tell that much. There¡¯s only two of you. And if I know one thing about the Column, it¡¯s that they¡¯re real careful when it comes to their interests.¡± He said it all with visible distaste, as if the mere thought of the holy Column stung him. ¡°No, I think you¡¯re on your own here. Far away from the safety of your precious Column.¡±


    She took a moment to collect herself and consider her response. ¡°I have spoken to the gods themselves. I can assure you, this mission is a holy one.¡±


    ¡°Ah, so she¡¯s mad? Wonderful, we¡¯ve not enough of those.¡± The woman grumbled something and elbowed at him. ¡°Yes, yes. Well, what¡¯s your mission here then, Oracle? Come to read the bones of the dead fools who tried messing with shit they shouldn¡¯t have? Quite a few scattered about in a place like this.¡±


    Emalia wrinkled her lips and about said something sharper than was wise when a screech echoed through the antechamber. Her eyes went wide as she unconsciously took a step back. ¡°Did you open any other doors?¡±


    The man drew his blade and turned to face the other side of the entranceway.


    ¡°Before the hall, did you open either of the two other doors?¡± she repeated, panic rising.


    ¡°Only one of ¡®em!¡± he shouted over his shoulder. ¡°Didn¡¯t know which way you went, after all.¡±


    ¡°I told you it stunk of Sorcery,¡± the woman hissed out, then looked to Emalia. ¡°What was inside the middle one, Priestess?¡±


    Her stomach clenched tight, fear rising up like acid in her throat. ¡°Whatever was once there has fallen to decay, to the Dead.¡±


    ¡°Fuck.¡±


    Sovina put a hand on Emalia¡¯s shoulder, then strode forward to join the others. ¡°We shall fight here together to give my Column-sister enough time to break the ward and get us through, but you must agree to not harm us or hinder our mission.¡±


    ¡°You sure you can get through that door?¡± The man looked back, glancing between them. When Emalia nodded, he said, ¡°Fine. Agreed.¡± He faced toward. ¡°Feia, make us a ring, then go help our new friend. I¡¯m partial to dying today.¡±


    The woman named Feia tore multiple bottles from hanging straps at her sides and hidden inside the folds of her clothing, then dispersed them to the others. They poured the liquid just outside the antechamber in a shaky line, then one of the men lowered a torch. In a rush, the oil lit in a blaze of alchemical fire, smoke the color of black tar, thick and impenetrable. The sudden bright light and noxious residue made her vision swim, but after a moment to adjust, Emalia¡¯s breath hitched as she saw that at the entrance to the large hall, the Dead were pouring in. Thin, skeletal ones with barely enough muscle to move in a straight line, others of once-rotting carcasses, and finally, the muscled Greyskins, bounding forward with fangs and eyes of hate. They rushed over each other, desperate to reach the living, to feast. Hisses and moans and screams that made her think of living minds trapped in the Dead, desperate to escape, to free themselves of forced carnage.


    ¡°Great Sunderer, protect me,¡± she whispered fervently. ¡°Martyr of Humankind, giver of Spirit, of Soul, shield me from this¡ª¡±


    ¡°Priestess!¡±


    She blinked, then tore her stare from the creatures to Feia, who stood before her. The woman jerked her head to the door. ¡°Raizak protects us only when we follow the strands of fate laid before us. Now, I can¡¯t read this old gibberish. So focus up!¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± She swallowed and turned from the fire and the Dead. ¡°Raizak enlighten me,¡± she whispered under her breath as the shouts of orders rang out behind. As the sounds of metal meeting flesh and horrific screams ripped through the still air of a tomb. ¡°Protect me from this fear. Bring me strength and guide my hand.¡± She looked upon the massive stone door carved in runes and thought back to the Column, to the stolen scrolls and what they said of such magic. After a moment, she glanced to the other woman. ¡°Can you work Sorcery?¡±


    ¡°Bits and bobs.¡± She bared her teeth at the door. ¡°Nothing monstrous as this, though.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s more than I. You¡¯ll have to help speed this up. We don¡¯t have time.¡±


    ¡°Just tell me what to do.¡±


    Emalia nodded, focused the memories of ancient parchment in her mind, and spoke.

 Greyskins – Chapter Three

    His eyes were wet and stinging. Damn smoke. It curled up from the hissing flames and crept along the ceiling, spreading like morning fog over a boggy battlefield. But as the Greyskin vanguard gathered on the other side, screaming and tearing at their skin in frustration, he was glad for it.


    ¡°Stay tight!¡± he bellowed, sparing a glance to the side where the guard lady had fit herself into their shield wall. ¡°We break, we¡¯re dead!¡±


    She didn¡¯t even spare him a sideways glance, that Column-marked saber out and shining in the dirty light. His eyes trailed along its blade for the briefest of moments, taking in the old inlaid markings meant to bless it in battle for the gods. Always for the gods with those types.


    His attention snapped back to the creatures ahead as a Greyskin leaped across the fire and landed before them, its dead skin bubbling and red from the heat. Before it could readjust its weight and attack, his men struck. Spears were impossible to carry up the chain, so they wielded axes, ridged maces, and blades, sacrificing reach for portability. Regardless, the Dead shit had its head caved in before it could so much as howl. Body punctured and limbs sliced. Dead once again.


    ¡°Just like that now,¡± he shouted out, hacking off its head just to be sure.


    But their victory was short-lived, for most of the slower Dead had now reached the flames, and unlike the Greyskins, they didn¡¯t care about the threat to their nonexistent lives. One by one, the shambling corpses stumbled through the fire, some of them succumbing, but more of them trailing through, flesh ablaze, empty eyes rolling about, dully focusing on their own. A steady, pained, gasping moan filled the antechamber as they pushed in, Greyskins watching from the other side like cautious boyars readying a cavalry charge upon the flanks of engaged infantry.


    ¡°Force them back!¡± Oskar struck one across the shoulder, staggering it into another. He slammed his shield into the pair and knocked them back, sending them collapsing into the flames. A third almost closed in on him, its face a scorched mess of bone and exposed muscle, but was thrust through by another¡¯s short sword, cutting deep enough to make it falter. The second blow took off its outstretched arm, so Oskar cut into its skull, and it finally collapsed.


    He spared a glance to the side and found Nifont withdrawing his blade, narrowed eyes flicking between the approaching corpses. A few had arrows in them, but every good warrior knew arrows didn¡¯t do much to the Dead.


    ¡°Good time for a shield, eh?¡± Oskar asked, stepping in to bash one of the Dead back.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t expect the need for a shield wall.¡±


    ¡°The beauty of mercenary life.¡±


    The fire was burning lower, the initial flare-up settling down so the top of the flames only met their knees. Greyskins were edging closer as more dead shambled through. Black smoke still poured up, obscuring his vision and making everything swim in a stinging haze. His shield companions were breathing heavy now, each stroke taking more out of their already-taxed arms from the hard climb.


    Oskar blinked away the burning tears and threw a glance over his shoulder. The priestess was working away at the stone door, tracing lines and such as Feia was doing some sort of magic business. ¡°Whatever it is you¡¯re doing, hurry it up now!¡± He had to refocus ahead and hack at a shambler with gnashing teeth.


    ¡°This Sorcery is old, Oskar!¡± Feia shouted back, something hesitant, almost fearful in that iron voice of hers. ¡°It hasn¡¯t been touched in centuries.¡±


    ¡°Do what you do, Feia. Fucking beat it!¡± A large Greyskin shifted through the smoke and blaze, inching close. ¡°Fire¡¯s almost out! You have a minute, no more!¡± It cocked its head and stepped a hesitant foot over the line of fire, its clawed, deformed talons clicking against the floor as its face broke in something akin to a smile. ¡°Agh! Back a step now!¡±


    As one, their line shifted back a pace within the confines of the antechamber, eventually bowing in as the dead poured through the waning blaze. The large Greyskin let out a skull-splitting scream then launched itself forward. At him.


    ¡°By the dead gods¡­¡± Oskar hissed out, then braced.


    It slammed into his shield, nearly lying him flat out. But by some rare miracle, he held his ground, boots sliding across dusty stone, bones aching something terrible. The Greyskin reared back, claws raised high, and he lifted his shield and thrust a blade right into its gut. Nifont cut into its lead leg at the same time, withdrawing quickly before it could retaliate. The thing staggered, doing whatever Dead did instead of catching its breath, then attacked again. Oskar took a half-step forward and took the full anger of the fucker, its talons nearly tearing the shield from his hand, scoring a screeching blow over his helmet. The impact made his vision burst fuzzy, neck twisting, head ringing. He shook himself straight and threw up his shield just in time to block its massive jaw from ripping open his throat.


    ¡°Smelly asshole!¡± He bashed it in the face with his shield¡¯s boss, then thrust his blade in its chest, earning a howl for his efforts. This time, before it could recover and launch another attack, Oskar stuck it through the guts again, tearing out its stinking innards with a twisting of the wrist and a wrenching heave. Like the first one to cross the line, he put his blade into its skull just to be sure. It caught and about wrenched the grip from his hand as the body fell lifeless once again. ¡°Voiya!¡± he screamed, voice cracking in fear and roiling anger. ¡°Death to ¡®em all!¡±


    A few calls echoed out, following his own, as the warriors called for the Final Battle. The Death Slaying. The war against the Dead in the afterlife. A glorious thing to get a warrior¡¯s blood pumping hot. Oskar hacked and cut and stabbed and shoved the incoming tide of Shamblers. Slowly, his battle rage cooled as grim experience won out, as it often did, and he spared a glance for the others. It was hard fighting for everyone. Shouts and steel rang, meeting flesh and deathly howls in the horrific discord of battle. The shield wall was still intact, and no one was dead yet. A few spots of blood, but nothing fatal. His eyes returned to the antechamber¡¯s entrance, now even further away as they kept retreating. If we keep getting pushed like this, we¡¯ll not hold ten seconds longer. Oskar licked his lips and eyed the exit past the Dead. Lots of enemies in the way, to be sure. But it was an exit. He cut into Dead flesh and did the familiar considerations. They¡¯d still be in dire straights upon returning to the hard ground. And poor chance of getting Feia out alive, that far back and distracted. Others would die. How many¡¯s too many?


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    A wave of shamblers stumbled in, most half-crumpled and dusty, thin and ragged. They had broken teeth and lidless, shrunken eyes. Outstretched hands searching for meat to claw into their maws.


    That old friend called fear began sliding up his spine cold and unignorable. Up his throat, drying his mouth and clattering teeth. I¡¯m not dying here. He blinked, acid in the air from the alchemy searing his eyes. I¡¯m not fucking dying here!


    He took in a deep breath and about shouted for their lot to run when a great scraping sound echoed out from behind. Fear stuck in his throat, burning eyes stretched wide; he kicked a walking corpse back and turned. The door was opening. Feia knelt, coughing up blood, the young priestess just beside her, standing frozen, fingers splayed as if she were still tracing carved icons of old.


    Oskar swung back around and hacked off the shambler¡¯s head. ¡°Push on three, then retreat to the door! One!¡± Another cut to sever a Dead one¡¯s jaw from face. ¡°Two!¡± Someone screamed. He looked to the side and saw one of his men, Pamil, pulled down, a Greyskin ripping flesh off his arm with savage glee, blood spitting out. Oskar bared his teeth and looked away. ¡°Three!¡± He shoved out with his shield, knocking a shambler back, then ran to the opened stone door. Nifont grabbed Feia and shoved her inside as the Column guardswoman hauled in the priestess. As soon as they made it through, he turned, the lump in his throat massive, choking.


    The Dead were coming.


    ¡°Feia!¡± Nifont said, shaking her. ¡°The door!¡±


    She spit out a mouthful of blood and scowled up with vessel-burst eyes. ¡°Back.¡±


    Oskar grabbed Nifont and drew him away as she reached out, fingers curled and twitching. ¡°Obey me!¡± The door didn¡¯t move. The Dead were almost at it now. ¡°You guard this passage for a righteous purpose, but the Dead are sacking your temple. Obey me!¡±


    With the grind of stone on stone, the massive door shook, then just as the first Greyskin reached the open way, it slammed shut, splattering its insides across the wall. Immediately, the light of abandoned torches and a flickering line of oil-lit fire vanished, thrusting them into darkness.


    Though the panic still flitted about in his gut like a mad stallion bucking against its handler¡¯s grip, Oskar raised his voice, ¡°I want two torches out! Priestess, you or your guard bring any more?¡±


    They didn¡¯t respond; instead, he could hear the murmuring of careful whisperings from the two of them. So he cleared his throat and addressed his own men. ¡°Make it three, understand?¡±


    A series of grunts answered him, for they knew well enough that he had no patience for anything more formal. And soon enough, a flash of sparks cut through the chamber, briefly revealing hard faces with clenched jaws and wide, seeking eyes. He blinked, realizing his own were stretched open as if that might help him see anything. He rubbed at his eyes. They still hurt from the oil. Be the last time we use that in an enclosed space. Oskar was about to bark out for them to hurry when a spurt of sparks caught, and a torch rushed to life.


    They were in a long room. A hallway, by the looks of it. A whole lot of words carved into the walls, grooves deep-set and almost dancing in the flickering light. Then, both other torches lit up, and the walls stopped dancing. He glanced over his mercenaries. A few spots of injuries, but nothing severe. That was good, considering the scrap they¡¯d just had. Then again, if anyone was to get injured, it¡¯d be by teeth and claws, and if the enemy was that close, it meant a whole lot worse things than a deep cut. We lost Pamil. One¡¯s too many, but it could be worse. He looked down to Feia, crouched on the ground with a hand planted on the stone to provide balance, other over her mouth as if she were holding in her breakfast.


    ¡°Feia,¡± he said, squatting beside her, ¡°how¡¯re you faring?¡±


    ¡°Like¡ª¡± she began, then gagged and drew her hand back to vomit, whole body straining and flexing with the effort.


    He put a hand on her back, then glared up at the priestess. ¡°The fuck did you have her do?¡±


    She turned from her guard, who had her arms crossed over her mail-clad chest, and quickly strode over. The priestess knelt beside them, gathering strands of Feia¡¯s oily and dangling hair that¡¯d slipped from her headwrap. ¡°We had to get through,¡± she said, words slow and hesitant. ¡°There were¡­ old enchantments on the door. Old Sorcery inscribed there that needed to be activated, or else we¡¯d all die. I don¡¯t have that particular gift¡­¡±


    ¡°But she did,¡± he finished, giving her one last glare before looking at his band¡¯s only spell caster and one of their oldest members. One of his oldest friends, if he had to admit it. Well, living friends. ¡°Why come down here? What¡¯s so special about some asshole noble¡¯s dungeon?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± the guard said.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Not a dungeon.¡± She turned around to face the other end of the tunnel, dark and out of sight. ¡°If anything, it¡¯s a furnace.¡±


    The priestess met his eyes grimly. ¡°Or a prison.¡±


    Oskar¡¯s blade hand twitched, for he¡¯d been delving in ancient places long enough to know when things began stinking of dark secrets and old Sorcery far outside his preferred line of work. ¡°This here isn¡¯t about riches for either of you, is it?¡±


    ¡°Of course not.¡±


    ¡°The gods and all that, I¡¯m guessing?¡±


    ¡°Doubt me if you wish, but they speak to me through visions.¡±


    Shoulda listened to Feia, he thought with a frown.


    The woman in question finally sat back up straight, vessel-burst eyes glassy, a thin string of drool wiped away with the back of her hand. ¡°Gods, the Dead, magics almost older than the empire¡­ What are you tower-people plotting here in this sinking city?¡±


    ¡°As far as the Column is concerned¡­¡± the priestess trailed off, glancing to her guard, then back to them, ¡°nothing. We¡¯re here on our own, as you suspected.¡±


    Oskar put a hand on Feia¡¯s shoulder, keeping her steady as she swayed. It fucking hurt to see her so damn messed up. ¡°Care to tell us why?¡±


    ¡°You were planning to rob us, weren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°No. Just take a piece of whatever riches lie here rather than let a couple of Column agents steal it all for Nova.¡±


    ¡°It was once Nova¡¯s. Would reclaiming it be so wrong if that were our intention?¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± he grumbled, spitting to the side. ¡°Plans changed. We saved you from the Dead; now get us out of this damn place, and we¡¯re square.¡±


    ¡°The Dead you brought.¡± She raised her head, all condescending and imperial-like. Fucking Nova. ¡°But fine.¡± With the slightest of bows, the young woman said, ¡°I¡¯m Emalia of Nova, born to the Column, and this is Sovina, my Column Sister.¡± She gestured to her guardian, who was frowning at the two of them with arms still crossed.


    He gave her a brief nod. ¡°Oskar. Now, what¡¯s happened to Feia?¡±


    ¡°The door, while not wrought of Sorcery, was certainly imbued with it. A lot of it. The kind that binds Souls, you see.¡± Emalia grimaced. ¡°Handling that much has consequences¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°What kind of consequences?¡±


    Feia patted his arm, standing up on shaky legs, whole body swaying. ¡°Nothing I¡¯ve not encountered before, Oskar. My blood will not burn black yet.¡±


    He let out a sigh, then nodded. It was almost all too close. So much for the quick in and out we had in mind up here, he thought with gritted teeth. ¡°You good to keep going?¡±


    ¡°Whatever comes must be faced, and I am not Corrupted enough to lie here and die like an infirm old sheep for the wolves.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± He readjusted his sword belt and wiped the blood off his hands on the stone walls with minimal success. Just got his hands grime-covered too. ¡°Let¡¯s move on then. Better be riches here in this furnace-prison of yours.¡± And if there¡¯s not, I can always just cut your throats and take whatever you¡¯ve got on you. After all, they were of the Column, and any evil bastard who crawled out of that twisted place was bound to have gold on them.


    He¡¯d already lost a man today. This bloody sinking city would be worth it, in the end, he¡¯d see to that well enough.

 Blood of Conviction – Chapter Four

    The gods were fickle, certainly, but the fortune of today was a twisted, confusing path. It was evident that without Feia¡¯s help, they might not have been able to get through the Sorcery-imbued door, or at least, it would have taken a very long time. Time they didn¡¯t have with the threat of Dead lurking and imminent in the falling city of Rotaalan. One only had to look to the fate of its sister city, Elansk, to know what might eventually happen here. The tales of the city¡¯s fall over a century ago were seared in the minds of every citizen of the empire, most of all in Nova, where things were so fragile. Still, it was not respectful to question the gods¡¯ will, especially one¡¯s patron god. Raizak was cunning and smarter than most. He knew the way.


    She just had to follow.


    Emalia wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow and glanced to Sovina. ¡°The schematics and narratives ended at the last chamber. I know little of what lies before us.¡±


    ¡°Stay close,¡± she whispered, her saber held out at her side. ¡°And don¡¯t trust these brigands.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Good. They won¡¯t try anything if we¡¯re vigilant, but if there¡¯s an opening¡ª¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Emalia said, interrupting. ¡°Sorry. Such talk just makes me more nervous. I¡¯ll be careful.¡±


    ¡°Of course, my apologies.¡±


    The hall was long, narrow, and dark as the Column archives at night. She crept forward with the same practiced care as she had back then, searching for tomes with only a waning candle to illuminate the area. Before her visions, before her mission, she¡¯d spent many long nights just reading, learning about all there was to know over topics long lost to many of the Column, let alone Vasia as a whole: geometry, astronomy, anatomy and biology, and especially history. While there was no civilization before Vasia, obviously, the various tribes and petty warlords who ruled had an interesting history of war and feuds, half-buried in myth and legend, obscured in secret histories buried away. Such tales had held her captive in fascination until the early light. She recalled vivid moments of rays of early sun filtering through the waxed linen-covered slats in her small window space, illuminating the motes of lingering dust. At this point, her eyes would be bleary and tired, head drooping, the thoughts of the coming lectures and scribe-work distant but still peripheral enough she couldn¡¯t quite relax. The anxiety of tomorrow, the tired pleasantness of the moment. Old Smychnik, born in Kezmorok of Kosica, but as loyal and dutiful a priest as any, there with her, guiding her fumblings, helping hide her self-destructive curiosities¡­


    The great climb. The many stairs. Dark as the afterlife, a lone candle to light the way in the quiet, silent ascent. Her footsteps echoing. A room ancient, sacred, forbidden. Her own gaze, searching, probing, discovering what should have been left to the highest. And then the voice, and the touch of the divine. Oh, how it seared her flesh, coursed through her veins like molten iron in a smithy¡¯s molds, destroying, breaking down, forging anew.


    ¡°Emalia!¡±


    She jerked her head up, blinking. ¡°What? What is it?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something in these halls.¡± Sovina scowled ahead, face scrunched up, eyes narrowed. ¡°Stay awake!¡± she shouted to all. ¡°Don¡¯t let these illusions sway you. Defend your Souls!¡±


    ¡°The fuck you mean defend my Soul?¡± Oskar asked, shaking his head.


    ¡°Fortify your mind to these intrusions,¡± Emalia answered. Muted rays upon the pages. Crinkling softly with each turn. Finger tracing lines, a smooth texture, a pleasant sound. Smychnik beside her, his rambling lectures a familiar comfort. The world was warm and familiar. Kind. Emalia widened her eyes and pressed forward. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to them!¡±


    It was a stumbling, tiring affair moving down the long hall. A few times the scavengers had to right one of their own and shove them forward, with exhausted shouts of warning and insult. Heads drooping, shoulders sagging, yet fear kept everyone awake long enough to pulls themselves from that space and stagger into a new room, atmosphere not so heavy, the pressure to let go not so severe. Still present, yet manageable. Only Sovina seemed more or less unaffected, shoulders squared against the darkness like a bastion of courage.


    The hall opened up into a proper chamber some fifteen strides across, at least thirty deep. But only a few steps ahead, the ground opened up into a deep chasm with a narrow bridge across. The torchlight didn¡¯t dare try and touch the depths, the darkness was so overwhelming. Nothing magical, at least, nothing she outright saw, but the implied depth was frightening. Emalia shuffled close to the edge and peered down, holding a torch taken from one of the men. Nothing, just black. She directed her attention to the stone bridge, without railings and barely wide enough for one to cross. It led to some sort of floating platform on the other side. And upon that platform, a dais holding a large contraption. It could be described as a pillar, but that would be inadequate, for though it was cylindrical and tall, there were ridges, indentations, and protruding features that made it distinctly different. However, due to the darkness and distance, it was hard to make out anything more.


    Emalia stepped forward toward the bridge, but a hand shot out and grabbed her arm. She expected to see a cautious Sovina there, but it was Oskar. ¡°The fuck is this place?¡± he asked. ¡°And what is that thing? I want answers. Now.¡±


    Sovina turned and went to draw her sword, but the thin man had a long dagger up to her neck. Emalia glared back at Oskar, her fear overwhelmed by a burning, righteous anger. ¡°Release her and unhand me.¡±


    ¡°No. You¡¯re here by word of the gods, you say? Convince me that you¡¯re not going to release some catastrophe. This place stinks of ancient shit people just shouldn¡¯t touch.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t answer to your requests.¡± She glanced toward the large object across the bridge. Her destination, her goal. ¡°Raizak himself wishes this to happen.¡±


    He seemed to follow her gaze and sighed. ¡°Of course, it¡¯s always a bloody sarcophagus. What lies inside?¡±


    ¡°A creature.¡±


    ¡°Want to be more specific?¡±


    She replied with a harsh, silent stare.


    He shrugged. ¡°Guess we¡¯ll just kill you two and be done with it then.¡± His other hand produced a dagger.


    Sovina¡¯s head snapped back, bashing the man holding her across the jaw. She ducked away from his knife and slid free her sword. She was surrounded, but with saber bared and glaring all around, no one dared to approach. She faced off against Oskar. ¡°Unhand her, or I¡¯ll kill every single one of you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah? Figure that¡¯ll work out for you? We got the numbers here.¡±


    ¡°Not nearly enough.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Emalia said, swallowing the lump in her throat, trying to lean away from the touch of cold iron. ¡°Wait. We¡¯re here for the creature¡¯s heart. It¡¯s important. More than you can possibly know. Raizak himself calls me to this mission. I swear it upon the Column itself. Please, put down your arms!¡±


    All paused to look at her, but Emalia was not focused on them. Do not smite me down, oh great Sunderer, Enlightened Folly. Let your wrath be sated by this creature, I beg of you. She waited a moment, voices around her continuing as she focused on the space in her mind where the visions bloomed. But there was silence. Praise be! Thank you for your great¡ª


    Pain shot through her mind like a bolt of fire, searing through and out the very pores of her skin. Emalia screamed, falling to her knees, then side, head reeling, eyes rolling back in her head. It was coming. A welling of heat in her stomach, her heart, bursting forth from her mouth and eyes like beams of light. Then, suddenly stopped.


    She gasped a pained breath through a whimper of tears and forced her eyes open. She was not in the underground chamber anymore. No, she was somewhere else. A place shrouded in myth only few had seen with their own eyes, and she was one of them.


    It was the great room at the top of the Column in Nova. Barred from entry for all but the highest priest and their communion with the gods above, with the powers of the Souls, of higher consciousness to fuel great works of Sorcery long since abandoned. A relic itself. At the center, a stepped structure like that of a miniature ziggurat, built of ivory and inlaid with thin-cut rubies to look like veins. She was on the final step before the platform at the top. Emalia glanced down, breath ever snatched away by the steep drop-off and descent below. But she was here for a reason, and it was not to fear the fall.


    She pushed herself up to her hands and knees, gasping with the effort, for the atmosphere was thick and heavy, an untouchable weight bearing down on her entire body. Straining against the pressure, she tilted her head upwards, eyes sliding toward the visage hovering above the platform, watching her. It was hard to look directly at it. Each time her gaze met its form, her vision dimmed and slid away like rushing water off a boulder. Nevertheless, she knew he was large, at least twenty feet tall, made up of smoke and something not quite solid, but with purple eyes that pierced the very Soul. Indentations could be made out across his form where the constrictors set to strangle him by Rotaal were present, ever-crushing, ever-punishing for his crimes.


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    ¡°Great Martyr,¡± she whispered, voice scarcely able to eke out anything louder. ¡°My Soul is forever marred by the shame I carry for failing in your commands¡ª¡±


    ¡°SILENCE,¡± he spoke, words stealing the voice from her mouth and pressing her flat against the ivory slab once more. ¡°YOU HAVE NOT FAILED. YOUR SURVIVAL IS NECESSARY TO FULFILL YOUR DESTINY, TO REALIZE MY INSTRUCTIONS.¡±


    Emalia gasped a sigh of relief, entire body relaxing as the weight of fear and guilt were washed away with those few words. She wished to thank Raizak but obeyed his instruction and remained silent.


    ¡°YET, YOU ARE WEAK. STEEL YOURSELF AND PREPARE, FOR THE PATH AHEAD IS DECEPTIVE. YOU WILL BE CHALLENGED. YOU WILL BE BROKEN, BUT YOU MUST REMAIN STRONG.¡± Raizak bent down closer, taking over almost the whole of her field of view with his imposing form. Purple eyes burned through her like iron pokers, like spear tips, like the teeth of the dead. ¡°I GIFTED HUMANITY WITH INTELLIGENCE NOT TO SEE IT SPOILED WITH AMBITIONS OF FOLLY AND GREED. THE SPIRIT IS A GIFT I BESTOWED UPON SOME OF YOUR KIND, AND WHILE YOU DO NOT POSSESS IT, YOU HAVE SOMETHING MORE.¡± He drew even closer, breath like fire smoke, his very presence stirring some deep sense of terror and awe. ¡°DO NOT FAIL ME.¡±


    And with that, Emalia woke gasping, scarcely able to get in a full breath. She rolled over and retched up foul-smelling bile, its acidic sting biting. Movement around her. Voices too. Her stomach clenched and her whole body shook with the effort of expelling that horrific sensation of helplessness and fear, that intrusion into her mind. Just because it was holy did not make it pleasant. Each time, the same pains, each time, the same battling sensations of fiery determination and horrid fear. I¡¯m chosen, she thought as the last tremor rushed through her. Me. He puts his faith in me, not the elders of the Column or druzhina or even the voivodes, but me! Such a thought never failed to make her grin through the straining, to dampen the indignation and pain that followed these visions.


    Eventually, she sat back and took in a deep breath of air, not fresh and energizing, but of stagnation and death. Sovina bent down before her, face steeled and steady, eyes concerned. She extended a water skin, which Emalia took and swallowed greedily. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± her friend whispered. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have let them¡­ Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°By the gods,¡± Oskar muttered, a few paces back with hands at his hips, one on the pommel of his sheathed sword. His dagger was gone. ¡°Was I just seeing things, Nifont?¡±


    The thin man who¡¯d threatened Sovina rubbed at his bruised jaw. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°No in-fucking-deed. By the gods.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen shakes before, but this is indeed different.¡± Feia shuffled closer, crouching low, her untamed black hair hanging around her probing eyes. ¡°I smell no stench of Sorcery, so this is no spell, not as I grasp at least. Here, girl, give me your arm.¡±


    Emalia extended a still-shaking hand, grasping the other woman¡¯s, and before she could recoil in surprise, Feia pulled up her sleeve and gave her a shallow, thumb-wide cut with a small knife. ¡°Ow!¡±


    Sovina growled, taking a step forward but Emalia stopped her by putting up her other hand. ¡°I¡¯m okay. Just surprised.¡± Her companion stepped back, so she directed her attention to the strange woman as she squeezed the skin around the wound until a thick bead of blood had emerged, then wiped it up with a finger and stuck it in her mouth.


    ¡°Ahk!¡± She recoiled, spitting to the side, face warped in disgust. ¡°Charcoal and rotten flesh. You¡¯re infested with the stuff of Spirits, girl!¡±


    Oskar leaned forward. ¡°What is this then? She some sort of Sorcerer after all?¡±


    ¡°No, I think not. But she is no mere delusional wide-eyed. There is much more at work here, I swear it on my lifeblood. The stuff of beginnings. Or maybe of ends.¡±


    ¡°Ah, of course,¡± he muttered, then directed his frown to Emalia. ¡°So, which is it, Priestess? Beginnings or ends?¡±


    During their conversation, she¡¯d tried a taste of her own blood but found nothing particularly horrendous about it. Then again, she was no practicer of Sorcery. With wobbly legs and Sovina¡¯s help, she stood and tugged down her sleeve, the bleeding already stopping. ¡°Beginnings.¡± She nodded to the bridge. ¡°As such, I will continue. Is your curiosity sated now?¡±


    He glanced to Feia, who curled her lip and uncorked a small bottle, pouring the contents over her hands, so he looked back to her and shrugged. ¡°Let¡¯s see what¡¯s inside this prison of yours. But please, let¡¯s be careful with this. I don¡¯t care for anything apocalyptic to come out of there, you hear? I¡¯ve listened to enough tales to know what happens when we go bumbling where we shouldn¡¯t.¡±


    With that, she turned and approached the bridge. It hung over the chasm, narrow and ominous. Why does it always have to be heights? she thought, swallowing. No matter. It¡¯s time to see it through. Months of travel, over a year of total preparation, all to reach this point. This precipice. Some might say now was a moment of no return, but that was hardly true. Ever since leaving the Column, Emalia was set on a path without any possibility of returning. All those she knew back home considered her an apostate now¡ªa thing worse than death for the dedicated, fortunate few of Nova¡¯s grand Column. The spine of Vasia, some might call it.


    But her first vision had changed all that.


    With a deep breath, she took a step onto the bridge. It held, fortunately enough, so she continued with her next. Soon enough, she began shuffling across it, arms out to the side, sleeves draping, feeling like she were truly in the sky. Terrifying, yes, but also¡­ freeing. A flicker of a smile touched her dry, pale lips. Freedom. What an amusing thought, being trapped in a sinking city¡¯s underground, penned in by the Dead.


    Sovina had picked up her old torch, and with its illumination just behind, Emalia began to make out more details about the other side. The platform seemed to emerge out of the dark at first, but now she could see the carved rock face of the opposite wall where the floor stuck out from, only ten paces across at most. It was shaped like a semicircle, the central dais somewhat oblong, stretching from the cavern wall to the middle of the platform. Upon it, the pillar of stone. It was, she saw now, in the outline of a human, or at least some sort of bipedal. Sides wide, narrowing in where a head might be, carvings and inlaid stones giving shape to a face filled with strange iconography and imagery. As she stepped onto the platform, the pillar seemed to pull her in, its exquisite details drawing her eyes like insects to flames. Side views of stories laid out across the midsection, showing great suffering and violence, whole peoples slaughtered, the dead being raised. Even one three-finger wide band of stories had enough precision and detail to require hundreds of hours of an artisan¡¯s efforts.


    ¡°Beautiful,¡± she whispered, letting her gaze wander over the sheer complexity of it.


    ¡°This is it then.¡± Sovina was beside her, torch flickering, dying. ¡°And we¡¯re to open the thing? Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°You know what needs to be done,¡± Emalia replied, still unable to pull her eyes away, much less focus on the gravity in Sovina¡¯s words.


    ¡°All right.¡±


    Oskar whistled, coming to a stop near the edge of the platform. ¡°That¡¯s one rich casket. The dead prick inside is getting his heart cut out, then you¡¯ll lead us out, yeah?¡±


    Emalia nodded, stepping closer. ¡°Of all the texts I studied, only one spoke of what lay at the heart of Rotaalan. The tome was originally scribed shortly after the disaster of Elansk, its copies few, for the work was branded as heretical and anti-Vasian in aims and sentiment. The priest who wrote it disappeared, his works burned. Only one survived, buried in the stores, protected by the few who cared for truth more than dogma.¡± She reached a hand out tentatively, touching the pillar. It was cold and made her skin tingle. ¡°Inside is a creature of a past age. It fuels the city, in a way, converting the power of Souls to keep it afloat.¡±


    Feia hissed. ¡°Such condemnation warrants a great crime.¡±


    ¡°That,¡± Oscar muttered from far back, ¡°or they punished whoever lay inside for reasons of their own pride. An old Vasian tradition, that.¡±


    The forbidden text had not spoken much of the strange construction that held the creature, only that it was a thing of powerful Sorcery, imbued with a complex weaving of Souls that held away decay and sustained life while transferring great levels of energy into and out of its captive. But there was nothing on how to open it except for one line. One line she had read over so many times it was seared into her mind. Rotalaan is a crime against humanity, against history, yes, but to release the heart of its power would be a blunder paramount to damning the gods; however, if the need arises, only the blood of conviction may suffice. The blood of conviction. She had pondered its meaning for countless hours. Could he have meant that only the faithful¡¯s blood would suffice to open it? Or was it more abstract, hinting at something else entirely? Perhaps a life? Or maybe mere intention? Or even conviction of a different kind than faith¡ªsuch as willpower? And what was the chance he was even correct? There were gaps in his descriptions, like the strange hall of memories.


    ¡°Look there,¡± Sovina whispered, pointing to something at the back of the sarcophagus.


    Emalia shuffled over, bending down to examine a hole a little over a span wide. It went into the floor at the base of the sarcophagus, dark as pitch so that even the nearby flames couldn¡¯t illuminate it.


    ¡°Sorcery,¡± Emalia said, waving a hand over it. Sure enough, the air was icy and tingling. ¡°Potent. Concentrated.¡± She glanced to her loyal companion. ¡°It may be the key.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re thinking about putting your hand inside there, I would advise against that.¡±


    ¡°This is where it all leads.¡±


    ¡°Then let me.¡±


    Emalia shook her head. ¡°The blood of conviction, Sovina. Raizak has chosen me, and with his will, I shall be granted access.¡±


    ¡°Is this a guess or something he said?¡±


    ¡°An accurate estimation.¡±


    She scowled and nodded her head back towards the others. ¡°Let one of the looters try and pry it open first.¡±


    Emalia looked back. Most were near Oskar, not even coming close to them. One of the men she hadn¡¯t gotten a name from was edging around the sarcophagus, looking at the surface. Likely studying the embedded jewels. ¡°I would not sacrifice them, even if one was willing.¡±


    ¡°Then it seems we are at an impasse.¡±


    She took in her friend¡¯s face, the worry in her eyes, the determination in the way her strong jaw was set. There¡¯d be no convincing her. Not in this, no matter what she said. ¡°No, we are not.¡± Before Sovina could react, she cut her hand on her small dagger and thrust it into the dark hole.


    ¡°No!¡± Sovina shouted, trying to pull her back.


    But Emalia was already held there.


    Something immaterial fastened her hand inside, tight in a grip that she somehow knew was unbreakable. And at once, she felt the scourge of Sorcery tear into her. Flesh freezing, prickling, burning; some excruciating savagery ripped through the veins inside her arm, pulling and squeezing the blood from her. She gasped, eyes going wide and rolling back before she scrunched them shut in an attempt to keep herself conscious. Blood of conviction! she thought. Conviction!


    Sovina tried pulling on her to no effect, then seemed to turn her attention to the sarcophagus and tried prying it open. But Emalia knew there was no obvious opening.


    ¡°Get back from it,¡± Emalia hissed. ¡°Don¡¯t touch it.¡±


    ¡°Then let go!¡±


    She bared her teeth and cracked open a single eye. Her friend¡¯s face was pale, terror painted across it. ¡°I won¡¯t. Now stand back, Guardian.¡±


    ¡°Gods, Em!¡± She took a step back, fists tight, shaking. ¡°Don¡¯t you let it harm you!¡±


    Focus on the door, she thought, closing her eyes again, focusing through the pain. My blood is blessed. My blood burns with conviction. It will work. It will.


    Her training in the Column made her breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth; raspy and forced as it might be, the pain was managed, compartmentalized, stowed away. It was not useful now. Only the door mattered. Only her goal.

 Heart of the Creature – Chapter Five

    Her pain receded, and in its place, a cold calm enshrouded her like a cloak of ice. Her skin tingled, then went numb as everything faded around her. Even Sovina, shouting and frightened, disappeared. And yet, she was not alone. Something else was there, watching her. She met its gaze, staring out at nothing, feeling the weight of intent upon her.


    The blood of conviction, she thought, unwavering. I am ready.


    A man screamed.


    Emalia opened her eyes and glanced to the side, where one of the looters was stumbling back from the sarcophagus, hands held up before his face. They were grey. Dying. Veins black with Sorcerous Corruption, flesh cracked like flaking ashes, scream wilting away into a pathetic gasp. His eyes shriveled in the back of his head and his jaw fell open unnaturally wide.


    ¡°Sadoch, you fucking fool,¡± Oskar shouted from the back. ¡°Nifont!¡±


    Almost as soon as he shouted the man¡¯s name, an arrow flew out, striking the dying man in the back of the neck, likely severing the spine. Oskar dashed forward and chopped down hard on his skull. He fell to the floor as an abandoned book falls from the hands, legs fluttering and bending in like unread pages. The guttural snarl that had begun to emerge from his throat died as quick as it began.


    A horrid thought burst from her mind at the sight, eking out from her lips in a whisper, breaking her peace. ¡°A death curse.¡±


    Her hand was released suddenly, and she yanked it back, falling onto her rear. Sovina pulled her away quickly. She looked down at the freed hand. It was grey as the man Sadoch¡¯s skin was. She flexed her fingers, but they barely cooperated. Gods above, she thought she whispered, but her voice was dead, teeth clenched and clattering in fear. Oh gods, not this. Oh gods.


    ¡°Has she got it too?¡± Oskar¡¯s voice barked out from behind, raised voices of the others mixing in, chaotic, senseless.


    Sovina stood so fast she blurred in the corner of Emalia¡¯s vision, blade flashing out. ¡°It is not a curse. She¡¯s lost blood!¡±


    Grey like a corpse. Emalia swallowed. Was her mind going too? No, no, she remembered her name, where she was, and what she was doing. Right? What am I¡­ Her eyes flicked up. The sarcophagus cracked open, a vertical seal splitting it across the center, once invisible, now widening. She scooted back again, hand still held up in front of her face. She yanked up her sleeve, exposing the small wound left by Feia. Her skin was flesh-colored there.


    ¡°It¡¯s not spreading!¡± she shouted, voice hoarse, hardly her own.


    Sovina pulled her up, supporting her weight with her free arm, other still warding the others off with her saber. ¡°Back now, Column-sister.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she replied, voice cracking. ¡°We need the creature¡¯s heart.¡±


    Before Sovina could reply, the sarcophagus had fully opened, wing-like doors thumping to the full extent of their hinges, going still. The room went silent. Everyone turned and looked at the shadowed form within. Slowly, the shadow receded, and torchlight illuminated the form of a man.


    He was taller than nearly anyone she had met¡ªtaller than her by nearly two heads. His skin was odd too, the color of ashen bone, of quarry stone. He had no hair on his head, so his sharp facial features were exaggerated in their haunted gauntness. Only a simple and ancient-looking robe of roughly spun, undyed linen covered his body, fraying at the edges with patches almost entirely degraded. Close as she was, Emalia could see that a portion of the robe near the neck was a mere patchwork of time-ravaged cloth, revealing skin cracked with black Corruption, veins a dark contrast to his light skin. Ever so slowly, his eyelids cracked open, and the weak torchlight shone off his maroon-colored eyes.


    ¡°By the Spirits of my ancestors,¡± Feia whispered, her voice only audible in the chamber''s silence, ¡°what horrid secrets have you unlocked, Priestess?¡±


    ¡­


    Endless silence. Waiting. Breathless. Muted. An eternity extended.


    And then light. And pain. Rebirth.


    It felt as if my bones were being pulled from my body. Each of them run through by iron rods, twisted, wrenched, and heaved from my flesh like pulled teeth.


    Darkness recoiled, light invaded.


    The unending stretch of unconsciousness abandoned me to nothing but agony. Searing, impossible agony. I gripped the sides of my skull, skin cold and dry to the touch. Like a corpse¡¯s. The cracking of bones was so loud it was pulling at my mind, stretching it with the sickening images of live dissection. More than that, my left side burned it was so frigid. I fell from wherever I was and onto the cold ground, twitching, heaving, my stomach contracting with useless attempts to wretch. Useless because it was empty¡ªI didn¡¯t know how I knew, but I just did. The hunger was there, too, a distant ache compared to everything else, heightening the desperation that wracked my body. I had to make the pain stop.


    I had to make it stop.


    My throat was cracked and dry, splitting my voice. Only then did I realize I had been screaming. My Soul was on fire! Madness and desperation drove me to the brink. To the end.


    And then it came to me.


    They cursed me. They killed me. They killed Maecia!


    No. Something was off. Through the pain, I looked up and saw others gathered around me, staring at me in shock and horror like I was some creature. Some monster. But I recognized none of their faces through the blur of my teary vision. Strangers, all of them, and wearing odd garb. My mind worked as I recovered, curled up on the stone floor that felt as cold as I. Time has passed. There was no conclusive evidence, but even through the delirium, I could feel it. Nothing but impulses and intuitions came to me in my broken state of animalism.


    One of the strangers was moving forward.


    I sat back, blinked away the tears, focused on my awareness, and pushed away the pain, as near-impossible as it was. I had to focus. She was dressed like a warrior and bore a curved blade like a scimitar. Threatening? Yes. The look in her eyes said death. So this is my execution, then.


    I clenched my teeth. The indignation. The sick, cruel arrogance of them. I was a Sorcerer. I was Magistros of Sorcery, bringer of Death, discoverer of lost Wonders, and they wanted to extinguish me with a blade? With some effort, I struggled to my feet and retreated a step till I bumped into the container which held me.


    ¡°Halt, or I will eviscorate you,¡± I rasped out.


    She didn¡¯t stop. She didn¡¯t even seem to register my words.


    So I reached out, confident and ready, grasping for the Sorcery always so close at hand. But it wasn¡¯t there. My breath stuttered. I searched through the air for the traces of Souls escaping the realm of below. Where was it? Where?


    She was closer. A few steps away.


    There! A slight trace, a faint glimpse. Something was limiting me. Perhaps an enchantment laid upon me? Doesn¡¯t matter right now. Cast, Daecinus! So I did, tracing the withered line till it led me to a larger pocket of energy, and I heaved. Like pulling on the mooring line of a small vessel, I wrenched it from its entrenched position and into my shaking hands. I tried Soulfire, but there wasn¡¯t enough power for it, so I chose something less extreme but still deadly. A curse of rotting flesh and boiling blood.


    Someone further back shouted something, though I didn¡¯t know the language. An outlander woman amongst warriors. A few voices. The swordswoman stopped, blade still ready. Only a stride away now, penning me in. Another second, and I¡¯d be dead. I held her gaze, then looked to those behind. Many. Over a half dozen. Too many in my current state, perhaps. So I held the Spell and let it linger. An arrow trained on an enemy, the head of it grinning, waiting to be delivered into waiting flesh. Find out information. Establish the situation. Recover. Act from an advantageous position, not violent desperation.


    There was a dead man nearby, a Shell only recently neutralized. Keeping one hand trained on holding the tentative line of magic, I held the other palm out as a sign to wait. I then pointed to the body.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    One of them tried speaking. A man further back surrounded by warriors. When he saw I didn¡¯t understand his words, he scowled and said something to the swordswoman. She didn¡¯t seem to react, remaining still, eyes on me. But someone did make her move. There was another woman, slightly younger, unarmed, standing between the group of warriors and my attacker. Slowly, the swordswoman retreated. Not far, but offering just enough room to avoid immediate death. Good. I could make this work.


    It took far too much effort to do something so relatively simple. And yet, I puppeted up the Shell, which made the strangers gasp and pull back for some reason. Carefully, cautiously, I worked into its mind, pushing my intention through the mostly intact structure of its fading High Soul.


    And then I made it speak. ¡°Spell ready. Stop or die.¡±


    That earned me a breath to think, for they all froze. Even the swordswoman, previously so determined and stoic, looked taken aback. Frightened even. So these aren¡¯t Sorcerers then. No. One of them saw my Spell and warned the others. Still, they must not be very competent, or they would not be so alarmed. That was a strict advantage in my favor then. Good. Still, even as the horrid, mind-warping agony faded, my mind felt locked down, burdened by pain and exhaustion. Thinking still took enormous effort and was like wading through a waist-high bog. The grief, however, was almost more consuming. Maecia was gone. Killed. I knew it wasn¡¯t recent, that time had passed, and I was no longer in the Grand Observatory, but anything more than that was an unknown. A black, empty void in my recollection. What else had happened in this vacant space where my memory should be? What else had been taken from me? And more, who was to blame? Regardless, the one constant among these looming questions was the certain truth. My sister had been assassinated. She was gone forever, and out there, somewhere, were her killers. For a moment, I wondered if she had been rendered the same fate as me, confined to some underground container for untold reasons, but I¡¯d seen her blood turn black. Her Soul leaking from the Shell that once contained it. I¡¯d seen it. Felt it.


    And once fully Corrupted, the person was gone forever.


    With effort, I pushed myself back from the structure that had contained me. Tottering, dizzy, it took a second to gain balance and bearing. But the swordswoman seemed intent on murder, so I swallowed the feeling of rising bile and called upon my diminished pool of Sorcerous power to make the Dead one speak in its native tongue again, barely holding its destroyed form together.


    ¡°Is this an execution?¡± I asked through the diminished Fleshwalker, the Shell, then tried to focus through the dim understanding of the marred mind I was controlling.


    The younger woman spoke, the words still a foreign jumble, but the meaning came across. ¡°No. Not an execution, but¡ª¡±


    She was interrupted by the man in the line of warriors further back, the leader, so it seemed. ¡°This one¡¯s got a mean Spell pointed at all our hearts, and you want to try and stab him? He¡¯s been locked inside that thing for gods-knows how long, making this bloody city float. No, what we¡¯re gonna do is let the ancient fucker go on his way.¡±


    ¡°We have a divine¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, you and your quest. Well, you¡¯ll just have to take care of it when we¡¯re good and gone.¡± He waved, and his men shuffled to the bridge, slowly making their way across, leaving a single torch behind. ¡°You wait till we¡¯re gone and do as your heart desires.¡±


    My mind raced as I eyed the two women still standing nearby. I could kill them. But something was wrong with my access to Sorcery or the magic here itself¡ªeither way, it was a gamble that even a simple spell wouldn¡¯t implode. And besides, there was uncertainty amongst them that I could exploit. ¡°Leave, I kill you first. We leave together.¡±


    The man stopped, shoulders dropping. ¡°Dammit. Fine. But I would wager using our dead comrade to speak is going to be tricky on the run, won¡¯t it? Got another way that¡¯s not so slow, let alone grizzly?¡±


    ¡°Takes time.¡±


    ¡°And likely not something you¡¯ll want to be doing with a Column saber to your neck. Hm.¡± He let out a sigh and came forward, his men following with dark grimaces. He tapped the swordwoman¡¯s blade with his own. ¡°Step back from the pale man.¡±


    She scowled at him. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Nifont here can put an arrow in you faster than you can lunge for me. Step back.¡±


    ¡°Shoot the necromancer, then.¡±


    He rolled his eyes. ¡°He¡¯s an ancient Sorcerer. Think an arrow¡¯s gonna do anything?¡±


    ¡°It might.¡±


    ¡°Sovina,¡± the younger woman said, ¡°back up.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°We can do nothing for Raizak if we are dead.¡±


    Raizak¡­ Where have I heard this name before? I pondered, watching the scene play out. A god, naturally, but whose? A variation of a different pronunciation, certainly, but it was Vasian, wasn¡¯t it? It had to be. The great betrayer god who sacrificed himself to give humanity consciousness, offering the wonders of Sorcery to the mortal plane. That, combined with what the man said about me being an ancient captive, used to fuel a floating city? Slowly, things came together. I¡¯ve been in a stasis for some time. A decade, at least, perhaps more. And these two are here to kill me for their god as some sort of sacrifice. The others? Bystanders, perhaps hired mercenaries at most. My hold over the rotting curse was waning far more quickly than it should, like the Spell wanted to break and scatter rebelliously. I tried wrestling it back under control, but it almost launched without my command, so I let it disperse into unutilized Souls. Another infuriating variable.


    Inevitably, the woman named Sovina retreated, and I was left guarded by the party of warriors. With a wary glance to them, I beckoned my puppeted Fleshwalker closer. At the same time, I tried forming Soulfire into a defensive ward should any foreign object enter a close perimeter, but the strands of Sorcery were incessant in their obstinance, bucking from my grasp and fraying whenever I attempted to bind them into anything moderately complex. This chamber must be limiting my pull on Souls; that, or this stasis has drained me considerably. The former was far more preferable than the latter, but it was a possibility that sent a wave of prickles across my skin in fear. Either way, there¡¯d be no Soulfire wards here, so instead, I used the same curse of decay and began.


    Working with the Higher Plane of a Soul was never my true specialty. Something I aspired to excel in, yes, but not something I had a natural talent for. Mass control and strength across the lower plane was my domain. Still, the process of extracting language, complicated as it might seem, was not an unfamiliar realm. Language was organically mapped across the mind, like a foundational system for the Higher Plane to operate on, and so identifying it was actually the first step in delving into the minds of the Dead. From there, it was the lengthier process of isolation and extraction. The Fleshwalker was a simple construct on its own, but lingering elements of its mind remained, allowing for my previous translations, so everything was already in place to be harvested. It took some time, and fortunately, I had no interruptions of the violent sort. But when I had the Dead come closer and placed my head adjacent to its to force the transfer, someone in my periphery made a move.


    The flash of a blade. A quick step. Something shouted in that odd language of theirs, but the warrior stopped. Not by my ward, which was worryingly faded already, I just noticed, but by the leader and his other subordinates holding him back. Not the warrior woman, but one of the band. An internal dispute, then. Someone not supportive of me using their dead ally. An argument ensued between them, so I took the opportunity to complete the transfer. The Fleshwalker finished its usual writhing and screaming, as they often did, and collapsed back into a still corpse, all potential ripped away.


    I had to keep my eyes closed for a moment to allow everything to settle in place. But I was no fool, so I kept my basic defensive perimeter ready. Nothing crossed it. I opened my eyes, burning red fading back to dull maroon. Not like those here, with their decidedly untouched, mundane biology quite unlike my own. When my mind settled, something still felt off. My side hurt fiercely.


    The side where they had struck me with a curse that should have been my death. I touched my side where it burned with recent pain, tracing it to form a mental map of the damage. My eyes widened as the fresh wave of exhaustion set in, assaulting my form, limbs heavy, head swimming. What is this? The damage was¡­ new. A spell of that magnitude should only be a slight strain, but it had Corrupted me. As if I¡¯d raised a legion of the dead, not completed a relatively simple spell.


    ¡°Have you cursed me?¡± I rasped out, words a jumble in my throbbing, pain-ridden skull. ¡°Have you tainted my magic?¡±


    They all looked at me, but it was the outlander woman from earlier who spoke. ¡°You were woken from this prison, Ancient One. We have laid no hexes nor curses upon your form.¡±


    I swallowed, staring at her, then at my own shaking hands. A faint line of black showed past my left sleeve. Corrupted blood, my mind rattled off as I just stared. Fatal in excess. Permanent in accumulation. Another log to the fire consuming my being.


    The younger woman stepped forward. ¡°We should leave and¡ª¡±


    Her statement was cut short as the screams of Dead rang out below. All turned to look into the dark, weapons coming up.


    ¡°Did you call the Dead upon us?¡± the one named Sovina asked, eying me.


    ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°There must be another Sorcerer pursuing you.¡±


    ¡°Doubt it,¡± the leader of the warriors said, giving me a wide berth as he strode toward the container behind, which I just realized resembled some sort of sarcophagus. ¡°Just more dead. But first, Feia, see anything ugly with these jewels here?¡± He pointed a dagger to the rubies inlaid in the stone. ¡°Any more curses?¡±


    ¡°It all reeks of Sorcery,¡± the outlander responded.


    ¡°Yes. But any curses on the rocks?¡±


    ¡°I see nothing, but this is all beyond my¡ª¡±


    ¡°You see anything?¡± he asked me.


    I blinked, then frowned at the sarcophagus. Peeling back the layers of the mundane to view the works of Sorcery was simple in one sense but incredibly difficult in another. After all, it had taken the Grand Observatory to attempt to shed the final layer and view the essence of the Higher Plane. Stolen from me. It was all stolen! For all I knew, the Grand Observatory was gone, destroyed by my attackers. My sister¡¯s killers.


    ¡°Whatever curse befell your comrade is gone,¡± I said after a long glance.


    ¡°A safe enough yes for me.¡± He approached and dug a blade in to pop out a jewel, quickly hiding it away. He continued to another, extracting the rubies with practiced familiarity.


    ¡°We need to go. Now!¡± Sovina shouted, making for the bridge. ¡°Come, Necromancer.¡±


    I took in a deep breath, letting my prepared ward fade, following the two women toward the bridge. The screams below were louder. Unchained Dead, then? Ah, a trap to protect this place. My bones ached with each step, side protesting as if continually seared with a fire poker. A glance spared to the precipitous crossing, and then I shuffled forward. Excess handling of Souls was dangerous in my current state; I¡¯d have to be careful lest I push myself too far and blunder into further Corruption. Damn those who dared to do this to me. Damn those who are behind any of this! Once I escaped this place, I would find out the truth of what happened.


    And I would make this right again.

 Escape – Chapter Six

    I stood near the edge, centering myself one breath at a time.


    Sovina shot me a warning glare. ¡°If you are behind these Dead¡ª¡±


    ¡°I am not.¡±


    ¡°And if you are, I¡¯ll gut you like the creature you are.¡± She focused ahead, lifting a freshly lit torch to reveal the entrance to a tunnel.


    I watched her for a moment. Though frustrating, it would be wise to play the appeasing role. ¡°I understand your suspicions. But it wouldn¡¯t be in my interest to risk an attack upon all of you, even if I was capable of such a feat in my state.¡±


    She didn¡¯t respond, just carried forward, continuing into the darkened hall, quickly picking up into a run. The other woman¡ªwhose relation to Sovina I had not yet placed¡ªnodded forward. ¡°This passageway aims to drain you. We should carry through quickly.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± I picked up my pace to jog, though it was excruciating. The pain from each step before was multiplied, carrying through my whole body and striking at my temple like a hammer to a piece of red iron. Sparks flying. Oh, the sparks, how they blinded. Seared. Scored deep grooves of ashen holes into my mind. Hammering out what? Was there a shape to this emptiness?


    In those holes, whispers. Memories. Long nights spent staring into the sky, past the sky. Above, where the stuff of higher consciousness faded, warped, dispersed. Where I wanted to reach, what I tried to understand. But that dream had been pulled from its burning hovel and had its throat cut, fallen to dirt to see its blood pool, wet and warm to the cheek. Yes, reality had no room for such high ambitions. It was a cruel, desolate place one should fear. Hate.


    I blinked. What had she said about this hall? I stumbled forward, mind reeling, everything spinning, swimming. Falling. I could not resist, weak as I was. My Corrupted blood burned cold under my flesh, lit with invasive Sorcery, pulling me away.


    Before the Grand Observatory. Before the wars and my armies of Dead and the screams of soldiers as they were torn apart. Long ago. Decades ago. The grassy hillsides above the coast, ocean blue and deep and flat as glass. Sun rays upon my face. You¡¯re destined for great things, Demetria had said, my love, my heart. I see it, even if you don¡¯t. She looked from the waves to the city. Of white walls reaching high and docks thrusting far into the sea, the noise of it only audible with the shifting of the wind. A thing as faint as a memory. Memory. Why was I here again? They will love you, Daecinus. And you will protect them. I see it now, even if you don¡¯t. You will be their savior. That¡¯s who you are. That¡¯s what you are. The feeling of her lips on my skin, her wonderful violet eyes staring up at me, into me. No one had ever looked at me with such longing, with such care. There was nowhere I¡¯d rather be than in her arms. If there was one truth, it was this.


    ¡°No,¡± I muttered, the distant sensation of my burning skin and creaking bones filtering through. ¡°No, you¡¯re dead, a skeleton in the ground. And I razed cities in your wake.¡± I pulled myself from the soft grass and the warm sky and back to the cold of the dark, lonely tunnel where the truth was loss and death.


    I¡¯d been standing still, swaying slightly. With some effort, my feet began moving again. These old memories are now ancient things of myth. And this place will not keep me there. I won¡¯t allow it.


    Soon, I was before a stone door as tall and wide as a fortress gate, carved with symbols I recognized but couldn¡¯t quite place. A language? Not exactly, not one I knew anyway.


    ¡°What land is this from?¡± I asked Sovina and the other woman, who were both already there, watching me emerge from the dark.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Sovina asked.


    The other one gestured to the carvings. ¡°The Floating Cities were part of Vasia, long ago.¡±


    ¡°Vasian,¡± I muttered, letting the word slide over his tongue. ¡°And they own this place? They captured me?¡±


    ¡°They did own it. Now, it is abandoned. A Ruin¡ªwhat was once a Wonder, abandoned and lost, liable to corrupting forces of Death and Dead. I cannot speak on your capture, however. I simply do not know.¡±


    I was about to ask for a specific set of dates when Sovina interjected. ¡°We need to get through this door, Sorcerer, but there¡¯s Dead on the other side. Many of them. And I don¡¯t know if Feia can handle opening it again, so that means you¡¯ll have to do it.¡±


    ¡°Just to die upon escaping? I think not.¡±


    ¡°You can die here if that¡¯s your wish.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± a voice called from behind. We turned and found the warriors approaching from the dark, torchlights faint things against the shadows. The leader pointed his blade at Sovina. ¡°Enough of that. We¡¯re getting out of here, and that means no threats against our new friend, yeah? Cut out his heart on your own time, thank you.¡±


    I turned on the two women. ¡°You intended on taking my heart? What use is it to your gods?¡±


    The younger one raised her chin, looking very much a zealot. ¡°I could have had it done earlier. Should I have?¡±


    ¡°Again,¡± the leader said, ¡°on your own time. Now, grey man, you got a trick for opening this door figured out? It¡¯s the only way out, as far as I know.¡±


    I didn¡¯t take my eyes off the zealot. ¡°I can do it. But I hear there are numerous Dead on the other side.¡±


    ¡°About that. We were hoping you had a trick or two to deal with them too.¡±


    ¡°I am awoken from a stasis begun by your people, threatened, and forced to save you all without any assurances to my life beyond the confines of this city?¡±


    ¡°Seems you¡¯ve got the measure of it. Except you¡¯ve one thing wrong.¡± He strode forward, interposing himself between me and the women. ¡°They¡¯re not my people. Get us out of this shit hole, and we¡¯ll keep the Column-sworn off your back.¡±


    ¡°And what of your god Raizak?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Never did a thing for me.¡±


    The zealot stepped forward, voice raised. ¡°The Enlightened Folly sacrificed himself¡ª¡±


    ¡°Quiet,¡± hissed out a man further back. He turned and raised a bow, aiming into the tunnel. Nifont, then. ¡°They¡¯re coming. We must hurry.¡±


    ¡°Alright then,¡± the leader said, patting me on the shoulder. ¡°Time to save your rescuers, eh?¡±


    I spared the warrior a glance. Old to be carrying a blade into battle but young by my standards; in many ways, he looked more a ruffian than a true soldier. But there was something steely under his fa?ade of carelessness, something appraising. Dangerous, calculating. He¡¯s not above lying and cheating to come out on top. That made him treacherous but also predictable and, thus, reliable if one knew how to grasp his self-interest. ¡°Very well.¡±


    I let the rebellious flow of Sorcery imbued in the great stone door flow through me. Like all magic since I¡¯d awoken, it was twisting and turbulent, and, if I focused closely enough, almost¡­ diseased. As if the very essence of it was Corrupted, half-broken. The door itself was a complex series of mechanisms designed to prevent anyone but Sorcerers from entering, which was bold, given the number of casters in Pethya who would slaughter entire cities to see me free. They must have been blackmailed or otherwise threatened into obedience. But that implied something disastrous. Now¡¯s not the time. Right. I wove the strands of unstable Sorcery through the carved channels of foreign script. As I bent the power of magic to my will, I felt my side hiss in response. Nothing extreme, hopefully nothing permanent, but it was painful. All the while, the screams of the unclaimed Dead grew closer from behind. But the door wasn¡¯t responding.


    ¡°A trap,¡± I muttered through a grim smile. ¡°I would not think you should have been able to bypass this ward.¡±


    ¡°I called upon Spirits,¡± the Sorceress named Feia muttered. ¡°But they were protesting¡­ I should have known.¡±


    ¡°A reasonable error.¡± I focused on the innate, bound lower Souls this time, ignoring the rather exquisite attachment of higher consciousness. With gritted teeth and red-flaring eyes, I gripped hold of the innate Sorcery and tore it out, aiming to punch through the whole construction by imploding the very core of the delicate Soul workings. And soon, as the Dead behind had to be but a few dozen strides away, drawn to our life essence, the stone slab cracked. I pushed, fighting through the pain, with the pain, until the cracks spread, each splitting, growing into a spiderwebbed array, a mosaic of shattering Sorcery, of loosed Souls. And then I pushed.


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    The door exploded, muted screams of bound Souls dissipating like steam from a quenched blade. The stone chunks blasted out into the next room, crushing a waiting line of Dead. By a glance, mere Fleshwalkers interspersed with occasional Reavers, that old Pethyan mistake. Or breakthrough, depending on the practitioner. Regardless, stone ripped through them all. What was left in the stirring dust were only a few Fleshwalkers rising from the ground with grievous wounds that wouldn¡¯t register to their senseless minds.


    ¡°Move!¡± the leader bellowed, breaking into a sprint, cutting right through the carnage.


    I followed suit but immediately stumbled, collapsing to the ground as my left leg gave way, the pain too great, the old aches too overwhelming. I groaned and pushed myself up, dust coating my rotten robes, a thin trail of blood swinging from my lip. A taste of iron in the mouth. Of death.


    ¡°Come now, Speaker of Souls,¡± Feia said, lifting me. Her own face was pale, eyes red with broken blood vessels. ¡°Let¡¯s not feed the hungry Dead of this crypt-city.¡±


    I tried not to lean on her too much, for she clearly had drunk too deeply on the flow of death with the cursed door earlier. Together, we limped forward at an unsteady jog. The warriors around kept pace, cutting down any staggering Dead who got too close. These ¡®Column-sworn¡¯ were already near the next exit, watching me. Their eyes were hungry, weren¡¯t they? They wanted my heart. They wanted to finish the job their predecessors started.


    I ground my teeth and kept forward.


    If they wanted to try, let them.


    ¡­


    Her holy objective was wincing in pain as he stumbled and limped. When she¡¯d begun her quest, Emalia envisioned a monster of necromancy and old Sorcery awaiting her inside the floating city of Rotaalan. But this was a man. Ancient and strange, perhaps, but a man nonetheless. Sovina was loyal enough to obey her hesitance, even though Emalia knew her companion wanted to kill him and be done with it. Was that the right call? If it weren¡¯t for the danger of his Sorcery, perhaps. By the gods, her own visions pointed to it! But something else just felt¡­ wrong. She was no killer. No monster. How could she just ignore that voice of humanity and reason? And she had to listen to her intuition. It had led her towards Raizak¡ªit would lead her through this conundrum as well.


    ¡°How long is this fucking tunnel?¡± Oskar groaned out from behind.


    Her response was automatic, ¡°A quarter mile, sloped, with a total descent of sixty feet. The exit should be approaching soon.¡±


    ¡°Any hidden riches down here? Or just more traps filled with corpses?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    ¡°Ah right. Perhaps.¡±


    Soon enough, they emerged into the afternoon light of the city from the structure above the outer entrance. The skeletons watched her as she went past, eying her with amused condescension. Even in success, she failed. Ivory, sardonic grins¡ªall of them.


    As the others filtered out of the small stone structure, Sovina pulled her to the side. Her features were taught with exertion and wariness, but it hardly distracted from her disarming stare, so close, so focused on Emalia. ¡°I¡¯ll follow you into the wastes against any danger, any uncertainty, you know that. We¡¯re sworn to each other. I don¡¯t take that lightly. But are you sure about this?¡± Arms crossed, she leaned back and glanced at the strange man. ¡°Even if we put aside the question of Raizak¡­ I know you¡¯ll never forgive yourself for this. And if we let him leave with them, he¡¯s slipping away forever.¡±


    ¡°I know, I just¡­¡± She licked her lips, looking for the right words to say. ¡°But he¡¯s just a man, Sovina. One in pain. One who¡¯s lost. How can we kill him? Even if for Raizak, it¡¯s still murder.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a sacrifice. The nature of it is violent.¡±


    ¡°I left the Column to do good. For Raizak, yes, but also for the world. The people in it.¡±


    Sovina nodded, arms relaxing to her sides. ¡°And we can¡¯t do any good from Nova, locked away in there, I know. I¡¯ve always felt the same way.¡± She gave a crooked smile. ¡°Something of a blunder pairing us together, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    She shared a smile with her friend. ¡°I suppose so.¡±


    ¡°So what¡¯ll it be then?¡±


    Emalia looked over to the other group with the grey man at its center, kneeling, taking deep breaths. He met her gaze, steady eyes the color of blood. What was behind those eyes? Humanity? Hatred? She didn¡¯t know. But she intended on finding out. ¡°We¡¯ll follow them,¡± she said finally. ¡°Or, perhaps, they¡¯ll follow us. Raizak told me of other important artifacts to gather for his return. We¡¯ll pursue those.¡±


    ¡°And you think they¡¯ll join? A bunch of brigands?¡±


    ¡°After the jewels they pocketed, they will be interested.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡± She rubbed her chin, then inspected some crusted blood under her nails before turning her piercing gaze to Emalia. ¡°I¡¯m with you, but only if you¡¯re sure. No halfway measures.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°Okay then. And about earlier¡­ When he had the knife¡­ I¡¯ll do better next time.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, Sovina. There¡¯s nothing we could do, outnumbered as we were. Still, you were wonderful.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ Well, thank you. I¡¯m sorry nonetheless.¡±


    Emalia took hold of her hand and gave it a squeeze. When she felt Sovina was okay, she took a deep breath and strode over to the other group. They all turned and looked at her, the hurt few still nursing wounds as others cleaned blades and readjusted equipment. The grey man stood, still slightly hunched but taller than everyone by a fair margin. Feia was beside him, swishing water in her mouth before spitting it on the ground. It was red with blood.


    ¡°Well, what is it going to be?¡± Oskar asked, sliding his sword into its scabbard with a tired sigh. He nodded to Sovina. ¡°Because I¡¯d urge you not to draw that saber of yours, no matter how fancy it is.¡±


    ¡°I have a proposal,¡± Emalia said.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    She adjusted the pin of her purple cloak to stop her hands from trembling. ¡°I have other locations to visit, relics to secure in Raizak¡¯s name. Places with wealth and opportunity. And less danger than here. It would be mutually beneficial to travel together. You could use my knowledge, and I would benefit from the protection of your group.¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯d want to follow you after losing two of my men to this shit hole?¡± His eyes narrowed. ¡°Besides, I know you¡¯ve plans for our new friend here. And these days, what the Column wants, I estimate it¡¯s a good notion not to let ¡®em have it.¡±


    ¡°First of all, the Column doesn¡¯t even know I am here. They likely think me dead. And second, I¡¯ve decided to wait and come to understand this directive further.¡±


    ¡°Oh, and what do you make of that?¡± he asked, turning to the Sorcerer.


    He had been watching her, eyes sharp like blades, missing nothing, catching everything. ¡°The devout are a dangerous breed. When set on a path they believe is holy, all else lacks worth. If my life is their godly sacrifice, I am hesitant to permit their existence. It would be safer to kill them than let them hunt me.¡±


    ¡°My, he¡¯s a harsh one, isn¡¯t he?¡± Oskar asked, eyebrows high, but his lips were set firm and gaze a hard one. ¡°Buuut, he¡¯s got a good point. Best to be practical in times like these, you see. And, I do have to say, one powerful Sorcerer versus a priestess and her guardian¡­ Well, you can see my hesitance.¡±


    Sovina tensed beside her, but Emalia pushed forward anyway, looking deep into the strange, ancient man¡¯s red eyes. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Why should I reveal it?¡±


    ¡°Because I am trying to see you as the person you are so I can understand why my visions have led me here.¡± She licked her lips, looking for the right words. Not just the persuasive rhetoric from her books but also the honest ones. ¡°I am not an executioner. I bring back old wisdom and try to reveal truths we forgot we knew. I am a disciple of Raizak, of knowledge and rebellion for the greater good. Even if that means going against his directive to understand the truth¡­ Even then. That is the charge I carry in his name.¡±


    ¡°Knowledge,¡± he nearly whispered, fire in the word, ¡°a truly just pursuit. But my work was ended when I was attacked and bound. When Vasia broke their truce, it would seem.¡± The anger faded, replaced by something quiet, something mournful. ¡°If you are a chronicler of history and old knowledge, then help me understand what happened. Do this, and I will trust you.¡±


    A worthy cause, she thought. A holy one. ¡°Very well. I swear upon Raizak¡¯s name I will help you.¡±


    ¡°Swear I will come to no harm by you or your friend¡¯s hand.¡±


    ¡°I cannot do that.¡±


    ¡°Then it seems we are at an impasse.¡±


    Sovina stepped forward. ¡°What if we promise not to harm you until you find the answers you¡¯re looking for.¡± She glanced to Emalia, looking for approval, who nodded in acquiescence.


    He pondered that for a moment, then stood up straight and tall. ¡°Very well, I will agree to such a bargain, risky as it may be. I am Daecinus Aspartes of Pethya,¡± he said. ¡°Magistros of Sorcery, Lord of the Grand Observatory.¡±


    Pethya? She cocked her head. Had she heard that name before? And Magistros? What sort of title was that? Not to mention the Grand Observatory, which sounded entirely artificial to her. Just how old is he? ¡°My name is Emalia. I am a priestess of the Column¡ªor was, at least. I now serve Raizak along with my partner and protector, Sovina.¡±


    ¡°I have one question before we leave. One that your knowledge would be of great value in resolving.¡±


    She opened her arms. ¡°Ask.¡±


    ¡°I watched my sister die during the attack, but perhaps she survived as I did¡­¡± he trailed off, staring away. ¡°It was mentioned this was one of two cities suspended in the air. Could the other hold my sister? Could she still live?¡±


    Emalia¡¯s jaw fell open. Of course! If a Sorcerer was used to fuel one city, then it is reasonable to assume to the same with the other. And yet, the thought was not a comforting one. ¡°The city of Elansk has been underwater for over a hundred years. If she was there¡­ Daecinus, I am sorry.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps, like I, she was sustained by the Sorcerous inputs and still lives?¡± He turned away from them all, facing the sea. ¡°But she would still require air, which necessitates waterproofing. Impossible. And water is a natural dampener to Soul transference and harnessing¡­ Has there been mention of a woman who looks like me? A strong Sorcerer who may have escaped?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. We have had many Sorcerers, alone or otherwise, not associated with Vasia, who have dotted the chronicles in the past few centuries. I¡¯ve read nothing that matches such descriptions. It¡¯s possible she lives, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°It is not likely. And if so, you would be unable to locate her.¡± His shoulders did not slump, nor did he shake with the racking of tears, which surprised her. But there was sorrow in his posture, a distance in his bearing. At that moment, even more than before, he seemed too human to even imagine killing, no matter how important the ritual.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Daecinus.¡±


    They stood there for a few breaths, the wind the only sound up upon the isolated, abandoned falling city.


    Oskar put his hands on his hips and cleared his throat. ¡°We can¡¯t stay up here forever. We need to get headed down. It¡¯s getting late. There will be more biters up and about soon.¡±


    Emalia nodded. ¡°Then we can make to your camp in preparation for the journey ahead.¡±


    ¡°Woah there. Just because we fought together doesn¡¯t mean we¡¯re going after these relics of yours. If you three want to go together and quest about, you¡¯re¡ª¡±


    Emalia interrupted. ¡°The wealth here is but a fragment of what can be found in Drazivaska.¡±


    ¡°Drazivaska? With the broken bloody portal? That¡¯s your great pitch?¡±


    ¡°There are relics Drazivaska¡¯s keep. Riches too. And I know a way inside.¡±


    ¡°Filled with more Dead, I imagine.¡±


    ¡°Less. Recent reports show it¡¯s almost vacant, though fear still keeps most away,¡± she said, looking out to the afternoon sun. ¡°Now, why don¡¯t we discuss this back upon solid ground? The day¡¯s light is fading, and I trust you¡¯ll agree with my proposition anyway.¡±


    The man grumbled and sighed but ultimately gave in, joining Sovina as they led the way back to the large chain connecting Rotalaan to the earth. Emalia watched them go, then turned to Daecinus and nodded. Yes, knowledge, that felt right.

 Whispers of Deus – Chapter Seven

    Voivode Laczlo Vilsky hid behind the embroidered blue curtains and peeked out through the window¡¯s warped glass panes. Outside, where the short expanse of his courtyard ended, and the nine-foot stone wall rose to protect his estate in Nova, the sole gate was crowded with hungry peasants. They were banging on the expensive iron portcullis since dawn, snarling threats and demands up at him for an hour now. Could they see him standing there? Laczlo retreated a step, never taking his eyes off the small horde. They would break in, slaughtering his guards with crude bludgeons and gnashing teeth, rip open the doors to his home, and pull him out into the streets to beat him to death. He could already feel the cracking pain of their stomps and strikes. Would he be able to escape out the back over the wall? Deus above, would his children manage it? Would his wife, Kapitelina?


    He ran a hand over his smooth-shaven face, the horrible possibilities racing through his mind like stallions through the tall grasses back east in Vilsi. Oh, how he wished he could be there. Anywhere but here, yes, but there especially. That was home. Not the stinking, noisy, crude chaos of Nova. No, here, he was an imposter. A creature the uncivilized poor could hate and despise. An excuse for all their problems, though he¡¯d done nothing to them! He hadn¡¯t decided life should play out as it had, that he would now be¡­ be¡­ Laczlo swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut, forcing his breath to slow to the timing he needed to practice more. A count of one to five. Pause. Exhale slowly, one to five. His eyes cracked open slightly, finding the angry mob still there. One to five. One to five!


    Let His patience flow through me. Let his temperance blind my fear, ease me from my suffering, he prayed. Deus, watch over my family, over my home. They¡¯d come in with his own men, blades shining in torchlight, eyes hungry and sinister. His children would run screaming, helpless and vulnerable to their savagery. Let His patience flow. Let His patience flow. Let His¡ª


    ¡°Laczlo!¡±


    He jumped slightly, then turned around, eyes wide and ready for whatever danger may lurk behind. But it was Kapitelina, standing with her arms crossed over her blue and white brocade dress, matching the veil over her hair, the small woven band of silk holding it in place with intricate designs of blue and gold.


    Clearing his throat, Laczlo stepped aside so his back was not to the window. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been calling for you for¡­¡± she trailed off, then took in a deep breath and put on a smile. ¡°You¡¯ve been summoned. The Kostuveskis are calling in their favors.¡±


    He closed his eyes, taking in another slow breath. But unlike his wife¡¯s, it was not one of forced patience and hard-won masks that convinced so many. I need to get a hold of myself, he thought. Everyone is counting on me. ¡°Right. Of course.¡± He worked his jittery teeth into a grin and glanced over his shoulder at the gate. The peasantry were still there, but it was not a mob¡ªno, not really. A dozen of them, no more, and hardly banging on the gate and rioting. Merely begging. Typical, given the unrest. He swallowed and made himself walk away. Yes, no more than the usual. They would not get him, not today. Today, at least, he would live.


    Deus was with him, whatever anyone said.


    Laczlo followed Kapitelina to their chambers. She walked with purpose, with poise¡ªsomething she was always talented with. It was one of the many reasons she was matched with him, for even in her outside birth, she might withstand ridicule and harsh words well, always putting on a brave face. He admired that in her. Why am I thinking about this now? He looked at the floor, hands coming together to pick at the waning callouses there. The Kostuveskis were calling in their favors. What would they be asking for in return for their support following¡­ No, stay focused here, he thought, picking at his skin. He¡¯d get there, smiling and friendly and open. Like himself, Iarek Kostuveski was a voivode of Vasia, a near-independent ruler of his own domain, beholden only to the tsar. He was head of his family, but unlike Laczlo, he had a weight to his name. Rather than struggling to keep his head above the water of imperial politics, he had a galley fit with a crew of warriors to toss spears and heave the massive oars of influence. So to speak.


    ¡°You really should end that habit,¡± Kapitalena said, casting an annoyed glance at his hands.


    He stopped picking at the callous, arms going down to hang at his sides. ¡°Did they say anything else? Or was it just a request for a meeting?¡±


    ¡°A request, if one could call it that.¡±


    They were in their room. She approached him and quickly undid the buttons on his wool outer tunic with practiced efficiency, setting it aside before retrieving a shin-length, center-split silk robe of his family¡¯s blue with bands of intricate gold stitching at the bottom hem and around the arms of his sleeves. She tugged it over his head and buckled a golden belt just above his hips, securing the robe. As she gathered the half-cloak, he attached his scabbarded sword to the belt. The weapon was a beautiful thing, meant for show more than anything¡ªespecially considering his rather rusty experience. If anything, it merely spoke of the martial legacy of his title. And finally, with the patterned red half-cloak over everything, held by a gold brooch, he was nearly ready.


    Kapitelina stood back with her hands on her hips, taking him in with squinted eyes. ¡°You need to project an image of strength, of security¡­¡± She retrieved his fur-lined velvet hat, placed it on his head, and nodded after a few adjustments. ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°I feel like a fool,¡± he muttered. ¡°The silver our family could get from the sale of these¡ª¡±


    ¡°Is not even worth considering. Do not tell me you¡¯ve forgotten the importance of making an intentional impression and appearance. Hiding away here¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes, I know. Still.¡±


    She opened her mouth, then closed it, and nodded. ¡°This is a necessity.¡±


    ¡°Very well.¡± He put one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other on the belt underneath the soft cover of the cloak. ¡°Will you be joining?¡±


    Kapitelina looked at him, her critical insight likely going through all the ramifications he barely had a surface understanding of. ¡°I will attend, but not your meeting. He is a traditional, boorish man who expects a wife¡¯s attendance in support and subservience only, but not participation.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll have Irina there, I suppose.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°So prepare to handle the negotiations on your own.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t even begin to wonder what he¡¯ll ask of me.¡± Laczlo looked away, taking a big breath. ¡°But we¡¯ll have to do it, whatever it is.¡±


    ¡°You can push the terms. Don¡¯t let him take whatever he wants¡ªthe man is not all-powerful.¡±


    Laczlo grunted in agreement, considering his family¡¯s capacity for transferring assets. Coin was simply not a possibility. Land, perhaps. Did he have any favors himself to call in? Any important secrets or leverage to divulge? It was a matter of social and political capital, and frankly, much of it was lost with¡­ with the transition of power. He had less than he needed if it came to something concrete and even less than that if it was abstract. ¡°We¡¯ll get through this. For Bora and Nanko.¡±


    ¡°Not just the children,¡± she said, putting a hand on his elbow. ¡°For your mother, too.¡±


    His throat went tight, a shiver running through him¡ªhalf at her touch, half because of the sudden wave of emotions. ¡°Right.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°Right. Of course.¡±


    When they left their chamber, Laczlo was sure to have his easy smile on and ready for the servants of his household. Ready for the world. And indeed it was, for when he retrieved his riding horse and Kapitelina, her litter, his escort of druzhina bodyguards didn¡¯t seem to look upon him with disdain, as he so often witnessed. His wife said it was all in his head, but he¡¯d picked up on the tight-lipped frowns and sideways glances to each other at his blunders. It was important to secure their loyalty, he¡¯d been instructed, for not only did they ensure his safety, but composed his closest advisors, commanders, and oftentimes, vassals. After all, he¡¯d experienced widespread disloyalty firsthand before, and the lingering sense of chaos and uncertainty was a hard thing to shirk. He licked his lips, smile slipping for a moment as he prepared to mount his horse. It¡¯s over. It¡¯s done and we¡¯d won, he reminded himself. His smile came back. That was right, and now it was time to tie up his last significant obligation from that period. It was time to move forward.


    He looked back. The family wetnurse and servant of Kapitalena¡¯s from out west, Prima, stood in the doorway holding his small boy Nanko, rosy-cheeked and smiling, all baby fat and cheer. She held Bora¡¯s hand, who was just a few years older, though looking in her dark eyes one might be convinced she had a cynical wisdom about her. Prima bent down and said something. Nanko waved adamantly, but Bora just continued staring, unphased. Seeing her like that made Laczlo angry. Angry at the world for killing the youth in his daughter, angry at his selfish uncle and everyone who sided with him, angry at her for not getting over it, and angry at himself for letting it all happen how it did.


    The commoners were forced back from the gates, and his column proceeded out into the city, leaving his place of peace behind. They were two dozen druzhina guards in total, with his men in scale, mail, and lamellar armor at the front and rear, Kapitelina at the center, attended to by the women of the household walking alongside and offering food and drink. Wouldn¡¯t mind being there instead, he thought with a little grin. But no, he was to be high up on a horse for all the world to see and mock. That was simply how it was.


    In this part of Nova, the old lumber and flagstone of the city was instead replaced with straight-cut stone and brick. Estates, small and large, populated the South Hill overlooking the cold southern expanse of the Vetus Ocean, reminding him of Vilsi, of home. Fortunately, they wouldn¡¯t be venturing into the other parts of Nova, where the stink became unbearable and the masses denser and angrier. For a moment, as he adjusted his position upon his saddle, the clopping of horse hooves all around, a whiff of sea breeze struck him, and more than anything, he wished to be in the countryside again, riding open and free near the shoreline cliffs. That¡¯s just the pleasant impermanence of youth. He blinked and focused ahead, adjusting the silk robe to fall a bit more comfortably. But maybe once this is all over, I can finally go back.


    The Kostuveskis¡¯ estate home was on the south-facing side of the hill, nearest the top, offering a magnificent view of both the ocean and the city of Nova. The three hills of the grand city, with the ever-expanding northern districts, were encircled by a massive stone wall that served as the outer-most layer to what had become a web of inner walls within Nova proper. Cisterns, once considered foreign implements, now held water fed by some of the disused walls made into aqueducts, sustaining the ever-expanding city built upon an island bridging two continents. It was, in Laczlo¡¯s opinion, an engineering marvel matched only by the Wonders of the world.


    Soon, they had arrived at their destination. The home itself was older than his, a thing of near-antiquity, built on the foundation of a fort, still retaining its huge limestone walls, rounded and with a number of overlooking bastions. The structure was showing its age but undoubtebly no less durable for it. A plethora of guardsmen, he supposed were junior druzhina, held the walls and gate. There had to be at least thirty of them he could see. How many were inside the premises? At least double, perhaps more. It was a force to be reckoned with. One which made him thoroughly aware of his own diminished numbers.


    ¡°Husband,¡± his wife called.


    He looked over, finding her leaning out her litter, any sense of critical coldness in her eyes gone, replaced care and concern. Just ahead, the gate was opening. It was time. He urged his mount forward, his own druzhina falling in, gleaming like living weapons, making him feel both strong and horridly vulnerable.


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    The Kostuveski¡¯s courtyard was mostly just a laid flagstone ground, with the draw to the eye a series of sculptures flanking the central path up to the main entrance. The statues were of the old gods, Rotaal the largest among them¡ªof course¡ªand his wife, Elan, beside him. Health, family, and peace, Laczlo thought, not often so high-placed. But of course, the Kostuveskis always put the image of familial strength in the forefront. A good thing, surely, but in contrast with his own struggling house, Laczlo felt a twinge of spite at the sight. He smiled through it, naturally, for before the open iron doors of the fortress-like home were his saviors, his creditors to which he owed much of his family¡¯s salvation. And now, they were calling.


    One of his men took his horse¡¯s reins as he dismounted with practiced ease, taking a moment to adjust his robes and sheathed sword. Kapitelina drew up beside him, shoulders back and head high, the image of poise and control. He tried to draw on some of that elegance, puffing up his chest like warriors did, carrying an easy smile he¡¯d been complimented on many times back in his early twenties. Voivode Iarek Kostuveski was a man of impressive lineage, coming from a long line of rulers of Kostuvate¡ªa city just west of Nova, important for its agricultural surpluses and cultural influence. He had a strong, forthright bearing about him, resembling a veteran of old wars, though he''d never fought any. No, he was too willy for that, found at every social gathering smiling, drinking with other Voivodes, and spending time with Tsar Vadoyeski II. He was in his fifties and a grandfather of at least a dozen children, father of three boys and four daughters, many married to other influential houses. In short, not a man to underestimate. His wife Irina stood beside him, a woman of the east, with sharp features and wide, welcoming eyes that shone almost grey. They were both dressed in silk, and he felt thankful Kapitelina had selected such fine clothing, even if he were more comfortable dressed for a hunt.


    ¡°Voivode Kostuveski,¡± Laczlo said, smiling wide, then nodding to Irina. ¡°Voivoda.¡±


    ¡°Voivode Vilsky,¡± Iarek replied, offering the slightest of smiles.


    Laczlo and Kapitelina came forward; she exchanged brief pleasantries with Irina before Iarek turned slightly toward the doors and said, ¡°Voivode, come join me in the study. Irina will show Kapitelina the gardens.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the older Voivoda said with an easy smile, ¡°I¡¯ve overseen an extension of the gardens, and you must see the new fountain! The form was captured beautifully by a young man from the Crown of Armagne of all places.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Kapitelina looked delightfully surprised, her face lighting up with an eager interest only she could manage so easily. ¡°In that new style of theirs? Deluenian Expressionism, was it?¡±


    ¡°Yes, precisely! Come, you must see it.¡± She turned to him and bowed. ¡°As always, Voivode, I am pleased by your health and Spirit. Mother Elan watch over you.¡±


    ¡°And you,¡± he replied, not stiffly in the slightest, for which he was quite proud.


    When they had started off, Iarek nodded inside. ¡°Come, let¡¯s leave the Expressionism to the voivodesses, yes?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± He followed the other man inside, taking in the rich, dark wooded interior. There were paintings, sculptures, and even carved paneling detailing old stories, though he didn¡¯t get the chance to pause and figure out which. Knowing Irina, it would be about the old gods and legends of history. He¡¯d been here before, and even then, didn¡¯t get the chance to pause and look, for his visits were matters of business¡ªno, they were matters of survival. Laczlo clasped his hands behind himself, fingers clammy with sweat. The other voivode paused at a doorway in the hall, nodding inside, nothing revealed in his age-worn, strong face, but that didn¡¯t stop Laczlo¡¯s mind from reeling off all possible demands that could be made of him. Nevertheless, he entered.


    Inside, the walls were covered with tapestries of intricate weaves. The kind of work that comes out of Nova¡¯s most talented core or perhaps far beyond the borders of Vasia. Below them were heavy, reinforced chests. Chest that held tomes. He swallowed at the sight, for the riches in even one such chests outweighed that of his excessive robes. And the room was nearly lined with them. One section, however, was empty save for a sizeable blazing hearth set far back and behind an iron grate. The door shut behind, and Laczlo turned, finding the Iarek there studying him, expression betraying nothing but attention.


    ¡°You¡¯ve truly a nice home,¡± Laczlo said, offering a good-natured smile. ¡°You must be proud.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    He nodded, waiting for more, but when Iarek said nothing, Laczlo searched for something to say, looking around to avoid making eye contact with the other man.


    After a long pause, the older voivode gestured to a set of chairs. ¡°Why don¡¯t we sit?¡±


    ¡°Right. Of course.¡± He sat beside the fireplace, its warmth making his face flush, tempting perspiration along his collar and down his lower back. He shifted under the itch of it.


    ¡°Wine?¡± Iarek offered a chalice.


    ¡°Yes! Thank you.¡±


    Iarek sat, holding a cup himself, sitting far back in his chair, making it look like a throne. ¡°I¡¯m not a man for pleasantries, as you know. So, I think it best to discuss why you¡¯re here today.¡±


    ¡°Ah, of course.¡± His voice wobbled. Dread, anticipation, and the sneaking sensation of hope that it would all finally be over and he could get this horrid weight off his shoulders.


    ¡°I¡¯ve thought long about this, Laczlo. A long time indeed. That¡¯s why you¡¯ve had to wait, you see. That¡¯s why all the other favors were called in before mine, even though we both know it was the Kostuveski¡¯s support that won you that dreadful war, isn¡¯t that right?¡± It was rhetorical, for he continued on, swirling the wine in his chalice, gazing into it thoughtfully, ¡°What I am going to share with you does not leave this room. Your wife, your children¡ªthey do not need to know. This is a matter for Voivodes. For you and me. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Good. There has been¡­ unrest within the Column, Laczlo. A certain worry that everything is slipping away from them. The old gods, powerful as they may be, are losing hold over the people of Nova, of Vasia as a whole. And I understand you are acquainted with their opponent?¡±


    This time, it was not rhetorical, and he nodded in affirmation. ¡°I would not say Deus is an opponent of the old gods. They differ, yes, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°Regardless, that¡¯s not how most see it. Especially not those in the Column.¡±


    His stomach dropped. ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°Good. I¡¯m glad you do.¡± He smiled, but there was nothing sincere in it, nothing but a sort of condescending excitement for what was to come. What was, inevitably, to be demanded. ¡°I¡¯ve always been friends of the Column, and this is not a role one takes on lightly. They were alarmed when one of their own proclaimed herself a prophet and fled, but she has utterly disappeared, leaving everyone without a notion of where she is. And the word has gotten out. It¡¯s caused quite a bit of embarrassment to them¡ªmore than your refusal to convert after their assistance in the war, even.¡± Laczlo¡¯s jaw tightened, and he forced himself to remain quiet. Assistance is what you call their delays and excuses? ¡°So they¡¯ve called on me now with no room for failure, for it has come to their attention that this Deus of yours has not attained his place in the hearts of so many good-meaning but quite lost Vasians, honestly. In fact, a great deal of bribery has taken place to spread the name of Deus. Even within our own circles. You wouldn¡¯t happen to be one such recipient, would you?¡±


    ¡°Bribery? Of course not!¡±


    ¡°Naturally, Laczlo. But many I had trusted were found with open palms and bloody coins. And to engage in such grand bribery requires significant capital¡­ the kind not found in any one Voivode¡¯s coin purse¡ªnot unless he is very dedicated indeed.¡± He leaned forward suddenly, and Laczlo found himself edging back, away, almost afraid. ¡°You are one of them. They don¡¯t suspect you. And so, you¡¯re going to track down this money trail to where it begins and find the culprit behind this great lie. Do you understand?¡±


    Laczlo was caught, almost frozen by the rapidity of the information, the demands. He blinked and cleared his throat, mind working. But he didn¡¯t have time to think through it all, not with eyes on him, boring into him, skin flushed and hot and sweaty. ¡°I do,¡± he said, almost wincing with the words.


    ¡°Good.¡± He smiled, leaning back again. ¡°I¡¯ll have contacts offer you what they know. Allies in support. Such as our famed Western Commander. He¡¯s a good man, a good friend to have in a rough spot, should you need it.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°And Laczlo?¡±


    He looked up from his hands at the Voivode. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°I want you to pursue this. Not some druzhina you trust¡ªwe all know how that goes, anyways.¡± That mean smile again, and this time, it cut. ¡°And when you do find out who it is, you¡¯ll report to me and me alone. That means you¡¯re to be traveling to Goroden before receiving further instructions. Is that clear?¡±


    Against my own faith, my own god¡­ How can this be? ¡°It is.¡± Would Deus forgive me for this? ¡°Is there not another favor? I could negotiate for a trade deal through Veteran mines with favorable import fees or¡ª¡±


    ¡°Laczlo, you know how this works. Don''t test me.¡± There was a long silence as Iarek stared at him, and he at his hands again. ¡°Do you doubt me? It is true. And if it is true, no true believer of your faith would blame you. Isn¡¯t honesty something of a pillar for your Deus?¡±


    He tried to clear the scratchy roughness in his throat before replying, ¡°In a fashion.¡±


    ¡°Oh? It was my understanding he is something of a blend of what Rotaal and Elan exude. To be forthright and powerful, yet understanding and compassionate. Appealing to the indecisive, in some ways. No offence intended, naturally.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Laczlo replied meekly, feeling his own uncertainty and worry stewing in his gut like tar in a cauldron, ready to be poured down upon an unlucky foe.


    ¡°I''m glad we''ve settled that. I truly am. Your father was a great man. He deserved to see his house carried on by his son, I''d say. And your mother, too. Though we never saw much eye to eye, she was a she-wolf even in her final days¡ªbe proud of that. Carry their name well, and you might live up to it. Such a thing takes time, of course.¡± He was smiling, but Laczlo couldn¡¯t tell how honest it was. Maybe he looked like a jackal, or maybe it was slightly sad¡ªthe kind of look you give a dumb animal bumbling its way about, or maybe he was just thinking about Laczlo¡¯s parents and how they were missed. How in their absence, everything had gone to shit. No wonder why.


    ¡°I think I shall depart and make preparations in advance for travel,¡± he replied as he stood.


    ¡°Ah, excellent. That sense of work ethic will get you far, I say.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Of course.¡±


    The older Boyar walked in front, his posture strong and energetic¡ªa sharp contrast to Laczlo¡¯s own slumped shoulders and fidgeting hands. He knew he should right himself and keep up the front of power, but Deus above, he just felt tired. Tired of all of it. And more than anything, he wanted to be out of this castle of a home and shut away where no one could give him a weighing look that hinted of blades and betrayal, of schemes and plots. Soon enough, they were outside, Iarek saying something to a servant, who bowed to Laczlo and gestured toward the back.


    ¡°Voivode, this way, if you would,¡± he said.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    He went to follow along, but Iarek clapped him on the shoulder and said, ¡°Again, I¡¯m proud of you, Laczlo. It takes real courage to take the saddle and lead your family on after all that¡¯s happened. Your retinue, your children, your wife¡­ They need the leader in you.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he replied, feeling inadequate even in his response.


    ¡°Alright, now go on. That sculpture Irina had me spend a quarter of a fortune on is really quite something.¡±


    And so on he followed, gazing sullenly around the courtyard¡¯s interior, feeling the restrictive weight of the large walls and the comparative freedom of the stretching sky. So blue, so high. Just looking at it made him feel like soaring.


    ¡°Voivode,¡± the servant said.


    He pulled his eyes away and glanced ahead. There, out of marble white as clouds, stood a man. He blinked, looking at it. A statue, yes, but first, a man, it was so lifelike. His upper body was bare, showing muscles twisting like knots, ready for violence. Holding a long bronze spear, he was bent upwards, aiming it high, face screwed tight in the concentration of a hunter.


    ¡°Oh, there you are,¡± Kapitalena called, good-natured and warm. ¡°Done so soon?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you know Iarek, quick to the point, even with old friends,¡± Irina said.


    ¡°Certainly. A man focused on his dynasty is one fulfilling his duty.¡±


    He almost felt her searching stare through the calm smile. How she managed such things, Laczlo could only guess. Maybe it was in her Western blood, but he didn¡¯t think so. The two women exchanged pleasantries he couldn¡¯t quite hear, but it ended with Irina wishing her well and bowing to him before departing. Kapitelina came beside him as the Voivoda left them to the statues, only a few servants and druzhina lingering at the edges of the garden.


    ¡°How did it go?¡± she asked, looking up at him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± Laczlo let out a long sigh. ¡°I will be traveling for some time¡ªthat¡¯s what I can say on the matter for now. He forbid me to speak about it. Even to you.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± A long pause. ¡°Will it affect the children?¡±


    Laczlo wished he had a drink to dull his overstimulated senses. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Not now, not directly.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± She let out a sigh of relief. ¡°And you have to go? Where?¡±


    ¡°Kapitelina¡­¡±


    ¡°Very well. I understand.¡±


    They stood there in the garden for a minute in silence. She was likely working through all the angles, all the possibilities. He hoped she would let him know if he was doing the right thing. ¡°This man,¡± he ventured, a cocked grin playing at his lips as he looked at the statue, ¡°what¡¯s he even hunting?¡±


    ¡°Hm? Oh. Irina said he was a famed hero of West Armagnian myth. He was known as the Slayer, with one of his many deeds having been defeating a man-eating bird,¡± she said almost absent-mindedly with a small wave of her hand.


    ¡°A man-eating bird? Curious.¡±


    ¡°Yes, well, we all have our own little tales we like to tell ourselves, don¡¯t we?¡± She turned to face him, eyes meeting his.


    ¡°And what does that mean?¡±


    ¡°This is an obstacle, Laczlo. A setback.¡± She stepped closer. Far closer than she¡¯d been in some time. ¡°Whatever he asked of you¡­ do it. And do it well. Then this will be behind us.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I see.¡±


    ¡°Do you?¡±


    He lifted his chin toward the sky, eyes sliding away from her beautiful, sharp face that bore so many intentions at once to the great expanse of blue. And in this moment of import, he summoned what courage he could muster. ¡°I swear, Mother, Father, I¡¯ll finish this. Rest easy beyond the Gates of Light¡ªyour fight is done,¡± he whispered, then looked back to Kapitalena. ¡°I¡¯ll finish this.¡±

 Camp – Chapter Eight

    The climb down was worse than coming up, in Oskar¡¯s opinion. And it wasn¡¯t just because the massive chains were more awkward sliding down on, but that he had two half-conscious people to look after, not to mention a scattering of injuries from their clashes with the Dead. He bore a mean bruise or two, and his head ached from the bloody tunnel. It wasn¡¯t real. He knew that. But still, those visions¡­ Oskar shook his head and worked his way down the last massive chain link, hopping onto land with a big sigh and a grin.


    I¡¯m done with floating cities and the Dead, damn it, he thought, untying his rope and spooling it back up over his forearm. That¡¯s enough for a lifetime. But the weight of the jewels was heavy in his side pouch. Real heavy. Made him doubt his own conviction the moment he imagined more of those beautiful bits of gemstone. Besides, wouldn¡¯t the standard jobs get boring? That¡¯s right, he¡¯d run back to the old horrors and mystery the first chance he got, and not just because they paid best. Like an old whore trying to quit her trade. His grin turned into something rueful as he looked over the others, working their way down the last few links. It isn¡¯t the woman¡¯s choice when the customers stop coming, though. Then he grimaced, remembering he¡¯d lost two good spearmen. Nothing was ever free, after all. At least no one died on the venture down. There was always a price and nothing more to it than that.


    Daecinus was next, moving with care and caution. Though he wore long robes like some sort of ancient priest, the man¡¯s Corrupted half peeked out from the sleeve and neck holes. It was clear enough to tell he¡¯d dabbled a bit too much in matters of Sorcery. Maybe that was why they locked him away. Or maybe he¡¯d gained all that as a result of whatever he was doing for Rotaalan. Either way, as soon as they had gotten near the edge of Rotaalan, Oskar realized that the city was sinking with far greater speed than before. Not a free fall, thankfully, but fast enough that it wouldn¡¯t remain in the sky longer than the coming night. Daecinus had held it up, somehow, and that was a real frightening thing. That little thought had been repeating in the back of his mind ever since he¡¯d faced down the two Column women.


    How much power did this one man hold? And more importantly, how could Oskar use it?


    ¡°Dark omens, all this,¡± Nifont muttered beside him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know about omens. But I¡¯d hesitate to call it any of it particularly good.¡±


    ¡°Mh.¡±


    Oskar chewed at his lips, looking from Daecinus to the two women further back. ¡°I know I agreed to hear them out, but even if we do go along with their little offer, we¡¯re gonna keep an eye on those two. The one with the saber especially. I don¡¯t trust fanatics.¡±


    ¡°Want to protect the grey one, do you?¡±


    ¡°He could be a fine tool, if used right.¡±


    ¡°A tool or a weapon?¡±


    He gave his old friend a look with a raised brow. ¡°Does it matter?¡±


    ¡°It might,¡± Nifont said. ¡°You know how things go.¡±


    Oskar wanted to reply, but the man in question had slid off the last chain link, so he just patted Nifont on the shoulder and walked past. ¡°Survived the climb down, did you? Woulda been a shame to die after all that time holding the damn thing in the sky!¡±


    Daecinus dropped to a knee, wincing, holding his side. ¡°What utility did such a grand waste produce?¡± He glared over his shoulder at the falling city, massive chains drooping further into the ocean. Well, all but the one they left on, which was bolted onto a stone foundation on a desolate cliffside, old ruins smashed to rubble all around.


    ¡°Knowing the Vasians, it was probably just a show of supreme authority or some such.¡± Oskar stopped close and offered a hand. ¡°Touching you won¡¯t kill me, will it?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He took it, standing with visible effort and a shaking leg.


    ¡°All that Sorcery did a number on you, eh?¡±


    ¡°Most certainly.¡± Daecinus bent over with his hands on his knees and took a few deep breaths. After a moment, he looked up, those oddly red eyes hesitant as he asked, ¡°What is the year?¡±


    The priestess Emalia strode up to them, casually coiling her rope over her shoulder as if she hadn¡¯t just crawled down a quarter-mile chain. Bloody annoyance of youth. ¡°Imperial or Ekhenistic?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Ah, let me explain: Imperial is the date since the official founding of Nova, though there is much debate about the accuracy. Ehkenistic is when Deus is said to have originally walked our lands, estimated some four hundred years ago,¡± she said with a twist of disgust to her face. ¡°Their faith is a blatant appeal to the weak¡¯s ego and lack of devotion. Their religion is far newer. Merely a century or so, in fact.¡±


    ¡°Imperial then.¡±


    ¡°Eight twenty-nine.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± He blinked, eyes narrowing. ¡°Eight hundred?¡±


    ¡°Alternative theories posit eight hundred and eleven, eight hundred and two, and then the outlier of eight hundred and ninety-two, though the priest who worked on this claim was found wrapped up in politics, so I wouldn¡¯t err towards his estimation¡­¡± she trailed off, for she¡¯d finally seemed to notice Daecinus was staring off, mouth slightly agape, hands coming up to the sides of his hairless grey skull.


    ¡°Four hundred years.¡±


    Oskar leaned closer, trying to meet the man¡¯s lost gaze. ¡°Hey there, you all right?¡±


    ¡°Pethya!¡± he shouted, leaping forward suddenly, grabbing Emalia by her cloak, nearly pulling her off her feet. His eyes, red as they were, seemed to flare like a fire fed an armful of bone-dry underbrush. ¡°What¡¯s happened to Pethya?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    Sovina leaped off the chain, striding forward with a hand on her saber pommel, but Oskar pivoted and put himself between them, shaking his head. She slowed, eyes scanning, taking in the scene, that martial mind of hers likely working out that this wasn¡¯t a situation a sharp blade could fix. A lesson she needed to learn and learn fast.


    ¡°What¡¯s happened to Pethya?¡± Daecinus repeated, almost begging now.


    Emalia closed her gaping mouth, then opened it again. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    He released her, all energy fading away. ¡°I see.¡± He sat down on a broken piece of old stone and stared up at Rotalaan. ¡°The eastern coast bordering the Kastalec, northeast of your Nova¡­¡±


    ¡°Near Merkenia? Hazek¡¯s Fields? It is¡­ It is a land cursed by ancient Sorcery. It is a desert, taken by Dead.¡±


    ¡°Hazek¡¯s Fields¡­¡± he muttered, voice dead and empty. ¡°Why is it named so? What happened there?¡±


    ¡°There is a gap in the records I¡¯ve read on pre-imperial control. The Vasian kingdom had waged many wars lost to rumors and passed-down stories. But the story of Hazek¡¯s Fields is an ill-understood one. To my understanding, a cabal of Sorcerers burned it down in battle with the gods long before our time.¡± She frowned and went slowly as if choosing her words carefully, ¡°Is that where you are from, Daecinus?¡±


    ¡°We must have lost a war,¡± he said. ¡°They subdued Maecia and I, stripping Pethya of her greatest weapons¡­ Of course. Then a large scale attack. And what had to follow was a dissolution of any cultural and governmental systems that might propagate resistance, so what is left are a people without unity or the means to act. Perhaps they fled in the wake of Vasia¡¯s attack or hid underground from this Sorcerous disaster. I see. I should¡­ I should go and find them.¡±


    It had all come out very matter-of-fact like he was reading from a scroll in handing out a superior¡¯s disagreeable orders. Until the end. Then, there was something akin to hope. If he leaves, he won¡¯t make it, not on his own. And besides, I need him. It was a cruel truth, but a truth nonetheless. ¡°I¡¯ve been to Merkenia,¡± he said. ¡°Been there in the flesh. The coast you speak of is empty. I don¡¯t know where your people are, but they aren¡¯t there.¡±


    ¡°What if you¡¯re incorrect?¡±


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    ¡°He¡¯s not,¡± Emalia said. ¡°There are records of Merkenia¡¯s diverse and ranging population, though what happened to Hazek¡¯s Fields¡¯ original inhabitants is unknown. Perhaps resettlement, but I do not know where.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± His eyes fell. ¡°And how would I find information on this?¡±


    ¡°The Column. Though they would never allow you access.¡± She paused, looked away with a wince, and sighed. ¡°But if you come with us to assist in gathering the next necessary relics, I will bring you to Nova where you might learn the answers you seek.¡±


    ¡°Where you will then kill me.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps my instructions will change, I will learn some greater truth, or we shall find answers along the way. In Drazivaska, for instance¡­¡±


    ¡°Reliable assurances.¡±


    Sovina stood by Emalia, hands away from her weapons. ¡°Better than any deal you¡¯re going to get otherwise.¡±


    He looked between them with narrowed eyes, then sighed. ¡°Very well.¡±


    Oskar clasped his hands together. ¡°Well, now that¡¯s all good and settled, I would say it¡¯s time to return to camp.¡±


    No one disagreed, so after collecting their climbing gear, he led them from the ruins of the chain¡¯s base and back down the hillside that overlooked the sea below the floating cities. Or the sunken ones, given another day. Hard thing to comprehend, that. Never in all his years did Oskar figure he¡¯d be the man to sink a bloody city. Oh well, that was life, he supposed. Wander around and occasionally fuck up a bit, then die. And if you¡¯re lucky, you might¡¯ve done something once or twice worth mentioning, but if not, well, that was not particularly unexpected. All that matters is pushing out that last day as far as possible and making the ones leading up to it a bit bearable. So, in the end, doesn¡¯t really matter if you sink a city, does it? Someone like Feia might call that shortsighted, while Stanilo might name it selfish. Emalia would definitely have a thing or two to say about it. But fuck ¡®em, they haven¡¯t seen what I¡¯ve seen. And wasn¡¯t that the godsdamned truth?


    The peninsula jutting out into the small north-western section of the Kastalec was a rocky, barren place. It was grazing land, once, but something about unstable Sorcery had the soil bear nothing but harsh, near-dead grass nothing could eat. There was some life, though. A hillfort with crumbling walls and world-weary guards with faraway looks in their eyes named Kresimir¡¯s Folly. Probably after some dumb Vasian bastard who died here attacking Sadovoe. Anyone who serves for long enough learns a number of irrefutable facts of war, and one of those is that you don¡¯t attack the Kingdom of Sadovoe in the winter. Believe it or not, that was how Vasia had gotten so bloody good at the whole empire bit: by fucking up constantly, then eventually learning from it. Took a whole lot to hammer a lesson into the head of the big dumb brute called Vasia. Anyway, the fort was probably a remnant of one of those lessons, and it was still guarded and maintained, more or less. Lucky him.


    Took about an hour¡¯s walk to get there. Which was too long, for the inner bit of his legs burned from all the squeezing during the climb down. He was a limping old fool by the time the small hill¡¯s rise of the fort was underfoot. And, of course, that was a bitch to climb. Daecinus and Feia were hunched together again, not saying much but just helping each other climb. If she wasn¡¯t such a damn hyena of a woman, he¡¯d think the odd grey man had caught her eye. No, it wasn¡¯t that. He grimaced. All her life, she¡¯d never truly met someone who could bend Souls like her. Maybe seen them from afar, but nothing like this. Besides, they were both fucked up from Sorcery. Nasty business. Though it might be less flashy, he preferred a sword any day to all that.


    Atop the hill, dirt was piled up and crowned with old cobble to form something of a curtain wall with rickety ramparts. Wasn¡¯t the prettiest thing in the world, but dammit if it didn¡¯t overlook the Black Bay well enough. There was a reason Sadovoe still had men this far out. Wasn¡¯t just pirates out in the waters, but Dead, too.


    A man with a face like old leather leaned over the wall and scowled down at him, helmet a dull iron, a size too big for his withered head. ¡°I remember you. Missing two, aren¡¯t you?¡± he grumbled out in a distant cousin tongue of Vasian: Sadovean, eyes moving over each of them. ¡°Got a few more for your troubles. Ah, came back with the young women, pardon me. How¡¯re ya, misses?¡±


    And, of course, Emalia knew the language, smiling up and saying, ¡°Well enough, Leofric.¡±


    ¡°Good, good. But you did come back with a stranger, if my eyes don¡¯t deceive me.¡± He leaned over a bit further and squinted at Daecinus. ¡°He speak Sadovean?¡±


    Oskar answered before anyone else could fuck it up. ¡°Found him washed up on shore. Just look at him. Got banged up by the looks of it, all deathly pale and some such.¡±


    ¡°Poor son of a bitch. Well, you¡¯re all good, of course, but just keep an eye on him then, yeah?¡± He leaned back and shouted to the guards below, then popped his head out again as the gate began to crawl open. ¡°You do anything while you were up there? Rotaalan is falling a bit faster, I¡¯d say.¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡± He just shrugged. ¡°Probably one of the other groups. Saw one get chewed up by some Dead, though, so you¡¯ll be a tad emptier tonight.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how it goes for your type, I suppose.¡± He spit to the side and then gave the wall a slight kick. ¡°Well, get on in then. Got warm food for your men¡¯s help today. You know the business.¡±


    Oskar did, and he gave the man a nod and eyed the others, speaking in Vasian. ¡°He washed up on shore, poor man. Doesn¡¯t remember his name, yeah?¡±


    Murmers of agreement. Daecinus just looked at him, silent, red eyes probing. Was probably still in some twisted-up way from earlier. Couldn¡¯t blame him for that. Oh well.


    The gate opened, revealing an old wooden fort standing over a combined barracks and storehouse that resembled a frontier cabin more than anything that could be construed as martial. A small stable nearby with a few heavy-haired rounceys and mules inside. A small courtyard held a handful of tents with their associated fires, each surrounded by a small group of travelers. Most were rough types, by the look of them¡ªthe optimistic folk might call them adventurers, but they were just scavengers and looters. They didn¡¯t have the backbone his band did. Not one bit.


    Speaking of them, his people were closest to the fort just in case something nasty got through that gate. He would have smiled at the sight, but the prospect of sharing news of two casualties set his expression to a grim frown. Stanilo was there, keeping an eye on the eleven others. They¡¯d been helping out around the fort during the day. It wasn¡¯t much, but it got everyone fed, which was more than a venture into the sinking cities might¡¯ve got them. He felt the jewels in his pocket. Two big ones. How much were they worth? A good amount, he figured, but split seventeen ways? Oskar grimaced even deeper. Did anyone notice him take the third, hidden in his boot? A bit smaller, sure, but to the right buyer¡­


    ¡°There you are!¡± one of his good spearmen named Waker shouted, leaping up. ¡°It was getting dark and we were all getting worried an¡ª¡±


    ¡°Easy, Waker,¡± Stanilo muttered, dusting off his legs and standing tall like the tree of a man he was. ¡°We all had faith.¡±


    Oskar approached and patted Waker on the shoulder, then exchanged a look with Stanilo. ¡°Pamil and Sadoch didn¡¯t make it.¡±


    All the men were gathered around two fires made close together. They were once wanderers with nowhere to go, thieves and brigands, outcasts, and deserters. People with no homes except the fire here, with this band. Each man accepted the news of the dead in their own way. Waker¡¯s jaw dropped as he sat down hard, head in his hands, while Stanilo whispered a prayer and looked to the sky. Oskar just watched them, feeling like a failure. Not long ago, there were twenty of us. Then nineteen. Then seventeen. He sighed and joined them by the fire, digging out the two rubies. Oskar glanced around and caught Nifont¡¯s eye, who was standing back, unstringing his bow. Maybe expecting a cut. Maybe expecting better of his leader. Hard to say. Oskar cleared his throat and glanced around.


    ¡°The story is a long one, but we did acquire these,¡± he said, cradling the gems in his lap so only those at the fire could see. There¡¯d be stragglers outside their group listening in, looking for a chance to profit from another¡¯s hard work, after all. Always were. ¡°Keep quiet about it now, but I figure there¡¯s enough here to feed every man here for the next half year.¡±


    That woke Waker right up. The others too, except Stanilo, whose stoic acceptance of things never seemed to let his expression shift too many steps away from neutral.


    ¡°Now,¡± Oskar went on, ¡°that ain¡¯t all. We got some guests here for at least the night.¡± He nodded towards the women from Nova. ¡°Emalia and Sovina: a priestess and her guard. Here for big reasons, you can say. Maybe with a job worth taking. Gonna talk to them tonight, and we¡¯ll see.¡± He paused, feeling out their reactions. Interest, curiosity, and a guarded suspicion from some of those from Vasia who served. A feeling he felt himself to no small degree.


    ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to make your acquaintances,¡± Emalia said with a nod and a smile. ¡°These treasures are the first of many, should you choose to assist us.¡±


    ¡°Er, right.¡± After a moment, Oskar pointed a thumb to Daecinus. ¡°But that¡¯s not all. This here¡¯s a fellow who ¡®washed up on shore¡¯ if you follow me. Named Daecinus. He was, well¡­¡±


    ¡°They found me converting the energy of Spirits inside the city you refer to as Rotalaan,¡± Daecinus said loud enough that only their group could hear, voice cold and raspy like ancient scribblings on a parchment come to life. ¡°I am in your debt for the assistance in this matter. Though my knowledge of this land is little, I will be of use in manners of Sorcery, invention, and war, among other subjects, if you¡¯ll have me.¡±


    Everyone just stared at him, seemingly noticing the strange grey man for the first time. He was tall, too. Taller than Stanilo by a hand, which was certainly something, though far thinner. And compared to everyone else, he looked¡­ imperial. But not like a Vasian, of course. Like what Oskar imagined a Pethyan Magistros to look like, whatever that was.


    ¡°He saved us in turn,¡± Feia said, squatting before the fire, her vessel-burst eyes looking sinister and grim. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t have escaped if not for him.¡±


    Daecinus looked at her, something strange in his expression. Was gratitude just a sharp bone to swallow for the man? Or could it mean more? There was a bit of silence, then conversations began picking up again, and all was well. They¡¯d swallowed worse, weirder news than this and taken it in stride. That was part of the life of a mercenary, after all.


    One of his archers was stirring a big kettle; he took out a carved wooden bowl and filled it, handing it over to Oskar. ¡°Here ya are.¡± He began handing out more to the others, starting with their own, then Daecinus, and finally the women. Wasn¡¯t hard to note the small servings to the two women even though the cauldron had more in the bottom. More than I feel a few ways about the Column, of course. He watched Emalia accept the food with a smile and a nod of thanks, Sovina with a flat expression of poorly hidden spite. The women weren¡¯t just symbols of Column power. Priests and priestesses were important to the Vasian system of control. They were scholars, researchers, advisors, landholding Boyars, and Sorcerers. The southern world turned because of them. But it also bled and burned, too. Oskar crouched before the fire, feeling the warmth on his skin, listening idly to the men share the details of the day. He rolled the rubies in his hands, felt the small one in his boot. Shit.

 Deals in Moonlight – Chapter Nine

    They didn¡¯t want her here. With the looks cast her way, Emalia figured they didn¡¯t want her anywhere. Dead would be better, maybe. And with all the blades near their grimy fingers, that wasn¡¯t an unrealistic possibility. Could she outrun them if they decided to do it? Emalia looked to the gate, shut and locked. Maybe climb the ramparts and leap over the side? It wasn¡¯t a great fall, but it was night, and outside was an unpopulated stretch of plains and tundra with things worse than bandits lurking in the shadows. Every once in a while, Dead fell from the cities¡ªor crawled out of the sunk one, she supposed¡ªand infested the lands, and then there were the wandering few from the northwest. Either way, if things went bloody, there was no escape and certainly no chance of fighting out of it.


    Sovina was close, her hands near her saber and axe, always ready. At least I can rely on her, Emalia thought with a smile. Her friend caught the look and smiled back. It was a beautiful, warm smile, and it fit her perfectly. Emalia wished she could make Sovina happier. She loved to see her laugh and grin¡ªit was simply unfortunate the world tried so hard to get in the way of that.


    And then there was Daecinus. The outlier. She glanced his way across the fire, sitting with his arms on his knees, head drooping, eyes shining through the sharp slits of his eyelids. Like those rubies Oskar chiseled out. Like embers in ash. Would he come with them should Oskar turn down her offer? I wouldn¡¯t. Not with the threats made. He had no reason to trust she¡¯d stay to her word, if Raizak contradicted her. Zealots were dangerous for that reasons. It was a fact of history, and now she was victim to that very fact.


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    She looked up. Oskar was standing over her, arms crossed, cheeks a little red from the wine they¡¯d been passing around. Just the mercenaries, of course, and Daecinus, though he¡¯d refused. She and Sovina had never been offered. A slight she could ignore, given the circumstances.


    ¡°Follow me,¡± he said, nodding to the side.


    She acquiesced, climbing to her feet. Sovina raised her eyebrows slightly, but Emalia just gave a slight smile and left. Her guardian wasn¡¯t needed for this conversation, but they were close enough Emalia knew she¡¯d have support in a second if needed. There was no one she¡¯d rather have watch over her in a place like this.


    Feeling every sore muscle and tendon in her body ache, she followed Oskar to the wall, where he climbed up on the rampart and leaned against the rickety palisade. He scratched at his beard, dark with a fair number of grey strands. Without a helmet and all his weaponry and everything, he looked¡­ mundane, normal even. Like a man you could meet at a market stand, talking about the produce or the batch of wool. Still, as he looked out over the hilly landscape, the cliffsides and whitecapped seas under the half moon, wind in his short, roughly chopped hair, there was an age, an experience in his eyes that didn¡¯t quite fit. Like the distant gaze that occasionally took old Smychnik¡¯s eyes when he spoke of his youth. All of a sudden, just looking at him, Emalia felt¡­ uncertain. As if she were looking at the last fragments of a person. Like he were one of those old veterans who¡¯d fought against rogue Sorcerers and raised dead. Hollow and empty as the corpses themselves, lost to the horrors of a darker past.


    ¡°Were you always a mercenary?¡± she asked suddenly.


    He glanced over, quick and alarmed, then grinned and blew a warm breath into his hands. ¡°Heh. No one¡¯s born a sellsword, Priestess.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    He nodded, as if that was that. ¡°So why don¡¯t you tell me what all this Raizak business is about then?¡±


    ¡°I told you the truth.¡±


    ¡°So you really figure those visions are from your god, eh?¡±


    She sent him a harsh glare. ¡°I¡¯m not mad.¡±


    ¡°Not saying you are. But, well, those could be anything, right? Sorcery or some such?¡±


    ¡°Feia herself said there were no Spells on me.¡±


    ¡°But there was something with Spirits, wasn¡¯t there?¡±


    She had said that, hadn¡¯t she? The whole room was swarming with Spirits, and she was half-alive from that door¡­ Maybe I can ask Daecinus? Would he even tell the truth? Emalia curled her lip and looked away. ¡°The gods work through Spirits in many ways. It is not alarming that I would have an essence of them upon me. Regardless, look where they led me. I found the center of Rotaalan and freed an ancient prisoner.¡±


    ¡°Not sure yet if that was a good thing.¡±


    ¡°But it was significant, wasn¡¯t it? My point is that they are leading me somewhere, and even if you doubt Raizak¡¯s direct influence, it is certainly of his work. His domain is that of Sorcery and knowledge.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes. Alright.¡± He gave a dismissive wave and sighed. ¡°But asking me to bring my band along is a whole other thing. I lost two good men today.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not because of me.¡±


    ¡°A point that can be argued. We blundered into the trap room, sure enough.¡± He looked as if he was going to say more but screwed up his lips and shrugged it off. ¡°Why ask me, anyways? We did try and rob you.¡±


    ¡°That is true. But you also handled yourselves well under pressure. We worked together, saving each other, and then you didn¡¯t betray me after.¡±


    ¡°Heh, there¡¯s still time.¡±


    ¡°Amusing,¡± she said, frowning. ¡°Oskar, I learned today that this may be bigger than Sovina and I can handle alone. We can help each other here.¡±


    ¡°And your fellow priests won¡¯t help?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°Might I ask why?¡±


    ¡°They thought my visions were delusions, that I was a mad charlatan and possessed by the Dead. That I had broken the sacred trust by¡­ Well, I broke their trust, and I am no longer welcome because of it.¡±


    ¡°Not too much of a surprise from the likes of them.¡±


    Though she didn¡¯t necessarily disagree, his words still stung like a jab to her gut. ¡°Why do you hate the Column so much? We are not always the most agreeable of types, but nothing that deserves your vitriol.¡±


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    He smiled at her, all teeth without any hint of kindness. ¡°We don¡¯t want to be getting into that.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± She crossed her arms, fighting down her frustration. ¡°So what will it be, then? Have you given my proposal more thought?¡±


    Oskar was silent for a long while. Long enough her annoyance faded, and she studied him. Eventually, he scratched at his whiskered chin, gave a resigned sigh, smiled, and said, ¡°Let¡¯s talk pay, shall we?¡±


    ¡­


    I waited until everyone was asleep. It was no easy task, considering the deep-set exhaustion that clung to my bones, but I needed space and privacy¡ªtwo things that curious eyes disallowed. When the sun had fully set and the sky was left dark with sparse rays of moon and the fires were reduced to glowing embers, I withdrew from the rough wool cloak Oskar had offered me. A good enough man to rely on for now, for despite his clear self-centered motivations and violent past, he seemed to look out for his own. And here, in what I had gathered as the distant northwest region of the Kastalec, that attribute was essential.


    The facts of my situation were grim. I reflected upon them as I snuck from our small campsite to the latrine pits near the ill-kept stable. I speak one language¡ªand not the native tongue of this region, by our interactions with the guards. I am weakened, dulled in my access to Spirits, and Corrupted, the extent of which is currently unclear. The current state of Sorcery was¡­ confusing. Brief talks with Feia had revealed little¡ªprimarily due to her lack of formal training and knowledge¡ªbut it seemed a fact of the world that Sorcery had become more unstable. That word frightened me. It meant Corruption, chaos, and madness, but it also meant that my greatest possible advantage against my unknown number of enemies was severely limited. If a simple transfer of knowledge and language had nearly killed me, then what about raising an army of the Dead? No, my previous workings of Sorcery would need to be reexamined, recalibrated. But if there is a way, I shall find it. And those who did this to me, to my sister, to my people¡­ they will suffer.


    I slid behind the stable next to the palisade and peeled back the old robes I¡¯d woken in. Slowly, almost hesitantly, I peered through the shadows at the extent of the Corruption ravaging my left side. My mouth went dry. Cracked lips peeled back in a grimace somewhere between disgust and resigned fear. My skin was paler than its normal grey tones, looking like quartz. It was webbed by black veins that seemed to move under the eye. Sections of my flesh seemed even darker, as if I¡¯d been struck by the cold and only pieces of me had died as a consequence. But it was no simple biological reaction¡ªthis I knew. No, Corruption from the overuse of Spirits didn¡¯t just kill you, it stole from you. The life that bound one¡¯s Soul to the earth, the lightness of joy and comfort that carried the elderly past their expected final days, the wonders of the senses and joys of youthful energy¡ªthese were all vulnerable to Corruption¡¯s hunger. And there was more. It sometimes turned people, broke them. Still, it wouldn¡¯t kill me. Not immediately, at least. I had time to determine an effective course of action to delay that accelerated end. My naturally long lifespan would help, but it would not¡ª


    I turned, pulling the robe closed across my body as the sounds of footsteps drew closer. A person appeared, an outline of a figure at the end of the narrow alley in which I hid. I squinted at them as I prepared to run. With the shadows cast by the dull light of the moon, I couldn¡¯t make out features beyond a medium build and¡­ ah, so this is what it came to.


    ¡°Sovina, was it?¡± I asked, casting a glance behind me. The other side was open, though further away. ¡°Have you come for my heart, then?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said, standing still. An outline in the night, ominous, motionless as if waiting to pounce. She was a panther, I knew. I imagine she was often underestimated as a warrior due to her gender, but I¡¯d seen her cut through the Dead, and I would not make such a foolish mistake.


    ¡°Why show yourself?¡± I asked.


    For a second, she didn¡¯t reply, and I figured the worst was to come. But then she stepped into the alley and patted her sides. Closer, I could see she didn¡¯t have her saber or axe on her, but that didn¡¯t preclude a dagger, of course. ¡°I¡¯m unarmed. Not here to fight. Just to talk.¡±


    Conversations are certainly possible in the comforting light of the sun and in the presence of less blood-hungry others. ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m loyal to Emalia, to my Column-sister. She says you don¡¯t die, then you won¡¯t.¡± She stopped a few strides away, arms crossed. ¡°But I think letting you live is a mistake. One that will get her in trouble. With Raizak or the thick-headed fools back at Nova, I don¡¯t know, but letting you walk out of there? You can see the trouble to follow.¡±


    ¡°I can understand your mistrust, especially under the circumstances.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about that,¡± she said, face scrunching up. ¡°You¡¯re dangerous. And anyone dangerous is bound to have a few enemies, especially if they¡¯d found themselves locked away inside one of the sinking cities.¡±


    I nodded in acquiescence. As little as she knew about me, her assessment of the situation was not incorrect. ¡°And what does this mean for you and me?¡±


    Her eyes found me like speartips, threatening as any weapon. ¡°It means you keep your dark magic to yourself and those who already know. We don¡¯t need attention, and we don¡¯t need people getting afraid of awoken necromancers¡ª¡±


    ¡°People fear Sorcerers?¡± I interrupted, confused.


    She carried on anyway, ¡°And it also means you don¡¯t put Emalia in danger. She¡¯s risking everything for you. Though her reasons elude me sometimes, she¡¯s wise enough to know the truth even when I don¡¯t. But what I do see are all the ways this is going to get her hurt or killed. Look out for her, Sorcerer, and I¡¯ll let you keep breathing, understand?¡±


    Her threat made me want to hurt her. Kill me? After all your people did to me, you think your threats can sway me? You think your feeble bluffs can strike anything other than furious indignation in my heart? My blood was racing hot, but a sharp thrust of shame cooled my anger. I thought of Demetria and what she might say at such things. At what I was at risk becoming.


    No, I thought, correcting myself, Sovina is looking out for her friend, her companion. This deserves understanding and agreement, not resentment. If I were in her position, I would feel the same. I looked this warrior in the eyes and nodded. ¡°She has nothing to fear from me. Her assistance in the dispelling of my ignorance over these missing centuries is more appreciated than any material comfort. As long as she¡ªand you¡ªkeep the promise of peace, then I will treat her as one of my own. But I should relay to you that her visions, as she calls them, are of a Sorcerous nature. I would be inclined to say she is peering past the vale¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do not question her connections to Raizak.¡±


    ¡°I merely sense something Sorcerous. I am not claiming it is a Spell.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± She gave a curt nod, then glanced down to my loosened robe and said as she began to turn away, ¡°And concerning the extent of your Corruption¡­ I¡¯ll keep that to myself. But don¡¯t let it kill you. Or worse. I¡¯ll be the first to put a blade in your skull should you fade from us.¡± Before I could reply, she walked away, leaving me there behind some decrepit stable in a ruin of a fort far from my home and even further from a time that made sense.


    For all I knew, I was the last of my kind, stranded within this new world so very distant from my own. A walking relic of a dead past, a corpse thrust into life by the cruel hands of fate, left to rot here in this uncanny debris.


    For the first time since I had awoken, my awareness was brought from the sickening pain at my side towards a cold rush of chills crawling up my spine. What if I was the last of my kind? And the attack at the Grand Observatory was but a preamble to a far more sinister assault than I anticipated? Pethya was no more¡ªthat was a fact¡ªbut that needn¡¯t be the case for my people who once populated the great nation. Could they be gone too? I¡¯d hoped they simply escaped, but the possibility of their genocide now haunted me. The question lingered there like a burning firepoker hovering before a prisoner¡¯s eye. Under the honor of my title and those entrusted to me, I wished it to be a lie. A figment of the mind. I wished it so bad I almost went out into the dark to wander to the place I might call my home and see for myself. But that was a fool¡¯s errand, the rational part said. It would be wise to learn, to grow stronger again, and to gain allies. To bide my time.


    And yet the question lingered, more torturous than the pain of truth itself.


    After some time, I slipped back under the shared, open-faced tent and huddled underneath the ratty old cloak, feeling the cold touch of dread in my bones.

 Morning Winds to Carry Away – Chapter Ten

    Oskar let the others sleep in a while¡ªthey¡¯d earned it. And not just because of the madness of the previous day, but because of a whole lot of days before that. He was on the palisade looking over their little section of the Kastalec, where the floating city of Rotalaan should be well¡­ floating. Instead, it was about halfway into the water, a few particularly large buildings such as the central keep and a scattering of towers poking out like grave markers. Like capsized ships off the shore of a botched landing. He spit to the side and scowled out. It was bad luck to sink a city. Everyone knew that. Or, well, could guess that it might be. Yes, bad, bad luck. The gods might even step on down and start throwing lightning at them or something because of it. He sure hoped not. Let ¡®em throw bolts at the priestess, he thought, squinting over his shoulder back toward camp.


    Standing up there on the wall, greying hair tossed around by the salty winds, he felt like something of a sailor. Not a good feeling, considering how much he hated the bloody ocean. Almost as much as Nifont did¡ªthe mad bastard.


    There was a clatter of footsteps on the old, dried-out wood, and he turned to raise his brow at Stanilo making his way up the stairs, hands shoved in his armpits, large shoulders hunched in like a lumbering oaf of a beggar, eyes squeezed into slits against the wind. He made his way beside Oskar, facing out towards the sea. For a long while, he was silent, just watching, strong face held still against the wind. For all his good qualities, what Oskar figured he liked most about Stanilo was his pure bloody fortitude. Don¡¯t complain, whine, or even speak much unless it¡¯s needed. More men should be like him, he figured, then rubbed his hands together and cracked his knuckles. They popped loud and sharp and made him worry about getting old, but he decided to blame it on the weather instead.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know how people can live up here,¡± Oskar said. ¡°It¡¯s like living on a longship. Cold, wet, windy, and the food¡¯s shit. Not to mention having to listen to Nifont whine about fish.¡±


    Stanilo chuckled¡ªa rumbling, rich sound¡ªand nodded. ¡°Him and his fish.¡±


    ¡°You know he almost alerted a patrol once because we had stew and there was something gilled in it? Could barely taste it myself, and the smell was covered pretty well by some spices we procured from some poor fucker¡¯s abandoned cart outside Azali back in ¡¯32. And¡­¡± he trailed off, smile waning till it was gone entirely, and he found himself just looking off, face blank as a stone. ¡°Some days, I don¡¯t even understand where it went. Like it just up and vanished.¡±


    ¡°Like waking from a dream.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. A dream of some kind. Maybe a nightmare¡ªI don¡¯t know. But now we¡¯re here, and the wind is fucking freezing.¡±


    Stanilo shrugged, hands still tucked away, and said, ¡°His path for us is beyond our knowledge. But we must walk it well, doing our best to learn as we go.¡±


    ¡°You know how I feel about that.¡±


    ¡°I do. And yet.¡±


    ¡°Heh. ¡®And yet,¡¯ he says. The poet.¡± Oskar sighed, turned away from the sinking city, and looked his second of the band in the eye. ¡°Well, you aren¡¯t up here to share in my cold, are you? What is it?¡±


    ¡°I saw you and the priestess talking last night. Have you agreed?¡±


    ¡°I was going to tell you before the others, you know.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Oskar said, then shrugged. ¡°I think it could be good for us. The money is there, certainly¡ªI showed you the rubies last night¡ªand she¡¯s brought enough silver for food.¡±


    Stanilo nodded slowly, looking at him closely. ¡°But she¡¯s from the Column.¡±


    ¡°She is.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re trusting her anyway.¡±


    ¡°I trust she¡¯s not deceiving me. I don¡¯t trust she knows exactly what she¡¯s doing, though. A bit young to be a prophet, I think.¡±


    ¡°Are they not usually the old and very young?¡± he asked, brow raising a fraction.


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know, maybe.¡± Oskar frowned and put another breath into his palms. ¡°I just don¡¯t trust these visions. If it¡¯s Raizak doing it, well, he¡¯s not exactly known for being forthright, now is he? More of the round-about type, by my understanding. And gods always have their own plans¡ªgrand designs and all that. Well, you¡¯d know that best, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I suppose so.¡±


    ¡°So there you go.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re willing to risk it.¡±


    Oskar squinted up at the other man. ¡°I¡¯m the leader here, aren¡¯t I? That¡¯s how you all wanted it. So why don¡¯t you tell me what you want to say instead of just questioning me like this, eh?¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡± He straightened himself, hands lowering, standing like a monolith there in the wind. ¡°She seems like a good person, from what I¡¯ve seen¡ªnot one to lead us into a trap. Not knowingly. And you¡¯re right: the money can be good. Never had a nose for coin myself, so I trust you on that. But Oskar, I¡¯ve known you long enough to see when something stands out. And you don¡¯t like taking these risks. Every job we¡¯ve had has been a safe one¡ªall things considered. But first, it was the city, and now this.¡± He put up a hand before Oskar could protest and said, ¡°Now, I don¡¯t think it was a bad call, and I¡¯m not blaming you for anything. As you said, you¡¯re in charge, and that¡¯s how everyone wanted it.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see what you¡¯re trying to get at.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± he said, putting his hands on the palisade and leaning to stare out into the sea, ¡°each of us are running from something, being out in a place like this. And sometimes it works¡ªfor a little. But eventually, whatever we¡¯re running from catches up¡­¡±


    Oskar stared at him, teeth gritting and eyes narrowing, but Stanilo just looked out, not making eye contact again. The big bloody oaf, he thought, shaking his head. Thinking I need a talking to? What does he see me for? A green recruit missing his mother? Oskar scoffed and scowled out at the sinking city once again. ¡°Well, if I get the urge to cry to you over some horseshit, I¡¯ll let you know. But just so you do know, I¡¯m fine. Only thing I¡¯m running from is hungry destitution. We need some dangerous jobs if we wanna keep our bellies full. That¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Boss.¡±


    Stanilo left after that, rapping his knuckles on the old, faded wood and then shuffling back down to the dirt-floor fort interior where the others were just getting up. The sun was rising, and the frost was melting, leaving the Winter-looking Spring a little more like the time for plowing and planting and less like famine. Up here, this far north, it all looked like Winter anyway, he figured. Nothing but low hills and barren tundras with scattered copses, thorny scrub, and leafless trees. Hard to say if it was the Dead that did it or if the land was always so shit. His history wasn¡¯t what it used to be. I¡¯d have to consult the priestess, he thought, glancing sideways at the camp. Sure enough, she and her guard dog were up, and doing some sort of Column prayer by the look of it. It earned them a few frowns from his men and more than a few stares from others of the fort. But everyone had their own little song and dance they did to go on, so no one paid them too much mind. And it was a good thing, too, for even if he didn¡¯t like the two too much, the priestess was now his employer. In a sort. And you couldn¡¯t just let your employer die¡ªthat¡¯d be bad for business.


    Well, you could just cut her throat and dump the body somewhere no one would find it. Sure enough. And the swordswoman, too. Would Daecinus be fine with that? Likely not, considering how damn excited the man was when the priestess spoke of history and knowledge and all that. And then there was the Column to think about if they ever found out. Maybe she was kicked out, but even so, they wouldn¡¯t just forgive him, would they? And the hand of the Column reaches further than any. And wasn¡¯t that the damn truth? Besides, even if all the mortal concerns were dealt with, there was the slight matter of her being a prophet. Right, not exactly the prime target for an easy score with no loose ends, now was she?


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    He pushed off the palisade. And that¡¯s that. No way outta this one¡ªnot with a dagger anyway, old boy. No, we¡¯ve gotta do this clean and right. Oscar thumped down the wooden stairs, stretching his arms and letting loose a hefty yawn.


    It was time to rouse the troops and get on the road. They had a long march ahead of them if they wanted to get to Drazivaska and back somewhere warm before winter hit. Everyone knew you didn¡¯t linger in northern Kosica when the snow came. It¡¯d make Kresimir¡¯s Folly and the empty plains around it seem like Vasia in the Summer, sure enough. He smiled a little, thinking of the road ahead. A little excitement was never a poor choice, now was it? Magic, gods, and a little bit of something smelling like destiny finally leading him somewhere worthwhile? Well, if anyone could use a swing of good fortune, old Oskar deserved a chance, now didn¡¯t he?


    ¡­


    Yesterday, when the gate had closed behind him, Laczlo about collapsed off his horse in relief. He had been utterly exhausted, all notion of valiant determination and fortitude washed away by the pressing anxiety of what was expected of him. Even in their death, his parents¡¯ watchful gazes never left him. Perhaps they had only become more demanding, slicing down from the Gates of Life above like beams of those rays of Sorcery from the olden days.


    Laczlo rolled over in his bed, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter. His night had been dreadful. He¡¯d awoken at least half a dozen times¡ªsome of them sweaty and with a thumping pulse¡ªand had an awful time trying to fall back to sleep. And now, he laid there, naked under the heavy covers in the great bed, alone. Not that that was unusual. Kapitelina had her own room down the hall, of course. Not that she¡¯s left it at night for some time now, he thought, more than a little bitterly.


    There was a rap at his door. He cracked open an eye and squinted out from under the covers. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Voivode,¡± came his head servant Mikha¡¯s voice, ¡°your departure must commence soon if you wish to make it to make it to the planned inn by dusk.¡±


    Laczlo grumbled a series of unimaginative profanities and squeezed his eyes shut, rolling away from the horrid door. ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°In that case, I must request for a final time that we commence the morning ceremonies.¡±


    Damn your ceremonies. ¡°Another minute.¡±


    He felt his stomach drop as the telltale sound of an opening door broke the room¡¯s peace. Then footsteps. Finally, a dazzling of light from tossed-open curtains; the evil man even opened the heavy shutters, letting in a wave of chill morning air that made abandoning his bed even more of a terrible notion.


    ¡°Voivode,¡± Mikha said, at the foot of his bed, ¡°your undershirt had been warmed. Please put it on so the servants may begin.¡±


    Laczlo pulled the covers down below his armpits and rubbed at his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s undignified to see me like this, I understand.¡±


    ¡°As a Boyar, yes, the lower servants should not see their master afraid of mornings.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of them; I just detest them.¡±


    ¡°Especially this one, I understand,¡± Mikha said. He was in his middle ages, having served Laczlo¡¯s mother and father most of their lives as well. He had a proud mustache of an older fashion, with sharp eyes and an even sharper temper for most things.


    Though he¡¯s only ever been patient with me. And no wonder why, for he¡¯d been around ever since Laczlo was a boy, some near-thirty years ago. When did those days pass me by? ¡°Fine. Yes, I am dressing.¡± Laczlo pulled on his thigh-length cotton shirt. The fabric was more expensive than the typical linen by a signicant margin, but oh my, was it far warmer and softer on the skin. And, as Kapitelina would put it, a necessary expense of a proper Voivode. ¡°Do you think,¡± he said as he squirmed from out under the covers and stood there in the brisk, admittedly late-morning air, ¡°that Kapitelina and the children will be fine in my absence? Would the druzhina¡ª¡±


    ¡°Voivode Vilsky¡­¡± Mikha began, then sighed and clasped his hands, offering an understanding smile. ¡°Laczlo, the unfortunate events of the greedy, overreaching few will not repeat themselves, especially not with the voivode beyond the city. The men, for all their warrior-roughness, respect the sanctity of family and honor of direct appeal, so to speak.¡±


    ¡°You think so? Deus above, I would hope it to be true.¡± That earned a slight frown, which was unsurprising from the old-fashioned servant. ¡°Apologies.¡±


    ¡°Our faiths are our own,¡± he muttered, then gave a reassuring nod. ¡°Yes, I believe all will be well following your departure. But we must depart, Voivode.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes. I am ready. But Mikha?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Voivode?¡±


    Laczlo chewed at his lip, hands wringing. ¡°Would you not reconsider staying? Keeping an eye on the household?¡±


    ¡°I cannot. It would appear¡­¡±


    ¡°Odd if you remained when the head of the house has left, I understand.¡±


    He said nothing more to that, likely hoping they would quickly shift from the topic and toward something more appropriate. Laczlo knew Mikha already saw all his weaknesses and vices. Part of him wanted to say that no more damage could be done, but that was a little hopefully na?ve. For his parents, for his children, he needed to be stronger. And that meant not running off without facing Kapitelina and the children properly. He cringed at the thought, but the rush of servants bearing clothes for his donning washed away any opportunity for self-pity.


    After some time, he found himself in their family¡¯s great hall, where long, heavy tables flanked by benches spanned the room¡¯s length, with multiple firepits for cooking and gathering between each table. He walked past the high-set hand-carved wood thrones meant for princes of the old days and took in the stretching glass mosaic dominating the eastern wall. Even in the late morning, the harsh sun filtered through, painting the flagstone floor with the colors of a flower field. The window itself had cost as much as the entire expansion to the Vilsi home, according to the tales passed down from his grandfather, and he didn¡¯t doubt it. It was a beautiful rendition of the three saviors of Vasia in the founding tales of the empire. On the wall opposite, the room¡¯s hearth. It was an imposing, dominant thing, casting long shadows at night, requiring a near-constant supply of firewood, even with the center firepits lit. And currently, his family stood before it, awaiting his arrival, his departure.


    The first departure from them since his mother¡¯s death, since the war.


    He swallowed, regripping his hands folded behind his back. Time to be strong.


    Laczlo approached.


    Kapitelina turned, their two children held before her, interposed between he and her like shields. Bora and Nanko, his legacy, his charge. I¡¯m doing this for them. I¡¯m leaving so that they can live. He gave a shaky smile. ¡°Children, my wife. I¡¯ve come to say my goodbyes.¡±


    Nanko broke from Kapitelina¡¯s hold, sprinting forward in the wobbly gate that always made Laczlo nervous the child would fall and hurt himself. Nanko collided with his legs, wrapping his arms around them, his innocent face pointed up.


    ¡°No go,¡± he said, lower lip shaking. ¡°No¡­ N-n-n¡­¡± He babbled, then began to cry.


    ¡°Nanko,¡± Kapitelina called, ¡°let go of your father.¡±


    He didn¡¯t appear to listen, just burrowing his head between Laczlo¡¯s legs like an apologetic puppy. So Laczlo gently pulled back and kneeled, holding his child at arm¡¯s length. ¡°It will be okay,¡± he said. ¡°I will be back, you see.¡±


    Nanko mumbled something incoherent, but the word ¡®why¡¯ was clear enough.


    ¡°I have to go for, well, to keep you safe, you see? I have to meet some people and return a favor to the Kostuveskis. Ah, you remember them?¡±


    ¡°Laczlo,¡± Kapitelina said, close to them now, Bora holding her hand, standing dutifully by her side. ¡°Leave it be. Do not baby him.¡±


    He looked up to her. She was beautiful, poised, cold. Laczlo swallowed and looked back to his son. ¡°You have to be strong. You¡¯re the man of the house while I¡¯m gone. You need to see after your mother and sister. Make sure they are safe.¡±


    Nanko looked to him, lips still trembling, eyes bleary, but he nodded.


    ¡°Good boy.¡± Laczlo smiled, patting his head, then stood and regarded Bora. She stared at him like a stranger. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words were lost things, vanished as that cold look of hers branded him¡­ insufficient. Swallowing, Laczlo glanced to Kapitelina, who wasn¡¯t looking at him at all but at Nanko, surprise peaking through her mask of careful distance. Still, quickly enough, she wiped her face blank and faced him.


    ¡°I wish I didn¡¯t have to go,¡± he said.


    ¡°And yet it is as it must be. We will be fine, Voivode.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that. Not now, please.¡±


    She pursed her lips, signaling frustration. The prelude to silence. ¡°Laczlo, finish the goodbyes. You must be on your way.¡±


    Laczlo nodded, bending low toward his daughter, trying to ignore that look of hers. ¡°Bora, you¡¯ve always made me proud in how strong you are. But¡­ it will be okay. I will be back, and things will be well again. Take care of your brother. Play with him, okay?¡±


    She said nothing for a few seconds, then looked to Nanko and nodded. ¡°I will.¡±


    ¡°Good girl.¡± He patted her head too, then straightened to face Kapitelina. She moved their daughter before her and between them. Laczlo tried to believe it was to comfort the girl, but part of him knew better. ¡°Kapitelina.¡±


    ¡°Laczlo.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± He licked his lips, then cleared his throat. ¡°Well, be safe in my absence. It will be over soon.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°See to the children.¡±


    ¡°I always do.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean otherwise. I, well, right, of course.¡±


    ¡°Goodbye, Voivode.¡± Her steely expression softened, and for a moment, he saw the woman he used to know. Her eyes were earnest, jaw relaxed and not clenched in suppressed frustration, anxiety present still but held open rather than fought desperately. He missed that woman. He missed the man who deserved her, for he was gone, defeated. Hiding under the covers. ¡°Whatever needs done, I trust you will see to it. We need this behind us, Laczlo. Promise me it will be done.¡±


    He wanted to tell her how he cared for her, for their children, how he¡¯d do anything to make their futures brighter than his own. To remove this blight and fear that had so gripped their lives. To be Voivode she deserved, the one their family deserved. But Laczlo just licked his dry lips and nodded and said, ¡°It will. I will return and we can¡­ move on.¡± He struggled for something else to say. Something more fitting. ¡°Well, goodbye then. Be safe, please.¡± Then he walked away, each step quicker than the last until he was out of that wretched room. Until he was sure they couldn¡¯t see him anymore.


    He wanted to fall against a wall and let it hold him as he tried to wrestle his heart back in control. His skin felt hot and flushed, breath shallow and weak, and his legs wobbly. His mind kept racing through all the horrid possibilities of what might happen to them, to him¡­ But he couldn¡¯t stop, he couldn¡¯t falter. So Laczlo continued outside to meet Mikha and the others. The druzhina awaiting him, some old, some young, but all reportedly the most loyal. He hoped they truly were.

 The Age of Sorcery – Chapter Eleven

    They say that the Age of Sorcery is dead. They say the practice of harnessing Souls is confined to the hands of the few, that the Wonders of old are all fading Ruins. It is now the mundane, the material that must arise to replace what I consider sacred. The Age of Sorcery is dead, they say, and the Age of Iron and Man has risen in its place. But I am not so easily cowed. For over a day now, I¡¯ve shut myself inside a long-abandoned hovel on the outskirts of Levanska, a city along the way to Drazivaska, beyond the walls and amongst the fields only worked in the lukewarm summers. Most of the others chose to recuperate inside the relative safety of the walls. Only Feia stayed with me, as she was now, crouched like a wild thing in the corner, occasionally watching intently as I worked the weave of Sorcery over a tied and bound Shell. Instead of the ancient, fraying robe they¡¯d found me in, I now wore the garb of a wandering warrior. Wraps covered my lower legs, containing bunches of cloth that clung to each leg they called breeches, multiple layers of tunics necessary for the cold and harsh winds of the north, and an open front cloak that clasped at the top. Much of this was from the leftover gear from two men who died in Rotaalan, so that now I not only had their language but their clothing. And, of course, it was all too short for my long limbs, requiring modification.


    The journey from Kresimir¡¯s Folly to the outcropping city-state of Levanska was a tiring, cold one. We had sailed across the sea to land on the northern shore, then marched south, encountering little but remnants of roads; empty, stretching fields the others called the Duman Plains; tiny hamlets; and an occasional ancient Shell roaming the windswept tundra. They were crude but useful tools. Thus far, my cautious attempts at diagnosing the blockage in Sorcery through careful probing and analysis had been less conclusive than I¡¯d hoped for. Controlling the Dead, for instance, was more laborious than it ought to be by a fair margin¡ªmeaning vast armies of my creation were no longer an option unless I found some concentrated pool of Souls for my disposal. Like something in Drazivaska, for instance.


    Indeed, Emalia had spoken of the Ruin¡¯s potential for Artifacts but also the histories that might reside there, loosing light upon the fleeing, hazy facts of my people¡¯s fate. Though she knew little, she swore to help me find what could be recovered in the ruinous city, where folly had led to a necrotic disaster unprecedented in my times.


    ¡°It¡¯s a gut-speak,¡± Feia said as she idly worked away at a piece of wood with a small blade, ¡°the language of the mind. Don¡¯t listen, but feel the magic. It speaks through me, not I through it.¡±


    I squinted at the Shell. It was missing half its flesh, with more bone exposed than optimal. The energy of Souls was bound to its bones, yes, but when lacking its original structure, the imbued Soul would slowly leak energy, requiring higher upkeep. Still, it would have to do. ¡°The language of the mind? There is no such thing. All thoughts are born from the framework of spoken language as we understand it. That is why I was able to absorb the language of your dead companion.¡±


    ¡°His name was Sadoch, and he was a warrior of the band,¡± she said, pausing in her whittling. ¡°You¡¯d do well not to disrespect the dead who¡¯d given their lives for your resuscitation, Soul-speaker.¡±


    ¡°He was gone. There was nothing left in him. To make use of him is respect.¡±


    She cackled a laugh that spoke to her secret humor. ¡°You have a scavenger¡¯s mind. But perhaps his richly-flavored hate for the Vasians is well carried in your flourishing, Magistros.¡±


    I glared up from the Shell. ¡°Do not use titles with me. Those who should speak it are bones and dust and lost memories.¡±


    ¡°My apologies then.¡± She resumed her carving. ¡°Do not let me keep you from your experimentations. The gods watch on hungrily for a return, as do I.¡±


    A return, you say? I thought, shaking my head. This woman was a curious thing, speaking in odd riddles as if she knew all the answers but wouldn¡¯t speak them aloud. Regardless, she was right. I imagined whatever gods of my people remained watched on hungrily from their home of ruins for my delivery of justice. And it started here. With this lone Shell. Well, this Shell and the pile of dead I¡¯d dug from the earth, stacked carefully in the corner, with one subject adjacent to my undead specimen. I smiled. For all the dangers in committing what Feia amusingly assured me was a crime, the payoff could be immense. Besides, based on the information Nifont had provided me, it might also net another fortunate windfall.


    I dragged a fresh body over and aligned it alongside the Shell. True to form, the Shambler stopped writhing toward me and instead tried to bite at the body beside it. Trying to consume the flesh hosting heavier traces of Soul, are you? Well, I shall give you something more, Dead one. Raising my hands to the fallen heavens, I closed my eyes to see the world of Spirits. They flowed like water currents through the mundane, thicker as one rose higher towards the sky, where they would eventually coalesce in that distant realm I¡¯d tried so hard to pierce long ago. The Spirits were restless, writhing like their embodied companion upon my floor. What had done this to them? Why were they so¡­ desperate? Regardless, I allowed myself to become their temporary vessel, their waterwheel¡ªand through me, they flowed. But controlling the stream was far more difficult than it had any right to be, rushing through me like a white-water river, threatening to Corrupt. But I kept the Soul energy moving, directing it into the fresh corpse and, from it, to the Shell. Enriched with the vitality of the recently killed, the Shell strained against its bondage with a renewed vigor. But that was not the only change. Its muscles, once dilapidated strings allowing for only the smallest infusion of Soul energy, grew into bulky cables. Its bones thickened, the hollow deposits where marrow once sat now filled with the stuff of raw death, thick and heavy and dark, like shadow given solidity¡ªa mixture of black rot and sterile, gleaming skeletons. The Shell, slowly becoming more, let loose a deathly scream. It lacked the organs to make noise, but this was a voice of Sorcery, not biology. And to this, I smiled.


    Before me, renaissance. Before me, resurrection. Before me, possibility.


    With one final push of Sorcerous death, I filled the roaming, mindless dead as much as I dared, bending its bones, cracking and reforming its face, making its coagulated blood thump through its veins in a mockery of anatomy. Instead of vitality, Sorcery was circulated through its form. The bindings burst apart as it heaved and twisted to its feet. And rising, standing upright, my creation was a thing of wonder to a world without memory of beauty. It was taller than I by more than a hand, with skin pale and lifeless and sectioned up by dark veins, eyes an unnatural black; it looked like a mockery of my kind. As it should, for the process of its construction was designed by my people, centuries ago. It was the bane of the Vasians who had stolen me from my home, who¡¯d killed my sister, who¡¯d erased my people from history. It was the equivalent of a professional backbone to any levy-filled army.


    An innovation upon the Reapers, or what were now called Greyskins. It was a Soulborne.


    ¡°Rotaal¡¯s Fire,¡± Feia muttered. ¡°What is this Greyskin?¡±


    ¡°It is a Soulborne.¡± I stepped up to it, pushing my will into its mind, overwhelming its innate desire to snap out at me. Immediately, it stood straighter, head lowering like a beaten pup¡¯s. Understand your place, your purpose. You are a tool for my end, creature of Souls. I stared up at it, whispering, ¡°And I shall name you Protis. First-born of many.¡±


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    ¡°And what does this Soulborne reveal about the mysteries of Sorcery?¡±


    I blinked, cutting off the flow of mind-mapped instructions I was inscribing into my creation¡¯s slow mind. Right, the questions of Sorcery. ¡°Its form is maintaining, which indicates imbued objects do not suffer the same difficulties of Soul decay and instability we experience with Spells.¡± I closed my eyes, peering through the unseen layers. Indeed, the Soul bound to its bones seemed stable and secure. ¡°Which then suggests this difficulty is experienced primarily due to casting and the matter of controlling the active flow of Sorcery. Or, pulling it down from the heavens.¡±


    ¡°And what revelations does this uncovering uncover?¡±


    I gave the grinning witch a look of contemplation. ¡°It means the path forward is not through grand spells and spinnings of Soulfire, but through the Dead. And of necromancy, as you understand it, I will have to do it all the slow way. No pulling hordes of Dead from the soil as I once did.¡± I looked back at the Soulborne and into its empty, black eyes. ¡°No, I will have to craft each one of my weapons of war as I did this one.¡±


    ¡°Certainly a lengthier process,¡± she muttered. ¡°But it may offer a chance for preparation and reflection. The path before you, before us, will be long and treacherous, with the consequences nearing monumental. This much is clear.¡±


    I was silent for a long moment, the urge to question her odd declarations almost overpowering. Instead, I paused and considered. ¡°You believe we can help each other?¡±


    ¡°More than that, Daecinus Aspartes. The trail has emerged, open and promising.¡±


    After a heavy sigh, I turned from the Soulborne and leaned against the wall, instructing it telepathically to stand watch by the window. It did. ¡°Emalia has spoken some of the havoc wreaked by out-of-control Sorcerers in the history following my capture. Pethya¡¯s legacy will not be a single final scream of anger and the utter destruction levied by its one final survivor. I will do better¡­ Whatever path you believe is before us. But first, I must find the truth of what happened. And when it is done, only then will I attempt to administer justice.¡±


    ¡°Justice,¡± she repeated, words hollow as old bone, spoken with some intention beyond my insight. ¡°The sounds of this word are euphoric to the ears of the victims. I, too, wished for fire and blood to those who¡¯d crossed me, Daecinus Aspartes. I wished it with my heart and the heart of the gods.¡± That empty look disappeared, faded as a strange expression crossed her face¡ªit was one of exposed hesitance, of caution, of vulnerability. ¡°But when I had those men strung up on trees, cut open to bleed, begging for forgiveness, for mercy¡­ My Soul did not taste the salve it had been wishing for.¡±


    I observed her carefully. ¡°What happened to you?¡±


    ¡°A tale older than yours. A suffering ancient and undying as Sorcery itself.¡± She smiled at me, but it was cold and empty, a veneer if I¡¯d ever seen one. ¡°Yet, my justice was not enough. It was temporary, skin-deep.¡±


    I pushed from the wall and came closer to her. ¡°Are you telling me that my pursuit is one of folly? Because hear this, Feia, I yearn for this vengeance not for my own satisfaction, but for the lives of those lost. Of those dear to me.¡±


    ¡°As did I,¡± she said, unsettlingly calm and self-possessed. ¡°But more is yet to be done. And you must be ready for the path ahead if you are to take it. I will not join the half-hearted.¡±


    My response was cut off, for there was a knock at the door.


    ¡°Ah,¡± I said, striding away from the closest thing I had to a friend in this new world, eager to escape the moralizing, ¡°that would be Nifont.¡±


    And indeed it was. He stood in the doorway, breathing heavy, his dark, hooded eyes flicking up to me. ¡°Here.¡± He nodded back to a mule-drawn cart where a few of the other men were guarding, wary expressions on me, likely judging if it had all been worth it. Oskar had encouraged participation under Nifont, offering some meager pay for their efforts today, and they were likely regretting it, sweaty and haggard as they were. But in the covered cart were the sounds of the Dead. More Shells. More Soulborne. I felt a smile creep across my face. This isn¡¯t much, but it¡¯s a beginning. Every army must start from somewhere, and even if I lack the Sorcerers and resources as before, I will not be stopped so easily. My mind was racing. Yes, this was a slow beginning, but suppose I could find others amiable to my cause, others with training in Sorcery. Even Feia could be trained to assist, though she lacked the strength to control many Soulborne herself¡­


    ¡°So, Sorcerer,¡± one of the mercenaries to the side said, ¡°what are all these for? You raising Dead? Isn¡¯t that dangerous? Conspicuous?¡±


    One of the others elbowed him in the side, shutting him up. I thought his name was Waker, but I could¡¯ve been mistaken. ¡°We don¡¯t mean to pry, Daecinus. Apologies.¡±


    ¡°No, no,¡± I said, a calming hand out, ¡°while we met in unfortunate circumstances¡­ I am with you now, so you need not treat me as a threat to be avoided.¡± My words seemed to ease Waker¡¯s tensed shoulders, but the other men still looked at me with an ill-disguised guardedness. So it seems puppetting one of their own was not erased by our time together these last weeks. I see. ¡°I could make a corpse into a Shell, but it is far easier with the recently killed.¡± That didn¡¯t help anything. I decided to move on quickly. ¡°And it is also draining. So, utilizing the ¡®wild¡¯ Shells, as it were, allows me to focus my energy elsewhere. Would you like to see the product of your efforts?¡±


    There were a few shrugs, Waker nodded, and Nifont put a hand on a long knife at his hip. ¡°It under your control?¡±


    I frowned at him. ¡°Of course. And, if you prefer, call it Protis.¡±


    He grunted but didn¡¯t take his hand off his blade. So to that, I closed my eyes, testing the range on my mental commands. Through the walls, some ten paces away, there was no issue, and my Soulborne responded promptly. Its footsteps could be heard from outside as it stomped forward. It was inaccurate to call it a lumbering creature, for it was, in fact, quite dexterous. Before too long, I felt its presence over my shoulder.


    As one, the men outside took a step back, only Nifont didn¡¯t shift, just squinting up at it. ¡°What is this? A Greyskin?¡±


    ¡°Not quite,¡± I answered, turning to take in my creation. It was truly a monstrous thing, especially to those unprepared for it. Feia was close by, too, I realized, watching everyone¡¯s reactions with a smirk and a glint in her eye. ¡°It is more than a Greyskin, as you call them. It is smart, obeying vague instructions with reasonable logic, following the perceived intent of its creator. It is about as physically capable, but, as you can see, has some size advantages. It can also use weaponry when outfitted properly. We tried many formations and compositions with Soulborne. Indeed, we had high hopes for hoplites, though they lacked the cohesiveness necessary to form a proper shield wall. In the end, they work best as a sort of heavy, shock infantry armed with blades or bludgeons¡­¡± I trailed off, realizing they were staring. Right. A different time indeed. ¡°Ultimately, my goal is to reach a half dozen of them before we leave the city. By my current estimations, my capacity shouldn¡¯t be reached until I have two score of them. Though Drazivaska may have a Sorcerous object that could change this projection.¡±


    ¡°Do they eat?¡± Nifont asked.


    ¡°They eat Soul energy. Flesh has some, but the environment holds trace amounts that can typically suffice. Still, they do tax me. So an influx of Soul-dense material is certainly¡­ helpful.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡±


    Waker cleared his throat. ¡°Um, so you¡¯re saying we should let them eat people?¡±


    ¡°Just the ones we kill. Animals work too, though they are less efficient. But even other raised Dead would suffice.¡±


    ¡°Ah, huh.¡±


    Feia stepped past me, glaring at everyone. ¡°You lot are always afraid to bloody your blades, but when you see the chance at riskless violence you squirm and squeal? Rejoice, for you¡¯ve found yourself a potent broodfather of death to rid you of your enemies.¡±


    A broodfather of death? I thought with a half-smile. ¡°I can understand this is a great shift in thinking. To have fought the Dead for so long, unaccustomed to seeing them as tools, but as monsters to fight and fear¡­ But not anymore. You saved me from my imprisonment, put me on a path towards understanding and redemption. For this, I will repay your kindness with gifts of my own.¡± I bowed, which made Feia snort in disbelief, and more than one of the others try to stifle a gasp. They knew me as an ancient lord of sorts, one wrapped in mystery and magic, but to humble myself before them must appear odd indeed. I straightened with a smile. ¡°Now, Nifont, before you had left, you¡¯d mentioned something about inquisitors in town?¡±

 Zealot – Chapter Twelve

    ¡°Stop scowling, Sovina,¡± Emalia said, glancing sideways at her companion. ¡°It will be fine.¡±


    She scoffed, then pressed her lips into a thin line that meant she was trying hard not to be disagreeable. The gesture, while transparent, was nonetheless a kind one Emalia always appreciated. ¡°But,¡± Sovina said, ¡°something needs to be done. This area¡¯s crawling with Deus cultists.¡±


    And so far North, too. At least they are not the Ecumenical types. She tried to wipe away the forming frown. To believe one¡¯s god built gates into the afterlife and voluntarily let in petty mortals to join him? And starting with the barbaric hordes of Merkenia, at that? What weakness. What shallow strength! The more popular Sadovoe Nominationist Church was more agreeable, at least in the banishment of the unworthy. But these types were something else entirely. They were temporarily taking up residence in the independent city-state of Levanska. Well, independent in name, though everyone knew they were a Vasian vassal, allowed their freedom only to exert a Southern influence upon their neighbors. And, to the knowledge of only a select few, to keep an eye on Kosica and the Crown of Armagne.


    All that being said, a wandering band of self-proclaimed, so-called White Order volunteer Protectors, numbering somewhere around thirty, were lodged in Levanska¡¯s only Ekhenist temple. She and Sovina had been searching for information on routes through the Kosican Range when the shop owner had confessed his knowledge of the inquisitors¡¯ presence, warning them to be careful. It seemed the desolate North hadn¡¯t forgotten the might of Rotaal after all. After thanking him, they promptly finished their business and went to scout out this temple to validate his claims. In the end, he was right. Positioned at the opposite end of one of the many city squares, standing in the shadow of a narrow side street, she and Sovina studied the short, humble, walled temple complex.


    ¡°You think they will find Daecinus?¡± Emalia asked, nodding toward the church.


    ¡°It¡¯s their job. They hate Sorcerers almost as much as they hate the Dead.¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯s beyond the walls, as I advised.¡±


    ¡°Yet, he¡¯s digging up and stealing bodies,¡± Sovina said, shaking her head. ¡°There¡¯s been whispers of it already.¡±


    When she gave her guardian a questioning look, Sovina grinned and went on to explain, ¡°When you were haggling with the guide, I was outside doing what I do best.¡±


    ¡°Fussing over me?¡±


    ¡°Getting to the bottom of things.¡±


    ¡°Like an inquisitor?¡±


    She harumphed. ¡°Like a guardian of a Column Priest. These Protectors are poor imitations¡ªapparently, they barely even speak the local tongues.¡±


    ¡°Few benefit from the education we¡¯ve received. The typical commoner in Vasia knows less than two languages. An average of one and a half, I believe.¡±


    Sovina put a hand on her upper arm, pulling them further into the shadow of the narrow street. ¡°Look.¡± She glanced back to the square. The gates of the temple walls were open, and a number of the inquisitors were marching out. Emalia counted thirteen of them. They wore long white robes marked with a symbol of their kind, without much jewelry, adornment, or weaponry. Oddly enough, it made her wish for her old robes again instead of the tunic and cloak she wore to make her origin more subtle. Even in Vasia, some hated the Column and all those associated with it, let alone the more turbulent outskirts of civilization, such as Lavanska, with its petty king, roughly-hewn cobble walls, and sod roofs.


    ¡°They¡¯re going north,¡± Sovina said, squeezing her arm. Meant to draw her attention, of course. To emphasize a point was all.


    Emalia squinted at the inquisitors. Sure enough, they were taking a road towards the northern gate. ¡°We are not at the edge of the city. They have plenty of places to stop before exiting.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps. Or they are going to hunt our Sorcerer companion.¡± Her hand lowered, resting on her blade¡¯s pommel.


    ¡°We sent a warning out to Oskar. He likely told Nifont, who was doing something for Daecinus. He¡¯ll be ready, if that¡¯s the case, and leave.¡±


    ¡°You think he¡¯s one to flee to avoid contact with inquisitors?¡±


    A cold, sick feeling coursed through her. ¡°Well, they would send more if they wished to take him, wouldn¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t have the information we do, Em.¡±


    ¡°Right. Of course.¡± They don¡¯t know what he¡¯s capable of. They just hear of bodies disappearing and an abandoned home with a new, shut-in resident who may be the culprit. It was probably nothing. Probably. But after the last few weeks of travel, of speaking to the ancient, strange man, she¡¯d come to see him as something of an acquaintance. There were few people of an educated, curious mind out in this desolate wasteland. And, Raizak forgive her, each day it became harder to imagine cutting out his heart for her cause. But none of that changed the fact that he was extremely dangerous. ¡°We need to tail them. See if they¡¯re going towards Daecinus. If so, we get Oskar. He¡¯s at that tavern still, I would bet against most odds.¡±


    ¡°Then what?¡± Sovina asked, looking her in the eye. ¡°Are you fine with the consequences of violence? If an inquisition party disappears while hunting a Sorcerer¡­¡±


    ¡°I know. More may come in pursuit. But we can¡¯t let them take him. Besides, they¡¯re far from home¡ªany news that might travel back would be slow, if at all.¡± Emalia bit her lip, weighing the odds, glancing at the disappearing line of robe-clad cultists. They had clubs under their robes, she thought, eying them. Let Rotaal curse their backward Souls. ¡°And maybe we can stop them. We need to go now.¡±


    ¡°Very well.¡± Sovina pulled her own cloak tight over her mail, throwing up her hood. ¡°We stay unseen. If they spot us, we run for Oskar. I would test my blade against any one of them, but that number¡­¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Sovina let out a long sigh. ¡°Bloody necromancer. Why couldn¡¯t he just listen?¡±


    ¡­


    Oskar stared at the dice before him on the beaten old table. A two and a four. He blinked real slow-like, then squinted at them, right eye twitching a bit. He felt his mouth go dry and papery, like he¡¯d been leaving it hanging open for days now. He fumbled for his cup and drained the rye-based kvass inside. It was thin stuff, by all accounts, but he didn¡¯t need to get drunker¡ªno, a smart man knows when to just ease on at where he is. A smart man doesn¡¯t lose silver in fucking dice! he thought with a groan as he rubbed at his eyes.


    ¡°Is what it is, I¡¯m afraid,¡± the weasel fuck of a man across from him cackled in his dumb fucking eastern Kosican dialect, sounding like he was gargling sand. Oskar would¡¯ve run him through just then if he had his blade on him. But the city had its rules.


    The little crowd gathered around was going through a whole lot of reactions. Some were cackling themselves, slapping knees and sounding like dying horses. His men were shouting and booing his opponent. Some scoffs and harsh words exchanged. There were more than a few locals here, but they weren¡¯t the problem¡ªit was these dumb-as-stones laborers and their weasel friend, only in the city because there happened to be an expansion of the wall. Lucky vagrants.


    The weasel went to grab the dice. ¡°Sorry friend, but a game¡¯s a¡ª¡±


    Oskar¡¯s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist.


    ¡°Hey!¡± he whined, trying to wrench his arm away. ¡°You gotta problem with losing?¡±


    Oskar leaned in, twisting his face in preparation to speak¡ªa slightly monumental task, he was so angry. Through clenched teeth of a snarl, he hissed out, ¡°You cheated.¡±


    ¡°Cheated? You accusing me of cheating?¡±


    ¡°Exactly what I¡¯m doing. Dice are loaded.¡±


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    ¡°Fuck you, you old shit! I¡¯m no cheater! You just wanna slip away from your rightful obli¡­ obligations.¡±


    Oskar¡¯s face darkened; he squeezed the man¡¯s wrist harder. ¡°Give me your silver, cunt. You owe me!¡±


    ¡°Ah!¡± he cried out, grabbing at his wrist, trying to pry Oskar¡¯s fingers away. ¡°Stop it!¡±


    ¡°Let him go, you Vasian fuck,¡± someone said from the side, trying to writhe his way closer to help his thieving friend.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Oskar asked, turning to glare at the son of a whore. ¡°What¡¯d you say to me, you inbred barbarian sheep-lover?¡±


    ¡°Damn you!¡± He tried pushing closer, but Stanilo was there, blocking him like a giant before a child.


    ¡°Take it back,¡± Stanilo said, leaning down to squint in the other man¡¯s face. ¡°Apologize to my chief.¡±


    ¡°I, uh. I don¡¯t¡­¡±


    ¡°The Empire doesn¡¯t hear your regret. Speak up!¡±


    The weasel screamed and wrenched his wrist away, toppling backward in his chair. Oskar took the opening to point wildly to the cheater and holler out, ¡°See that? He¡¯s got hidden dice!¡± And then snatched up his silver and kicked the table over onto the bastard.


    His exclamation, however, had more than the desired effect.


    First, one of the laborers pointed back at him with a snarl. ¡°What the fuck you say?¡± And then the man was punched in the face so hard, so fast, that when he went down, he skidded and bounced off the wood floor. Others jumped forward, filling his place, already swinging. But Oskar¡¯s men had been in more than one scrap, so when the laborers came on the aggressive, his boys came together in a solid wall and met them. Oskar tottered to his feet, shaking his pounding head. Fights never did take the drunk out of him like they did some men. Rather, he had to squint to keep the world steady as he eyed the cheating fuck push the table off and stand.


    ¡°You piss poor fucking loser,¡± the weasel was saying. ¡°I¡¯ll rip your eyes¡ª¡±


    Oskar kicked out and caught him in a lower rib, wrenching a nice oomph and the feeling of something crack. ¡°Cheating prick!¡± he yelled, kicking the man again, this time in the face, sending him dozing in unconsciousness, blood splattering out a broken nose.


    Right before he could turn and assess the rapidly shifting, wobbly battlefield, something slammed into his hip and took him a few surprised steps to the side before crashing into a long bench. His left arm hurt something fierce, as did his ankle.


    ¡°Agh,¡± he groaned, blindly shoving out at whatever had hit him. ¡°Fucking Dead¡­¡±


    Pinned as he was, he couldn¡¯t get enough leverage to shove off the fat bastard squatting over him, raising a bunched-up fist that looked like a bundle of tightly-wrapped sausages. Oskar let out a snorting laugh as the fist came down and crashed into his forehead.


    Oskar shook his head and snarled out something nonsensical, then bucked up to get enough wiggle room to squirm his hips out from under the human anchor. Before the man could hit him again, Oskar grabbed him by the collar and wrenched him down, then slammed his bruised forehead into the fat bastard¡¯s chin. He heard the crack of teeth and felt a burst of sharp, cutting pain. But before Oskar do it again, someone kicked his attacker off him and extended a massive, looming hand to help. Stanilo, the beautiful bastard.


    Oskar grinned wide and took the hand, standing on trembling, half-dancing feet. Always got that way with adrenaline and a little drink. ¡°Wh¡ª¡± he tried, then coughed and spit to the side, ¡°shit, alright. What¡¯s the status?¡±


    ¡°Status?¡± Stanilo¡¯s brow went up. ¡°About over.¡±


    Oskar squinted around the dark room and found his men entangled with the laborers nearly all over. The swing of the fight had initially been in the laborers¡¯ favor with their numbers, but that had subsided quickly enough as more than half of them were rolling on the floor or hiding near the edge of the tavern¡¯s walls, nursing wounds. Stanilo was right. It was almost done.


    ¡°One second,¡± he muttered, then stumbled over to the weasel and shoved his squirming body over to expose his coin purse. ¡°For trying to cheat me, you sniveling ass.¡± He pulled it off and gave the bastard a kick to the stomach for good measure.


    ¡°Was that necessary?¡± Stanilo asked, giving him the lightest of frowns.


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°Alright, well¡ª¡±


    Whatever he was going to say was cut off as one of the mercenaries shouted a line no man wanted to hear in a casual brawl, ¡°Knife!¡±


    Oskar swung his head around and caught the shining piece of iron near the entrance. One of the laborers had a little dagger out and pointed at one of his men who¡¯d been getting the better of him just a second ago. The knifeman was hissing out all sorts of threats, waving it around like a bloody wand or something. Pulled it outta fear, most likely. Oskar looked at his eyes¡ªthey were angry, real angry. Might just use it. Shit.


    ¡°Back off, Miras!¡± Oskar shouted out, striding toward the two of them, Stanilo just behind.


    ¡°This whore¡¯s son pulled a bloody knife on me,¡± Miras said as if none of them had eyes.


    The man in question didn¡¯t like that much. ¡°Fuck you! I¡¯ll gut you!¡±


    ¡°Now, now!¡± Oskar was nearly halfway there. Still not close enough if it got bloody. ¡°Let¡¯s keep it civil, yeah? Just having a little fight, ya hear? No¡ª¡±


    The man pointed his knife at Oskar, jabbing it forward to emphasize his words. ¡°We didn¡¯t cheat. You was lying. Now you get what¡¯s coming, ya hear?¡±


    This gets fatal, the city¡¯s not gonna be pleased. Gonna point fingers, that¡¯s a certainty. Oskar frowned. Didn¡¯t take a genius to figure anyone in power might side with the laborers building shit for their city over some passing mercenaries. A fight was one thing, but a death was a whole other. Then again, what was he expected to do? His men sure wouldn¡¯t like a call to retreat.


    ¡°Keep that knife on me then, why don¡¯t you?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Sure can. Put it in ya, too!¡± The man took a step forward. The blade¡¯s point was bobbing up and down.


    Oskar scowled. ¡°Maybe you can get me, but think you can get him?¡± He jerked a thumb at Stanilo just over his shoulder, tall and wide. ¡°He eats the Dead¡¯s broken bones in his oats. Crushes them up with his hands. Yeah, that¡¯s what I thought. And you¡¯ve never seen him in a shield wall, now have you? Ever even seen one? Well, we know them, friend. Know blades bigger than that too. Now, why don¡¯t you run on outta here while the night¡¯s not quite over for you, eh?¡±


    The man¡¯s eyes flicked between them, doubt seeping in. But then one of the laborers stumbled over to his side and growled out something in a language Oskar didn¡¯t know. The meager reinforcements buffeted the knifeman¡¯s morale, and he stood a little taller. ¡°Fuck yous!¡±


    Oskar sighed. ¡°Shit.¡± He took a deep breath and raised his voice, ready to make a call to run for it, but an opening front door, purging the murky dimness of the alehouse with midday light, took the voice out of him, and all he managed was a squeaky, ¡°Eh?¡±


    In a quick rasping of steel on leather, Sovina had her Column¡¯s saber pressed up right against the knifeman¡¯s neck. ¡°Mine¡¯s longer than yours,¡± she said with a wicked grin.


    If Oskar could ever look past the robes of the Column, gods be damned, he figured he could marry her just then. The man froze, knife arm flat and shaky. Then he dropped the blade, and Oskar let out a deep sigh of relief. For once, he was thankful for religious city guards not wanting to offend the Column and letting Sovina walk around the city with her sword on.


    Emalia slid past them and met his eyes. ¡°Daecinus is in trouble. Maybe the others, too. I¡¯ll explain outside.¡±


    Now that¡¯s a good excuse to pack up and run. ¡°Alright then, men, let¡¯s get moving!¡± He came forward, trying not to stumble or totter too much, especially with the pairing of condescension from Sovina and impatience from Emalia. ¡°I¡¯m coming,¡± he muttered, waving at them.


    Somewhere in the back of his head, a small thought of paying for all the drink and damages rang out. And, more-so, the dangers of not doing so, with all the ruckus he¡¯d made. Being a mercenary didn¡¯t win you any friends¡ªmuch the opposite, in fact¡ªand any lawbreaking would rile the guards on him like greedy boyars to a weak tsar.


    Squeezing the coin purse in his fist, feeling the coins clink inside, he let out a long sigh and shouted, ¡°Innkeep, here!¡± He tossed over the weasel¡¯s coin purse and forced a grin toward his men. ¡°On me, you cheap fuckers. Let¡¯s get moving.¡±


    And that they did. And it was a good thing too, for how Emalia was waving them along, impatience and something akin to panic stretching her eyes wide. Must be bad, Oskar thought, tugging up his belt and hurrying outside, but he couldn¡¯t be in danger from a couple of unarmed fanatics, could he? Nevertheless, he kept up a good pace just behind Sovina and Emalia, the former with her hands always near her weapons as if the enemy might jump out at any second and attack. She reminded him of himself more than a few years ago: excitable, too dutiful for his own good, and the worse kind of na?ve¡ªwhere he thought he knew how the cards might fall when it came down to it. There was nothing more dangerous than that, sure enough.


    ¡°Gotta grab our weapons,¡± he said, nodding off toward the stables not too far away.


    With the others, Oskar approached the young stablehand who leaped to his feet, staring at them with fearful shields-wide eyes.


    ¡°Um, yes, sirs?¡± the boy asked. ¡°Would you like¡ª¡±


    ¡°Going in. Keep an eye on things while we¡¯re out?¡± He went to walk inside.


    ¡°Of course, sir. Of course!¡±


    ¡°Good boy.¡± He nodded to Stanilo. ¡°Give him a coin, ey?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± the big man asked.


    ¡°Yup.¡± Before he could protest back, Oskar had strode inside with a bit of a cocked smirk. It took less than a minute for everyone to grab their weapons and get moving again, not that the Column women were happy with the detour. Takes the impossible for that to happen, of course. As if they¡¯d read his mind, they took off in a jog back north. Oskar told one of his men to stay behind and bring the mule up after them to stow the likely-to-be-bloodied weapons on the way back in. Couldn¡¯t be too careful with such things, he knew better than most.


    After a minute of making good time on a less-seen side road north, he asked between huffs, ¡°They know about Daecinus?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know,¡± Sovina said, staring ahead, ¡°but we followed them out to the city gates. They¡¯re going for him.¡±


    ¡°Maybe they¡¯re goin¡¯ for a stroll.¡±


    Emalia glanced back to him. ¡°There is no reason for such a significant party to leave the city bearing north. It¡¯s him.¡±


    Their lack of gasping and exhaustion frustrated the Soul out of him, but he just nodded along and kept up. The drunk had worn off a good amount with all the activity, sure enough, and he was starting to feel pretty alright again. Or, at least, like he wouldn¡¯t vomit anymore. And that was something. They made it out the city gates before too long, earning more than a few looks and even a shout from a guard. One of the men yelled back something about having a women to visit, which got a round of laughs from the mercenaries.


    ¡°Got trouble with the Dead!¡± Oskar shouted to them. ¡°Gotta help! Sorry!¡±


    That seemed to work enough, though he knew the way back in would be a tad tricker, of course. To complicate things further, Sovina pointed to the snow-dusted dirt path splitting northwest toward Daecinus¡¯s abandoned home, grunting. There were tracks. A whole lot of them.

 Once-Lived – Chapter Thirteen

    I stood in the doorway of the abandoned house and looked out at the thirteen men gathered in a semicircle before me. They wore robes and grave expressions, multiple of them clutching at something within the folds of their clothing¡ªlikely bludgeons, by the look of it. One stood a pace before the others and held his shaved head high. Their leader, naturally. His eyes were bright blue and shone with a fervent certainty only found in the madly religious and desperate partisans. The wind came in off the western mountain range, high and looming, a brilliant white streaked with the grey of stone not too dissimilar from my own skin. Their robes flapped, carried by the breeze. My skin felt cold, frozen to the touch, dry as the brown dirt beneath my feet.


    The leader spoke in a foreign tongue, and I could only stare at him. He tried again, then squinted a scrutinizing look and tried in broken Vasian, ¡°What are you?¡±


    I crossed my arms and wore an empty smile. ¡°Why are you here? I have no quarrels with your god.¡±


    ¡°His name is Deus, nonbeliever.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve no quarrel with Deus, then.¡±


    ¡°You could not. He would never waste time upon quarreling with mortals,¡± he said, taking a small step forward. ¡°So I ask again, what are you? I can see you are no mundane man. Has your body and Soul been Corrupted by Sorcery?¡±


    More than you know. ¡°I know little of my affliction. It is why I hide out beyond the city, for others see me as a monster.¡±


    ¡°You say you know nothing of what you are?¡± he asked, brow raising. ¡°I find this hard to believe, considering the graverobbing that has been occurring. Fingers point toward this abandoned abode, towards a tall, strange man hiding there.¡±


    I paused, head cocked. Slowly, I went to grin at the pathetic creature before me. ¡°If I were something of a Sorcerer, do you believe threatening me would be a wise course of action?¡±


    His face darkened. ¡°The followers of Deus are not intimidated by the abomination of necromancy.¡±


    ¡°You should be. I hear it is especially dangerous to the ignorant.¡±


    ¡°If you force us, we will subdue you for questioning. Your compliance is for your own good. Deus¡¯s light reveals all secrets. Especially those of dark magics.¡±


    Why must they always force my hand? Demetria, forgive me, but there is no other way. I glared down at him, and with the flood of Sorcery in my blood, my eyes turned a deep, angry red. ¡°Subdue me then, Inquisitor. See what your provocation earns you.¡±


    To the zealot¡¯s credit, he moved quick. Far quicker than I expected, but still, few things are faster than a loosed bowstring. Whether it was to strike me down or pull me from the doorway, he floundered back suddenly, an arrow sinking into his chest with a wet thunk, loosed from behind me. He opened his mouth to scream, but the noise he produced was but a strained gurgle. And there is your grand threat. My gaze flicked over to the others, a few paces back, all in varying states of shock. The first one to recover from his surprise ran forward with a shout in some foreign tongue. I retreated, letting the door fall shut, though he barged through it a moment later, short bludgeon raised.


    And then his warrior¡¯s expression melted, all sense of zeal and dedication disintegrating as if touched by Soul Fire. For to his right flank, the looming figure of my Soulborne was ready. Protis grabbed the weapon arm with one hand and clutched the inquisitor¡¯s neck in the other, then ripped into his face with a jaw filled with teeth made to cruch bone. This, of course, was visible to the score of other zealots preparing to rush inside. Similarly, their feeble fervor waned as they wavered, staring with open mouths and wide eyes.


    Behind me, Feia cackled, coming forward to stand beside me. ¡°Now then, Daecinus Aspartes?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± I let her begin the Spell while I focused on the ring of blood left to soak in the ground in a semicircle outside. It lit in my awareness like a beacon fire to a lookout, burning with potential, the lingering energy of a faded Soul from the scavenged corpse providing just enough fuel for us to cast an otherwise risky spell. Risky for this faded, pathetic world, I thought with a half sneer.


    The inquisitors, however, deemed this their moment to strike, running forward with a desperation found only in final charges. Protis stood in the doorway, defending our casting as instructed, absorbing the blows of their clubs with a casual ease, battering aside any flimsy human bodies in his way with massive, powerful fists. Avoiding killing but using sufficient force to cripple.


    To the crash of cracking bones and despairing screams, I said, ¡°Call on it now, as we discussed. Slowly.¡±


    Feia grunted and pressed forward in the Spell. She was to call upon the power of lost Spirits to imbue the ring with a curse I¡¯d taught her. It was not meant for Sorcerous combat, but against the mundane and foolish, it would work just fine. As she went through her odd, but evidently necessary, gestures and tribal-like callings, I focused on Feia¡¯s channeling, turning a broad weapon into a precise instrument. It meant linking with her stream of Soul power and parsing the energy into numerous lines to feed the circle. Typically, such a casting would be a casual, mindless task, but with the surging, sporadic pulsing of power and my own lack of raw capacity for which I¡¯d once been known in Pethya, it took nearly all of my concentration. I could pay Protis no mind, relying on my creation to follow my instructions perfectly. Of course, if one did get through, Nifont was there behind us with his bow, ready to kill any intruders. Not that the possibility seemed likely, at this rate.


    Two tried to run, but they were caught by the mercenaries I had hiding behind the house, with thrown spears and axes quickly ending their doomed escape. The remainders saw this and doubled their efforts in fighting inside. Swinging and pushing and striking with snarls and shouted damnations.


    ¡°Aha!¡± Feia screamed, raising splayed fingers to the sky, her whole body shaking slightly. ¡°Feel my will! Obey me, servants of Hazek, hunted of Rotaal, the once-lived!¡±


    In a different time, you would be something else entirely, I thought, eyes flicking to her triumphant, glorious expression, her taught arms flexed and exposed from fallen sleeves. There were scarred cuts along her forearms, scattered, many, white and angry and vengeful. Circular, muddled pink scars wrapped around each wrist. From manacles, perhaps? She met my eyes and something flickered in her irises. Something of color. But I had no time to study them, for the Spell was to be cast.


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    All at once, I felt the eight remaining Souls desperately trying to push their forms past Protis begin to scream. And unlike Feia¡¯s emotional celebration of power, I held the Spell in silence, eyes narrowed and focused on the men who had come to take me away. And the spiteful, ignorant, vicious creatures who saw me as wrong. I watched their bodies as they twisted and bunched in on themselves, bent inwards like dying spiders, muscles pulling bones in every direction, dislocating, breaking. A sick, disturbing sight to some. But to me? A justice that only fed a fire in my heart. And as they died in agony, their Souls flooded me with raw potential.


    I gasped and about toppled over when Feia caught me, her wide, ivory-white grin in the corner of my dimmed vision. ¡°Too much,¡± I hissed out, the power nowhere near what it ought to be. ¡°Need to release. Now!¡±


    ¡°Nifont!¡± she screamed. ¡°The Shamblers! Get them arranged!¡±


    I turned my shaky stare up and found Protis at the doorway, facing out, shoulders hunched forward like a creature of the jungle, like a predator of the night. It turned to me, eyes black as the darkest cave.


    ¡°No,¡± I whispered. ¡°This was useless before. But increased entropy has changed things. I have use of it now. Of you.¡±


    Protis marched forward, boards squeaking under the weight and power.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Feia asked, trying to get me to look at her.


    But I was staring at my creation. At the beginning. Finally, I released the built-up flux of energy and pushed the power of the Souls into Protis, filling out its mind into something vaguely¡­ human.


    ¡­


    Nobody told Oskar that after a life of fighting and leading and drinking, he¡¯d one day struggle with maintaining a steady jog for more than fifteen minutes. By the time the last hill rise was underfoot, Oskar had to bend over and put his hands on his knees, a raspy wheeze squeaking out his throat like something was dying inside. One bloody horse. That¡¯s all I ask for. He righted himself, trying to push off his legs to help move forward, feeling mighty light in the head. Even an old mule would work.


    ¡°Keep moving!¡± Emalia shouted from the front, a good few dozen strides ahead.


    He waved her on, not quite as embarrassed to be beaten in a foot race by a priestess of all people as he was just plain tired. Different muscles for a fight, was all. Just a different kind of fitness. It wasn¡¯t because he was starting to get on in years. No, surely not. He cracked a grin and wheezed out a strangled chuckle. Didn¡¯t help that when he ran, his sword slapped against his leg and jostled the leather belt into his gut. Plus he was still a little drunk. Right, it was the drink making him dehydrated and foggy in the head. And, after all, what was the point of arriving at a fight tired and worn out? It was the smart thing to take it slower and keep your breath. He¡¯d seen enough young, eager warriors get themselves killed charging up a hill just to be exhausted by the time they reached an enemy¡¯s shield wall.


    As he pushed on, eventually making himself jog again, there was a distinct lack of sounds of violence. Not even any of the noises of magic or Feia¡¯s high-pitched cackling that usually came with such Sorcery. Pulling his hanging, heavy head up to squint at the ramshackle of a house Daecinus was squatting in, he found just about everyone gathered outside, standing about.


    ¡°What¡¯s all this?¡± he asked, approaching with a new energy to his step.


    No one responded for a moment, just staring at the ground, all quiet like. Eventually, Stanilo answered him. ¡°You have to see it for yourself.¡±


    That made Oskar frown, then scowl in preparation. Had to be something real gruesome to get his people that dark and out of sorts. When he got to the semicircle of onlookers, he looked at the ground and felt something a little cold crawl up the back of his spine. A couple bodies lay further out, bleeding from weapon wounds¡ªboth inquisitors, by the look of it¡ªbut that¡¯s not what had his people silent. Near the doorway, the rest of the Ekhenites, or whatever you called the Deus-fuckers, were arranged in crumpled poses of conflict, seemingly trying to get inside, but their skin was the color and texture of ash. Their robes hung from their thin bodies with little sign of damage.


    ¡°The fuck?¡± he muttered, about to step forward.


    Emalia¡¯s hand shot out, warding him back. Her eyes fell to the ground; he followed them, noticing the line of blood dribbled in the dry soil. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s still active¡­¡±


    ¡°It is not,¡± came a voice from the entrance, raspy and powerful, the sound and pronunciation of the words not quite right, kind of like when Daecinus was speaking through Sadoch¡¯s body. ¡°The Soul is gone. The spell is dead.¡±


    Oskar glanced up towards the doorway where the voice came from. But in the shadow of the house stood an undead thing that made Greyskins look small and weak. It was tall as the door and powerfully built with bulging, unnatural muscles straining against black-veined, corpse-pale skin. Its hands were curled into blood-covered fists that looked like they could dent shields. And its eyes, trained on them, were black marbles.


    ¡°Shield wall,¡± Oskar hissed out, finding himself sliding his blade from its scabbard. ¡°Shield wall right now!¡±


    His men reacted quickly¡ªthe Column women as well, to their credit¡ªand though many currently lacked shields, they were formed and ready. His mouth was dry as the earth beneath his feet. The Dead monstrosity stepped out of the doorway and turned to the side.


    Oskar was about to give another order when a shrill laugh filtered out from the house. It was a full, joyful cackle that could only belong to one person. His shoulders fell in relief as Emalia asked the creature, ¡°Are you a creation of Daecinus?¡±


    ¡°His name is Protis,¡± Feia said, emerging from the interior¡¯s shadow and grinning out at them. She patted the dead one¡¯s chest, which just about gave Oskar a heart attack. It seemed to ignore her, despite all odds. ¡°This blessing from Above and Below is something else, isn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°It,¡± corrected Daecinus, just behind her, one hand holding his head, another finding Feia¡¯s shoulder for support. ¡°Soulborne are not human. And though I gave this one a mind, it still lacks the identity you or I may claim for ourselves.¡±


    Oskar shook his head and fixed the two of them with a stare. ¡°Are Nifont and the others with you.¡±


    Instead of answering, Daecinus just hobbled out a few more steps, opening the doorway for the mercenaries inside to exit. Oskar counted them and found no casualties. He breathed a sigh of relief.


    Nifont gave him a nod. ¡°It was over fast. None escaped.¡±


    ¡°Gods above,¡± he muttered, running a hand through his thinning hair. ¡°Listen. Care as I might to stay here and learn about whatever the fuck all this is¡ª¡± he gestured to the so-called Soulborne and the ashen inquisitors ¡°¡ªwe gotta get our weapons and things leave this damn place.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Feia asked. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Why? Because we just slaughtered a dozen men in robes right outside the walls. If any more of them are in that city, they¡¯ll come with a whole legion of guards for our heads, I can tell you that. Or a mob of their believers. They have those here. So, what you¡¯re gonna do is clean up this mess and all signs of necromancy. Emalia, you find the path you were looking for?¡±


    She frowned. ¡°I was going to hire a guide to take us. But I have a map I¡¯ve procured as well.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯ll have to be enough. No chance of getting someone to lead us now, not with a Dead thing following us. Unless Daecinus doesn¡¯t mind getting rid of it?¡±


    He stared back, icy and hard. ¡°I mind a great deal.¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯re roughing it. But when we¡¯re done with Drazivaska, we¡¯re having a talk about Dead followers, you hear?¡±


    ¡°Understandable.¡±


    Oskar sighed and rubbed his aching temples. Why was everything so complicated? Correction, why is everything so fucking hard? ¡°Alright, now let¡¯s move!¡±

 Allure – Chapter Fourteen

    I held my hands behind my back as I bent over to observe the spiderwebbing black veins crawling across Protis¡¯s flesh. Nearby, my two other newly-forged Soulbornes waited in silence and perfect stillness in the cold mountain wind. Snow was just beginning to touch the ground where we had set up camp. And though I had my Dead gather firewood for two small fires, Oskar still paced about, grumbling about leaving the inn so soon. I could not help but feel a twinge of guilt at seeing those who had saved me from my confinement now preparing to camp in the bitter cold rather than the expected warmth of an inn. Still, I¡¯d needed the Souls from an abundant source to kickstart my army, and drawing the ire of extremists was the fastest way to do so. It¡¯s not murder. They sought me out. I simply proceeded without any excessive stealth, is all. It is not murder. She would understand. And it had worked. I had Protis, smarter and stronger than ever, as well as two more Soulborne I¡¯d taken the liberty to create shortly before departing.


    I turned my eyes up to Protis¡¯s dark black ones. ¡°Do you feel pain?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Its voice was hard and heavy, cumbersome in pronunciations, but certainly intelligible.


    ¡°Can you feel your Corruption?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    I nodded. This was in line with past experiments from what was now ages ago; it was good to see no alarming variation had occurred. ¡°Tell me, how many inquisitors were there at my door?¡±


    ¡°Thirteen.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Good. After two were killed trying to run, how many remained?¡±


    ¡°Eleven. Nine after arrows and my teeth.¡±


    This was good. Very good. So far, Protis had displayed a working knowledge of some truths of geometry, biology, and even a basic grasp of history¡ªa mix of my own knowledge and that of the inquisitors¡¯ harvested Souls. It could recognize behavioral cues and had an excellent memory. And, evidently, its arithmetic was functional as well. Never had such intellect been displayed by awakened Soulborne. Was it something to do with the method of its enlightenment or an environmental factor? Large human sacrifice was not a norm we practiced in Pethya, so it could be due to that alone.


    ¡°If you can save three people from a blade¡¯s stroke by killing one man, would you?¡± I asked after some time, observing its face keenly.


    It cocked its head. ¡°Orders?¡±


    ¡°None in this scenario.¡±


    ¡°Precedent.¡±


    ¡°There is none.¡±


    The thin stretch of lip barely hiding its sharp teeth twitched in something close to a frown. ¡°Impossible.¡±


    ¡°Imagine it is.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Protis grunted.


    Bound by a lack of theoretical reasoning or a binding to fulfilling its duty to me? I strummed my fingers across the back of my other hand and paced back to my small fire, separate from the others as long as I worked with the Dead. ¡°Proceed with your best guess of precedent then.¡±


    ¡°Waiting. Feasting on the dead three. Then the killer.¡±


    ¡°You would let him kill three people, then kill him? Why?¡±


    ¡°Human tires from killing. Easier to kill. So to protect.¡±


    ¡°Protect whom?¡± I asked.


    ¡°You.¡±


    ¡°Not yourself?¡±


    ¡°Killer threatens me,¡± it said. ¡°This threatens you.¡±


    ¡°I see. Thank you.¡± While it was not exactly the answer I expected, it was certainly not a disappointing line of reasoning. Its prioritization of my safety was a thought I certainly hoped would reveal itself eventually. ¡°In the future, Protis, I would advise not eating the dead without my permission. They can be useful for creating more Soulborne. Additionally, the preservation of innocent human lives is a worthwhile endeavor, and I would encourage you to pursue such an end should there be no strong downsides such as excessive risk.¡± When it did not reply, I glanced to it and asked, ¡°Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°Always.¡±


    ¡°Very well. Good.¡± After a moment and further consideration, I said, ¡°You are an impressive creature. I am proud to have you be the first I¡¯ve made in this new age.¡±


    Though it said nothing reply to this, this did not bother me. Dead had no concept of etiquette, especially when it came to compliments. ¡°Keep on guard with the others. Investigate any disturbances cautiously and report to me if a person comes close. We will leave at sunrise.¡± I went to return to the main fire.


    ¡°Mindless corpses?¡±


    I grinned despite myself. ¡°Try not to eliminate them, if possible. They could prove good fuel when whole.¡±


    Without a word, Protis turned and stalked into the night, the other two following right behind. No matter how much experience I had with managing the Dead, the near-humanity of Protis occasionally struck me as strange and uncanny. Still, I could only admire what intelligence I¡¯d created from nothing but errant Souls and corpses.


    As I stomped out my separate fire, the cold crawling over my skin hit me, and the desire to be wrapped up and comfortable beside one of the group¡¯s blazing flames enticed me beyond all else. I approached one of the two fires and found Emalia and Sovina there, staring down at an animal skin map together, shoulders touching, of course. Waker was talking to a few men who hadn¡¯t seen the fight, retelling the tale with clear embellishments and dramatic, wide gestures. Feia was nearby, fiddling with one of her pieces of jewelry, glaring any time Waker¡¯s swinging hands got too close to her. I paused outside the flickering ring of light, observing the scene. I must be cautious in my search for justice so that I do not ruin the good in this world, I thought, clearly and suddenly. Their faces, caught in the light, could not seem more human, more¡­ distant from myself. They each had lives, hopes, and dreams that I was a looming threat to. Feia had been right when she judged my need for justice as dangerous. I was not like them. I was a faded relic, a thing of a dead world, a monster in their eyes. I will try to be better, I promised myself. I will try.


    I swallowed and went to turn away when Waker called out, ¡°Daecinus, tell them! Your Soulborne knocked them all around like street urchins. It even ripped one¡¯s head off when he tried to charge them!¡±


    Their skeptical eyes rose to mine, as if seeking some truth to corroborate the fable-like story. I sighed and went forward, sitting nearby. ¡°Protis held the doorway with great effectiveness. But it was Waker and the others who prevented the inquisitors from fleeing.¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± he laughed, slapping one of the men on the back. ¡°Look at him! A diplomat.¡± I hid my wince at the word. He wouldn¡¯t understand, of course. ¡°But see? It was stronger than a Greyskin, smarter than any hound I¡¯ve seen. And now it''s gathering firewood with the two others?¡±


    ¡°Guarding the perimeter.¡±


    ¡°Hah! Guarding! Safe sleeping for us tonight, I wager.¡± He grinned and started eating a hard crust of bread as the others chatted optimistically about getting more rest from now on.


    I watched this scene and thought back to his fear of the Dead not a few hours earlier and how he¡¯d worried so about it feasting on man flesh. A small smile took to my lips. Some are convinced easier than others, I suppose. Or perhaps it is just the rush of battle and fighting alongside such a fear. Either way, I did not feel so inclined to flee the fire and return to the cold darkness where my dead stalked in watch of intruders. For this, I was thankful.


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    I turned to Emalia and Sovina. ¡°I heard you brought Oskar and the others to protect me from the inquisitors.¡±


    Emalia looked up from her map. ¡°Though you did not need it, it seems.¡±


    ¡°I was lucky in my timing when finishing Protis. It might not have worked out in such a fashion. You have my thanks.¡±


    ¡°You should be less conspicuous in the future,¡± Sovina said, narrowing her eyes at me.


    ¡°I will try.¡±


    ¡°Do. And don¡¯t let this happen again. We could have used a guide through these mountains.¡±


    ¡°The road will be visible,¡± Emalia said, patting her guardian¡¯s hand. ¡°We will make it. And besides, I have you to keep us safe.¡±


    ¡°I cannot keep us safe from the cold,¡± Sovina replied, frowning off.


    Emalia went to say something, then shut her mouth, her gaze lingering on Sovina. I met the priestess¡¯s eyes and offered a knowing smile. She blinked and returned to the map, something akin to panic gluing her eyes to the parchment. With the conversation finished, I looked at the fire and smiled. It was not too different from the campaign field here. It reminded me greatly of my times before violence-wrought peace, before I had a chance to lock myself away in the Grand Observatory.


    ¡°Daecinus Aspartes,¡± Feia said from across the fire. I looked up and found her observing me, that canny, knowing grin on her face. ¡°Walk with me.¡±


    I stood and stepped away from the fire, sad to depart so quickly, yet curious. The mercenaries were still caught up in conversation, talking of the journey ahead and what riches they would pull from Drazivaska¡¯s crumbling remains, so they hardly noticed our departure.


    I followed beside Feia as we strode north of camp. This close and under the emerging moonlight, I took the opportunity to observe her face in true. She had her necklaces and rings, all somewhat crude and likely handmade, adorning her. Her hair was typically held in a wrap of sorts that was likely a custom of her people, though now it was out and down, falling past her shoulders, longer than I expected. It was dark and rich and reminded me of the ocean at night. Meanwhile, my head would remain smooth, mainly a byproduct of my Sorcerous blood constantly charged with the taxations of Corrupting Souls. Sometimes, I was jealous of those who could grow hair, foolish as it sounded. A child¡¯s insecurity, perhaps¡ªand indeed, one I¡¯d held in my youth before I understood the significance of my biology. How fundamentally I was different.


    We stopped near a stream within a copse of trees, the grass underneath oddly lush and comforting, a meadow field across the water. I stood there, observing the scenery as Feia started a small fire; it was crackling after only a few minutes. She raised her sharp chin and regarded me with narrow, dark brown eyes down the ridge of her nose.


    ¡°I thought I saw your lifepath when we woke you, but I was wrong,¡± she said, holding my gaze.


    ¡°What did you see?¡±


    ¡°Ash and fire. Sorcery and Corruption. War and loss.¡±


    My jaw tightened. ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°But that is a shard of the whole. There is peace in you, joy in you. I am not blind to it now.¡±


    ¡°Would you like to hear about what was once that peaceful whole, Feia?¡± I asked. When she nodded, I sat, leaned back with my feet near the fire, and looked towards the night sky. It was alight in a beautiful, scattered array of stars and streams of colors barely visible, slashing through the black like a wake of light. A barrier between us and the world of Higher Souls, where the conscious drifted as the rest fell below. That objective of mine, so long ago, seemingly ignored by the Vasians since. Forgotten by all. All except me. ¡°I used to want to be a poet. A voice for the many voiceless of my land. This was before the war, before the need for Sorcery awoke my Spirit for knowledge. Before¡­ Well, I had always been fascinated by the potential of words. They could be spun into threats and treaties, surely, but they could do so much more than communicate the necessary practicalities¡ªthey could make a dreary world bright, a painful one enjoyable. This is their strength.¡±


    ¡°A poet?¡± She smirked, but it was not an unkind one. ¡°Could you not pursue both?¡±


    ¡°No. To be one of the holy few, to embrace the gift of language as I wished, I would need to turn my back on Sorcery. That was the way of our people.¡±


    Her confusion diminished, and her smile turned sad. ¡°You have a talent for Souls. To ignore it would be a terrible loss for humanity.¡±


    ¡°Then, many were talented. And I didn¡¯t know how powerful I was. In fact, I don¡¯t know if I ever would have learned if I hadn¡¯t¡­¡± Suddenly, I felt old. Old and weathered and tired. ¡°This was all long ago, you see.¡±


    ¡°Would it be uncouth to ask your age?¡± Before I could answer, she continued, ¡°Because I suspect your mind is wisened beyond your skin. Far beyond.¡±


    ¡°Time spent in Rotaalan aside, to tell you the truth, I don¡¯t quite remember. I am nearing my second century, however.¡±


    ¡°Second century?¡± She laughed and lied down beside me. ¡°You are a strange man.¡±


    I looked from the sky to her. Into her bark-brown irises, the color of nature. But a different color had touched them when she cast her spell¡ªthis I knew. Perhaps she had more than just a thread of power in her, and the lack of training had been the obstacle all along. As I thought these things, my mind kept going back to the image of her standing there, casting her incantations, arms raised like an oracle calling upon lightning from the gods; slender, strong arms exposed, the scars of a life¡¯s struggles painted across them. Suddenly, an image of my Demetria reared up from my distant memories, beaten, broken, and murdered, raised upon a stake next to dozens of others, many I knew, lined up on a lonely hill in southern Pethya. The stench of decay in the air, sweet and sickly. The calls of swooping gulls above. An envoy broken, rejected. I thought of her beautiful face, desecrated by abuse and decay. The hate that burned my blood hot. That I held in me when I raised armies and marched south with the others, hungry for vengeance.


    ¡°You¡¯ve lost much, Daecinus Asparts. I can read faces as well as any,¡± she whispered. ¡°But you are not alone in suffering. Nor are you alone in leaving it behind.¡±


    ¡°I cannot,¡± I replied after a moment. ¡°The poet is dead. I am what remains.¡±


    ¡°Oh, are you nothing but a husk? A creature of anger and hate and self-pity for your losses?¡±


    ¡°I would not like to think so. But perhaps I am.¡±


    ¡°Well, necromancer, perhaps you should weave your Sorcery and bring yourself back to life,¡± she said, inching close, eyes piercing mine. ¡°I would not have my flesh against a corpse.¡±


    ¡°Are you certain you want this?¡±


    ¡°I am certain of all I want.¡±


    She leaned into me, and I had to hold my breath to restrain the well of emotions battering against the fragile cage. They arose like waves off the shore, whitecapped and angry, a portend for a dreadful storm. I swallowed and looked away. ¡°I cannot make love to you, Feia. Lay with you, perhaps, but there was another my heart belongs to.¡±


    ¡°Will you look upon me, at least?¡± she asked. ¡°Or am I so hideous?¡±


    I turned back and took in her smirk mere inches from my face. ¡°You are far from hideous.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡± Her smile didn¡¯t waver, and oddly, I felt myself heartened by her jests.


    ¡°You are beautiful,¡± I said, finding my lip curl up as I stared into her eyes. ¡°You are jagged lightning, potent Sorcery spun and released, the violet iris in a field of clover. That which your being captures is unmistakable. All can feel it, but now? I most vividly of all.¡± Passion meets reflection, and I feel the call of loss again. ¡°You are sun upon ice. And though you think yourself cold, you are not. And that heat, that life, is what I fear.¡±


    ¡°So he has some wisdom yet. Even lions fear the lioness.¡± Her laugh was a giggle, almost unfit for the Feia I knew, but it was honest as anything. ¡°But I am no threat to you. I am a promise.¡±


    ¡°Of what?¡± I asked, almost breathless.


    She pressed me down upon the cold ground, the sounds of the stream beside us bubbling whispers. The druid¡¯s tongue. I closed my eyes as she slid her hands under my clothes, a sigh escaping my lips. Her fingers swept over my skin, her body pressing against mine. The chatter in my mind began to quiet as I focused on the contact, the pleasure. Finally, the dread and sorrow lifted away, and I felt something akin to peace.


    ¡­


    ¡°Well, that was unexpected,¡± Emalia said, looking up from the map after a pause in their study and out toward the direction the two magic-wielders had just disappeared.


    Sovina snorted. ¡°Hardly.¡±


    ¡°What? You disagree?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s had eyes for him the day he opened the Sorcery-locked door in Rotalaan.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Emalia said slowly, frowning and trying to remember such signs. They were both interested in magic and talked much about it, but beyond that? A slight instability, perhaps. An oddness? They both certainly were quite odd.


    ¡°Hopefully, his Corruption does not¡­ complicate things.¡±


    ¡°Did you not tell him you¡¯d keep this secret?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but from you?¡± she asked in return, brow raised. ¡°There is little held between us.¡±


    ¡°I suppose¡­¡±


    Sovina gave a small, disbelieving laugh. ¡°Do you think any promises I can make would ever outweigh my loyalty? We are bound by the Column, Emalia. My duty is to protect you, to aid you, and nothing else. Nothing. If you think this makes me a bad person¡ª¡±


    ¡°Of course not.¡± She sighed. ¡°I did not mean to put to question the sanctity of our bond or your oath. I am sorry.¡±


    ¡°Good. If you did, I might decide not to share the last of my bread with you.¡±


    ¡°You have bread still?¡±


    Sovina gave a small smile, revealing a loaf wrapped in waxy paper. She broke it over the fire, handing over the larger half. ¡°Got it in Levanska. I would have bought more if we stayed the night.¡±


    ¡°Alas.¡±


    ¡°Mh.¡± She grinned, eyes crinkling in good humor and nature in the firelight. ¡°Alas.¡±


    Over the low fire, they ate the last of the bread and watched the red charcoal flare and fade with the mountain breeze. When they finally laid down to rest, it took Emalia far too long to fall asleep, her thoughts a jumbled, chaotic swirl. Such unsettling sleep was nearly a nightly ritual since the events at Rotaalan and the visionary silence that ensued. But with Sovina¡¯s sly, warm grin running through her mind, it took longer than usual for her eyes to fall closed and the stars to vanish from the sky.

 Predators of the Mountain – Chapter Fifteen

I smiled in self-satisfaction. In something akin to admiration.


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 Goroden – Chapter Sixteen

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 Faded Luster over Dinner – Chapter Seventeen

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    landless druzhina, sworn from all backgrounds for personal service¡ªin his early thirties with a long scar across his face and much more scattered about. Yet, for his scars, he was still handsome. Enough so Laczlo felt a cold sliver of jealousy, feeling weak and feminine in contrast. ¡°Voivode,¡± he said, bowing. ¡°I am Commander Voiakh¡¯s champion, Ygon of Kymisa. The commander is expecting you.¡±

 Lost Peace – Chapter Eighteen

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 In the Shadows – Chapter Nineteen

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 Tool for Every Problem – Chapter Twenty

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 Crypt of the Mind – Chapter Twenty-One

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 The Frozen Dead – Chapter Twenty-Two

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 True Intentions - Chapter Twenty-Three

    ¡°Voivode,¡± something whispered, shattering the safe, quiet, painless black of sleep. Thrusting daggers of pain assaulted his skull, and his stomach turned in on itself. Ah, morning. Laczlo felt a pressure on his shoulder. Someone shook him.


    He cracked open an eye and found the world pleasantly dark rather than a horrid bright that scrambled the brain. Deus above, why did everything hurt?


    ¡°Egh?¡± he groaned out, rolling to his side and shifting, slowly, to a skewed sitting position. He swayed but something made him feel that it wasn¡¯t just a head-aching hangover that moved the world so. Widening the cracked eye, he made out a small, wooden room with a cot and a few pieces of furniture, including his strong box where the coin and valuables were kept. Laczlo stared at it, trying to figure out why his room in Goroden felt so much smaller and, well, shittier.


    Before him was the somewhat stout form of Mikha, his eyes and face sharp as ever, slightly too close for comfort. ¡°She¡¯s awake, Voivode.¡±


    ¡°Eh?¡± He rubbed his face, swaying all the while. ¡°Who¡¯s awake?¡±


    ¡°Silene Sevastiana, the spy from the West.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± He blinked, sitting up straight, the foggy, aching haze suddenly exposed to the harsh burn of realization. ¡°I¡¯m on the ship! By Deus, we made it out!¡±


    ¡°You told us to wake you when we were far from the shores, and she was awake.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Good. Right.¡± He squinted at Mikha. ¡°How long has it been?¡±


    ¡°The sun is halfway through the sky.¡±


    ¡°Oh. And the men¡ªdid they get enough rest and all that?¡±


    ¡°They are rested enough. The ship¡¯s in the sailors¡¯ hands now, so all is well.¡±


    Laczlo sat back, relieved. ¡°And did the voivode notice we left?¡± He put up a hand to stop Mikha. Some things were coming back, though it was slow goings and with a slight limp. He most certainly recalled all the wine he drank after meeting the spy. ¡°Jora Gorodenski will have heard regardless. But certainly not where we¡¯re going¡ªthat¡¯s our advantage here. Let¡¯s hope he¡¯s not too embroiled in this scheme that he¡¯ll give chase.¡±


    ¡°I would hope not, Voivode. Such a thing would be risky for him indeed.¡± Mikha motioned to the door, his expression¡ªthough shrouded in the shadows of shut and dark room¡ªwas patient with only a hint of frustration seeping through. A mask? Or was he simply used to Laczlo¡¯s embarrassments after all these years?


    I hope it is the latter. I think. Laczlo sighed and forced himself to stand. He wobbled, staggered, caught himself on the wall, and shook his head. ¡°My luck is a turbulent thing, isn¡¯t it? To think the spy is a runaway of the Rodezian nobility. Hah! My wife would be amused¡­¡± he trailed off, thoughts pulled towards home, settling something cold in his gut to join the sickness.


    ¡°Do you think she might know this niece of Lord Zanik Sevastiana?¡±


    ¡°Oh, likely so. Her father was Rodezia¡¯s lord of Haltus and Keltil. Not quite royalty, but close enough to the king¡¯s family. We should find safe harbor there should we need it. Are we close?¡±


    ¡°I cannot say. Come, Voivode, the men expect you.¡± He smiled, and Laczlo could tell it was an honest one. ¡°She¡¯s kept at the bow.¡±


    He pushed off the wall and stood straight with some effort. ¡°Water?¡±


    Mikha handed him a skin; Laczlo took it and sucked down half of it, then poured some into his hand and splashed his face, then drank some more till his mouth didn¡¯t taste so sour, wishing he hadn¡¯t continued to drink last night. ¡°Am I presentable?¡± he asked, drying himself off and running fingers through his hair, sorting it out as best he could. Some days, he wished for the long hair of his warrior ancestors so he might just leave it in a druzhina¡¯s braid, as those who lived east of the mountains still did. It¡¯d be far easier that way.


    ¡°You could use a bath, shave, and a change of clothes, but that would take some time. The only ports we will see until then will be for the night¡¯s stay. But I think a rougher appearance would suit you for now.¡±


    Laczlo felt his face and the pricks of whiskers. ¡°You think?¡±


    ¡°For now, and perhaps for things to come, a coarse look gesturing to a more seasoned, martial background could be of use.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Very well.¡± He went forward, trying to get used to the ship¡¯s movements, and patted Mikha on the shoulder. ¡°Your guidance, as always, is much appreciated, old friend. I could not do much of what is expected of me without you.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Voivode.¡± He bowed his head, and in the dark, Laczlo could not see much more than that.


    ¡°Alright then. Out we go.¡± Laczlo stretched and slapped his cheeks, then opened the door and left the small chamber.


    The first thing he noticed was the damn sun. It pricked his eyes like needles and nearly made him stumble back to safety, but Laczlo braced himself and pressed on, squinting and trying to act like a warrior. After the brightness faded, and actual shapes became more visible, he took in the deck of the ship. It was long and relatively wide, with chests that acted as benches for rowing along the sides of the deck not currently in use, a somewhat recessed center for storage and sleep, and small outcropping cabins at the bow and stern, though the stern¡¯s was bigger, where he¡¯d slept. Most of his men were scattered amongst the deck, lounging about as the sail pulled them along. They turned as he exited, giving nods and grunted, ¡°Voivodes,¡± from the closest few. The pack animals had been sold, servants and horses sent back to Nova with little explanation alongside a caravan of merchants. So now his party felt decidedly smaller. Now, it was just him, Mikha, and the druzhina. And the spy, of course.


    He felt the need to say something to all of them. A thanks, perhaps, or an explanation. But he couldn¡¯t work up the courage, so he just gave a nod and lowered his eyes, making his way forward. It was no easy thing with the coiled rope, hustling sailors, and shifting deck, but he managed to stay upright, thank Deus. The captain of the ship caught up to him and spoke of their journey so far and what lie ahead, but Laczlo could not pay much attention. Everything swayed, and his head still ached. The way the sun reflected off the waves didn¡¯t help. So he nodded and thanked the man to get rid of him, then kept forward till he reached the small, head-high cabin at the front. Isak was sitting outside it, playing dice with Oiir. They both went to stand, but Laczlo waved them down.


    ¡°Any issues?¡± he asked his two druzhina.


    ¡°None, Voivode,¡± Isak said. ¡°She¡¯s been quiet. No sightings of anyone following us either.¡±


    ¡°Good. And she¡¯s awake now?¡±


    ¡°She is. Tried to escape when we reached the ship. She had to be subdued. Has been difficult since then.¡±


    ¡°Ah. So she¡¯s calm now.¡±


    ¡°Calmer, Voivode, yes. Didn¡¯t want to wake you to a spitting, kicking spy, is all.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Why was she fighting? She seemed agreeable earlier.¡±


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    ¡°Spies hate being locked up,¡± Oiir grunted. ¡°It¡¯s in their nature. Makes ¡®em think of a cell where they belong.¡±


    Isak nodded and grunted in agreement. ¡°Maybe she thinks we are taking her back. I don¡¯t know. No one¡¯s spoken to her, keeping things tight and quiet, as sworn.¡±


    So she¡¯s been taken, kept in the dark, and forced onto a ship to be sailed north when all she wants is freedom. Of course she is frightened and combative. Laczlo nodded and thanked them, for they had done their duty as best men of the blade could upon his poor orders, then went inside, which took little more than pushing open a curtain and ducking in. Rather than a somewhat reasonable¡ªif not cramped¡ªbedroom with storage he¡¯d woken in, this was a suffocating, tiny room that served as further storage more than anything. And before him, she sat, hands and feet bound and tied to an iron handle on the side of a heavy chest. Beautiful, soft-faced, and filled with acidic vitriol.


    She scowled up at him. ¡°Do you always blunder your way into mistakes like this one?¡±


    ¡°You think my taking you away is a mistake?¡± All plans of sympathetic talk and understanding fled him, seeing her there, glaring at him like some insect. It was condescention. It was Kostuveski. It was Kapitalena. His father. ¡°Saving you from the assassins? Taking you away from clear danger? Is all of this a mistake?¡±


    ¡°The voivode knows of your treachery.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. Maybe not.¡±


    She lifted her chin, and though it challenged his pride, he had to admit she wore the mantle of nobility well. ¡°He was having you watched. You think he missed all your druzhina sneaking out and boarding a ship? Your servants leaving for Nova at night?¡±


    ¡°Say he notices, what then?¡± Laczlo asked with more annoyance in his voice than he intended. ¡°How does that help you? All of this is necessary, so why fight us?¡±


    ¡°The entire reason I am here is to avoid having my name and station brought into the light and scrutinized! Is it so difficult to believe I just wished to disappear?¡±


    ¡°Run from your family all you wish, but responsibility will find you no matter where you go.¡±


    ¡°Speaking from your lived experience, are you?¡±


    He leaned forward and scowled in Silene¡¯s face. ¡°Be angry at me, but don¡¯t give my men trouble. They saved your life and are continuing to save it by taking you with me. While I don¡¯t have plans on handing you over to your family, who I am sure would be much appreciative to have you back, I can change my mind at any time.¡±


    She glared back at him for a long moment, then a slow smile crept over her face, as if she knew a secret he didn¡¯t. ¡°You really do try, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°To be a voivode. To hold it all together. But in you I see the same fear in me.¡±


    ¡°You know nothing about me.¡±


    ¡°I know that your wife is far more of a voivode than you. She¡¯s the one who saved you from your own uncle, wasn¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t speak of her,¡± he growled.


    ¡°Men and their pride.¡± She scoffed and looked away. ¡°I thank you for saving my life, but it was because of you and your friend Kostuveski that I was to be killed and everything I¡¯d been working towards soiled.¡±


    ¡°What were you working towards as a whore far from home?¡±


    ¡°Now you want my story?¡±


    Through clenched teeth, he forced himself to be reasonable and acknowledge her position. Though it was not easy. ¡°I know this all must seem threatening and sudden. But I have no intention to harm you. I bear a significant responsibility and you seem to be an important piece of it. And though it may not make sense, bringing you with us may be the best way to ensure your safety. Your enemies¡ªmy enemies¡ªmay be more numerous and far stronger than you once thought.¡±


    She paused, meeting his eyes, then lounged back on the chest she was bound to and sighed. ¡°I suppose not much is gained from the frustration of my kidnappers, especially if they were also my rescuers, in an inadvertent fashion. I could have had worse fortune¡ªI accept this.¡± Silene wiggled her hands, causing the ropes to jingle the metal handle of the chest. ¡°But first, would you loose me? I am not going anywhere; you can be sure of that.¡±


    Laczlo did not have a blade on him, so he nodded and ducked outside. Everyone was as he¡¯d left them. Upon emerging, he received somewhat wry grins, as if they were empathetic toward the annoyances he was currently dealing with. After all, they were the ones who¡¯d hauled her on board, while Laczlo, had boarded, drank more, and fallen asleep about as soon as was possible. Thinking back to it, he felt a bloom of shame stir in his chest, and his cheeks went red. He took Isak¡¯s knife and went back inside, where it was dark and no one could see his blush. He cut the rope and squatted on his heels, watching Silene stretch and make herself comfortable.


    ¡°I ran away from home in spectacular fashion four years ago,¡± she said, relaxing back. ¡°It was under an excuse for helping the family, but truly, I just wished to escape a particularly cruel match.¡±


    ¡°What match?¡±


    ¡°One your wife so happened to escape, in fact. The Great King¡¯s second eldest¡ªa demented bastard of a boy. Now a man, I suppose. Karnys Vestile¡ªyou¡¯ve no doubt heard of him?¡±


    Laczlo nodded, recalling Kapitalena¡¯s distasteful stories of the arrogant and cruel Karnys. ¡°She told me about him. Even her father was so hesitant to make the arrangement that he was willing to send her to Vasia instead. A far greater political risk with less sure results, to be certain.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Lucky her. Well, in her place, I was to be betrothed. My uncle was set on the match for it would grant us closer ties to the royal family, though why that would be something one would deliberately seek, I do not know.¡± She scoffed, running fingers through her hair, tugging out knots. Perhaps a nervous tick due to the story¡¯s subject matter. ¡°So I fled. But I was not a poor enough daughter to ignore the needs of my family, so I made it my intention, however na?ve, to try and gather information for our house. But as it turns out, such things are more difficult when separated from your near-endless resources and in a foreign land as a young woman with no connections. I quickly found myself with little money and gaining suspicion. But see, Voivode, a woman has certain advantages at her employ, even in a world of men. And I have always been pragmatic.¡±


    ¡°You courted Voivode Gorodenski.¡±


    ¡°First the druzhina around him and eventually the man himself. He is highly dissatisfied with his station and wife, so it was quite easy, especially when he learned of my Western heritage. He finds the ways of Rodezia mystifying and alluring. Odd, considering his proximity to the border.¡±


    Laczlo leaned forward. ¡°And what did you gain from all this?¡±


    ¡°Well, many secrets of this recent plot with grand bribery, of which you are currently benefiting significantly. But other things of lesser note you need not concern yourself with.¡± She smiled wide. ¡°But one such thing is that Jora Gorodenski has his eyes set on Voiakh. He wishes to be Commander of the West himself. And he may just attain it, depending on where this scheme with the coalition-building leads.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Laczlo ran a hand over his face. This was all turning out to be far bigger than he expected. ¡°So this doesn¡¯t have much to do with the Church of Deus after all, does it?¡±


    Silene snorted. ¡°Is the Crown of Armagne known for piety to this faith? The Olverin family? I think the appeal to faith is a cover. Your people¡¯s Column has always been very opposed to new faiths, so it was likely chosen to blur true intentions.¡±


    ¡°Which are?¡± he asked, feeling like he was drowning.


    ¡°Oh Laczlo, for a voivode, you really don¡¯t have the mind for schemes, do you?¡± The woman smiled sweetly though her eyes were not in it. Not quite belittling anymore, but certainly amused at his expense. ¡°The Olverins are a front. This is too much coin for any one family, no matter how rich from trade. Whoever¡¯s behind this seeks to take power in Nova. This is a civil war in the making.¡±


    He grunted, feeling as if the air had just been punched out of him. He went to press her further, but a warning shout from outside made him jump in fright. Oh no. Deus, please, don¡¯t let it be what I fear it is. Laczlo scrambled outside, hoping the words he heard were twisted by the wind, and he heard something else by mistake. But as the sharp rays of sun cut into his vision, and the deck was alive with quick-acting men, he felt his stomach drop even further.


    ¡°Voivode!¡± Isak shouted, leaping over a bundle of oars being hauled out. ¡°We¡¯re being pursued. Look.¡± He pointed behind them, and true enough, far past their wake was a smudge of a ship in the distance.


    ¡°How do you know?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve oars out. No reason to unless they need to overtake us. These ships don¡¯t row well, so either it¡¯s desperate, or it¡¯s a galley. And if it¡¯s the latter¡­¡±


    Then it¡¯s a war vessel. Laczlo squinted, leaning forward. With the sun shining off the waves, turning everything distant into a hazy blur, he could barely make out the ship, let alone any oars. But after a moment, he saw them dipping in and out of the water like minuscule legs. ¡°Deus protects us,¡± he muttered, pushing back from the railing. Their sail was red, but that meant little, for few Vasian ships had plain white sails. Though he wished to believe otherwise, some piece of him knew who the vessel belonged to.


    ¡°Think it¡¯s Gorodenski?¡± Isak asked, echoing his own fears.


    ¡°If he knows we¡¯ve taken his¡­ well, taken Silene, then he¡¯d suspect she knew more than she was letting on, and thus, so do we. He¡¯s brash and self-centered, but he¡¯s also perceptive. He¡¯ll have figured out my story of visiting was a lie, that I was investigating more private matters here. And with us running, he¡¯ll know we found something.¡± Laczlo rubbed his face, the sense of defeat at having to fight another war of intrigue rolling over him like the unstoppable tide. ¡°He¡¯ll need to stop us. And maybe hired pirates are his means.¡±


    ¡°Pirates, hm? Well, they¡¯ve a mean surprise for them when they find a ship of druzhina.¡±


    ¡°I doubt they¡¯d intend to board.¡± Once more, Laczlo attempted to peer the distance and make out their pursuers. Indeed, it was too far to see, but he knew it in his gut. ¡°They¡¯ll burn us out of the water if given the chance.¡±

 Sea Serpents – Chapter Twenty-Four

    Laczlo stood upon the well-built structure serving as his quarters at the stern, called a castle. He had his cloak bundled around him tightly, though it and the robes that fell to his ankles were still whipped about in the brisk winds of the west Kastalec. The sun was hidden behind grey clouds, and the brisk Spring was further soured with a drab chill.


    He turned to his side and looked at Mikha, the only other at the stern castle. ¡°I think there¡¯s a storm coming.¡±


    ¡°My bones would concur.¡±


    Laczlo nodded, then went back to peering at the ship in their distant pursuit. It¡¯d been an hour since he¡¯d been alerted to the vessel, and though they began rowing¡ªhis men joining in the captain''s fast cadence¡ªthey¡¯d only lost ground. Their pursuer was a ship made for such business, whereas his was a merchant vessel: broader with fewer oars but also quite heavier and fuller. He imagined the sleek ship chasing them now was filled with mariners experienced in both ship handling and battle. Maybe we should have purchased another ship¡¯s services, he thought. But they had also needed to leave quickly, and so that would have taken time. Laczlo rubbed his face and tired eyes, then peered out again, only to be disappointed when the ship was still there.


    ¡°I think I should arm myself,¡± he muttered with no small amount of resignation.


    ¡°Voivode?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll catch us. I know it. And if we don¡¯t want to get burned out of the sea, we¡¯ll need to engage with them.¡± He looked over his shoulder at the rowers where most of his druzhina were hard at work on the oars. Not far away was the captain overseeing the navigator and a handful of men tending to the sail¡¯s ropes. Laczlo took a deep breath and put his hands on his hips. ¡°Captain, how do you say we proceed?¡±


    The man combed his fingers through his thin hair, frowning at the ship behind them, then the distant coastline at their flank. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t risk harboring in Rodezian territory, even if there was a proper town anywhere near here.¡± He glanced to the druzhina, then back to Laczlo. ¡°And if these bastards are set on killing a voivode¡­ I don¡¯t figure trying to stop is a good idea anyway. Erm, Voivode, if it were to me¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a shipmaster; give me your honest thoughts.¡±


    He nodded, though still hesitant, as he said, ¡°We take ourselves close to shore just in case they sink us. But I¡¯d be a foolish man to think we can outrun the sea snakes in pursuit.¡±


    ¡°Sea snakes?¡±


    ¡°Serpents, Voivode. Raiders.¡± He put his hands on his hips and spat over the side of the deck. ¡°A ship like that can chase down the wind.¡±


    Laczlo nodded. ¡°What if we try and board them? They won¡¯t risk burning us if we¡¯re close. Think you can manage that?¡±


    The captain¡¯s face paled as he looked at his ship, likely thinking about the horror of damaging such an important thing. And then he saw the turned heads of a few druzhina eying him with hard stares. Laczlo silently thanked them for that, wondering how any of them were on his side of things after the mess of the last few days.


    ¡°Some sea raiders?¡± Isak asked with an audible grin near the bow of the ship. ¡°They don¡¯t know proper Vilsi steel, them.¡± He earned a round of chuckles and agreements from the other druzhina. Even a few calls for Voiya. The Last Battle.


    For whatever reason, Goroden bought me some favor. If I want the others¡¯ loyalty, I need Isak¡¯s. With a self-deprecating smile, he said to the captain, ¡°I would recompensate you for damages, of course. But if they catch us on their terms¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, Voivode, you are right.¡± The captain scowled at the sail for a long moment, then nodded himself. ¡°They are fast, but their ship¡¯s not meant for quick turns, nor collisions. We¡¯ve got a fair chance if we meet them.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s your ship, Captain.¡±


    ¡°Then I would advise we turn and make to intercept.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s what we¡¯ll do.¡± The weight of impending, unavoidable violence settled upon him; his gut tightened and crawled into his throat, making him feel dizzy and sick. Everything swayed just too much, and though he was not inclined towards seasickness, the vessel''s motion made him want to bend over the ship¡¯s rail and empty his stomach.


    ¡°Voivode?¡± Mikha asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m okay.¡± He climbed down the stairs and paused before the door, turning to his men at the oars. ¡°Let the others take over. Arm yourselves.¡±


    His order was met with a round of grunted acknowledgments. There was excitement in the air, and it took no reminding to recall that these were all warriors at heart. Unlike he, they were not men of ruling and diplomacy first but dispatchers of death. He imagined that after this journey, some of them might be replaced by younger men as they went to their holdings to pay their labor services in the form of goods and silver rather than as armsmen to him. He hoped Isak would stay, at the very least, but journeys such as this would earn any proven man a chance to retire from personal service if he wished.


    Why am I thinking of such things right now? He shuffled into his room, shaking his head. There¡¯s death to come. Imminent violence. The madness of battle again. Laczlo sat on his bed and squeezed his eyes shut, the memories of war surfacing once more. But he didn¡¯t have to fight in that one¡ªwell, not so much, at least¡ªand yet, the scent of rended human flesh and guts never left him, nor the sounds of roars and screams and scraping steel. That paralyzing fear overwhelming any sense of authority he had as he watched it unfold. His druzhina and other boyars had to take command, then, and it was with no small amount of shame that he let them. And so it was not even under his own control that they won that day. His wife played more a role in it than he, managing the subsequent talks and various matters of mitigating diplomacy.


    ¡°Voivode Vilsky,¡± Mikha said, shutting the door behind him as he entered the room, looking at him with those attentive, uncompromising eyes. ¡°Would you like assistance with your armor?¡±


    He took a deep breath and stood. ¡°Please.¡±


    First, Laczlo disrobed, putting his fine cloak and robe away to be replaced with a long tunic of linen, then a thick wool gambeson secured tight with sewn tyings. Over that, Mikha helped him into a long mail hauberk, and Laczlo had to hop to get it to fall over his body. It was snug¡ªmore than he remembered, he had to admit¡ªand it felt heavy and foreign upon him, even with a small belt holding some of its weight upon his hips. And finally, a lamellar coat that hung heavy on his shoulders and covered his chest and stomach with overlapping strips of steel was tied down by his sword belt. He adjusted the layers of armor, pumping his arms to adjust to the added heft.


    ¡°I fear if I fall overboard, I¡¯ll sink,¡± he muttered, tilting as the ship turned, shouts of the captain outside echoing in.


    ¡°Don¡¯t fall then.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I shouldn¡¯t bother with all this. If the ship is caught by firebrands¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be hunted by them anyways, Voivode. A Kosican¡¯s bowshot from the beach won¡¯t save you from these hired blades, I¡¯m afraid.¡± Mikha placed his helmet on his head, securing it with a leather strap. It was conical with eye and nose protection and had a mail aventail that shrouded his neck and shoulders like a mantel. ¡°We live if we fight. Everyone on board knows it. They need to see their voivode believe in our victory as well.¡±


    ¡°And he can¡¯t hide away in his cabin to do so, I assume?¡± Laczlo asked with a forced smile. ¡°You¡¯re right, of course.¡±


    ¡°You need not engage in the first clash of shields.¡±


    He took out a handaxe from his chest and tucked it in his sword belt on the opposite side of his scabbard. ¡°I¡¯d feel much more comfortable on land, Mikha. On my horse with a bow or lance.¡±


    ¡°You are not alone in that sentiment.¡±


    ¡°No, I imagine not.¡± He retrieved his recurved bow, stowed in an oiled skin under a layer of white linen, and strung it. It was a weapon made for horseback on a wide open plain, but it would do during the approach. ¡°Any crew who do not wish to fight can hide here, but they should be ready should we fall. Bring Silene too.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Voivode.¡± Mikha bowed, not even the slightest shred of fear or worry upon his stoic face. ¡°You will make your parents proud, Voivode. Your ancestors smile upon you now.¡±


    His throat went tight, so he just nodded, grabbed a quiver of arrows and his hunting spear meant for riding, as well as his shield, then ducked out of the cabin. The deck was alive with activity. The sail was stowed as oars dug into the water with determined ferocity, their pace set fast and steady by the captain¡¯s booming commands. His druzhina were almost all armored, now. They had hauberks of riveted mail, oiled and well-kept, and some of them¡ªincluding Isak¡ªan extra layer of lamellar armor like Laczlo, but all with steel helmets. They all had swords in belts at their sides with axes, hammers, or maces as well. A few had bows of their own, while some sported a set of light javelins. And, of course, each man had a round shield either propped up close to grab or tied around his back. They were, in short, a comforting sight to see as his throat was dry and palms sweaty at even the thought of upcoming violence.


    Isak approached, holding a recurved rider¡¯s bow with a comfortable familiarity. ¡°Voivode, we can take the boarding. Don¡¯t endanger yourself in the fighting.¡±


    Capture would force an immediate surrender, he thought, ashamed that Isak, the leader of his druzhina, clearly thought him more a hindrance than anything. For some reason, he then felt that tightness in his throat turn sour, and his clammy hands squeezed his bow and sword hilt in frustrated anger. ¡°They are traitors to the empire, to Vadoyeski dynasty. I will see their Souls offered to Deus so that He might turn them away from a peaceful afterlife.¡±


    ¡°Very well, Voivode,¡± Isak replied hesitantly. Slowly, his expression turned predatory, and his frown shifted into a wolf-like smile. ¡°Let them know the wrath of your god. I shall watch your arrows fly and blade strike true.¡±


    The next minutes passed in a hazy fashion. The air was burning with warriors¡¯ excitement that made Laczlo¡¯s face burn with a thumping pulse of hot blood. He fingered his arrows and bowstring, constantly checked his sword¡¯s set in its scabbard, and adjusted the fit of his armor. All the while, their ship cut the sea towards the enemy. Their pursuers were trying to turn, seemingly taken aback by the change in events, but their heart was not in the maneuver, for they soon stopped, then continued rowing towards Laczlo¡¯s own merchant ship. The druzhina laughed as they adjusted course, their voices booming over the waves with strong confidence. Laczlo smiled shakily, then licked his lips and eyed the captain. For a man of trade, the captain showed little fear as he scowled at the ship before them all.


    He¡¯s seen violence on the sea before, this one, perhaps in serving the empire in battle. Laczlo nodded to himself. This was a blessed thing, certainly. He sent a prayer to Deus for his good fortune.


    Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Silene hurrying past, guided by Mikha to the safety of the rear castle. She caught his gaze. Does she see my fear? My anticipation? The bluffing bloodlust? He could not tell, but the spy did smile, and he felt buffeted by the expression.


    ¡°They¡¯ve your firebrands, Voivode,¡± Isak growled from beside him, and Laczlo turned to notice the dots of flame aboard the enemy ship. There were two score men aboard or so, but not all of them in mail. It was still too far to note all details, but Laczlo knew it was time to loose arrows.


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    With his spear and shield beside him, he drew an arrow and knocked it, squinted to judge the distance once more, and then prepared to draw.


    ¡°A moment longer,¡± Isak muttered.


    Laczlo waited, staring ahead, till Isak nodded and knocked his own arrow. And so, in one quick motion, they loosed their arrows from horse bows and watched them sail through the sky like diving birds. His fell a few paces short of the deck as Isak¡¯s sunk into the mast of the enemy¡¯s ship.


    The druzhina grinned. ¡°Now they can¡¯t sail away when we beat them.¡±


    Three more arrows came from Laczlo¡¯s ship, all close to the crew, but none hitting their marks. They did succeed in getting some of the men to seize shields, which led to some stuttering in their rowing rhythm.


    ¡°Good!¡± the captain barked. ¡°Got the fear of death in them. Keep it up, and they¡¯ll float right into us!¡±


    Laczlo laughed despite his own tight chest and foggy head. The rowers of his ship began stowing the oars as the druzhina released another volley. He was slow to follow, not as practiced as they, but this time, he hit somewhere amongst their deck. It was hard to tell if the arrow struck anyone, but he did not slow to look, drawing and loosing a third arrow along with the others. A scream echoed out over the waves with their volley as at least one arrow struck true. Laczlo hoped it was his. Now, the others with javelins were shrugging their shoulders and getting ready to throw, for the oars were stored, and they were close now. Very close.


    ¡°Give us your voivode and the woman!¡± someone screamed out from the sleek marauding ship. ¡°Give us them, and the rest may live!¡±


    Laczlo paused, eyes flicking to the others, but no one seemed to show much hesitation, continuing to pepper the enemy with missiles. The younger Afonas hurled a javelin straight through a man¡¯s mail shirt and sunk him over the ship¡¯s side. Afonas screamed out in celebration, damning their Souls and wishing Svakas to turn their cowards¡¯ fire upon their own ship. Indeed, it seemed hopes of burning Laczlo¡¯s ship were vanquished, for with the wind and rapidly closing proximity, the sea serpents had weapons in hand, and their ship was angling to skid their own flank.


    ¡°Voivode!¡±


    He turned to see Mikha there, clutching to the stairs¡¯ railing, a free hand extended. ¡°Your bow!¡±


    Laczlo eyed the other ship and gave his servant the bow and quiver of arrows. Mikha dove back inside the cabin as a small axe cracked into the deck, bouncing off and into the sea. Laczlo raised his shield and faced the other ship, now only a few strides away.


    ¡°Back now!¡± his captain ordered to the crew. ¡°Let the warriors do their work!¡± They all had weapons of their own but lacked armor and clearly any professional training. And so, it was ten druzhina, clad in the best armor within reach of the great Kastalec sea, trained and weathered by war, facing a far larger enemy. A fair fight, by many accounts. Still, Laczlo shook with fear.


    ¡°If they board, let them come!¡± Isak growled out, shifting down the line, clapping shoulders and growling encouragements. ¡°If not, we board them!¡±


    Oiir banged his hammer across his shield. ¡°We kill them here!¡±


    ¡°Aye. They die here!¡±


    The last of the thrown weapons were launched, and then the men formed a shield wall, Laczlo near the end by the stern, his side protected by the railing Mikha had just clutched a second before. Oiir held his right side, Isak next to Oiir. The crew stood a few paces behind and upon the castles, their own axes and long knives ready; a few even held cheap short bows. The sea churned. Men hissed deep, violent breaths, stirring the Spirits of war within themselves. Laczlo tried to do the same. He felt himself staring at the faces of the raiders in disgust, in hate.


    They were coming to kill him, to steal him from his family, his people. These mongrels. These sons of whores! He held his spear in his right hand, regripping it tighter and tighter. Left leg shaking, tremoring.


    Hooks sunk into the ship¡¯s planks, digging in as the lines were pulled taught. A few of the sailors of his ship did the same, hooking the smaller craft and tying off the ropes. Lashed together, their fates were in the sea¡¯s hands. As well as their own. His helmet felt heavy, constraining. His ears rung inside it.


    ¡°To the final battle!¡± Isak roared. ¡°Death Slaying! To Voiya!¡±


    ¡°Voiya!¡± the druzhina echoed, hate burning the promise of a warrior¡¯s death into the weaves of fate. And Laczlo, despite himself, shouted their cry, imagining death, imagining glory.


    And then the ships met. He lurched back, momentarily losing his footing, and the first of the raiders leaped up with a horrid shout. Laczlo raised up his shield and held his breath. Beside him, Oiir grunted and shifted, spearing out at a man trying to climb the railing, thrusting the steel blade through his neck. The sound of torn meat. He gagged and fell back, crashing down onto his lower ship as more poured up behind him. The madness of scraping metal and battered shields rose seemingly all around, blurring his senses, making his head swim.


    A head and shoulders emerged above the railing as a warrior hauled himself up opposite Laczlo. Unlike the one who died before him, he was moving faster, already leaping over when Laczlo got his spear high and ready to thrust. He didn¡¯t hesitate, didn¡¯t think, and quickly thrust his spear forward as one might shove at a biting cur. Reactionary, frightened. But the spear blade was not aimed true. He struck the raider¡¯s collarbone with a loud crack but left only a superficial cut. The man jerked a shield up as Laczlo reared back for another thrust.


    He was not alone on the ship, for other so-called sea serpents were at the raider¡¯s side, attempting to form a shaky shield wall against the druzhina of Vilsi. But Laczlo hardly had the time to look. He brought up his shield, deflecting a short sword¡¯s swipe. The clang reverberated up his shoulder as the iron-edged shield easily turned aside the blade. Deus above, he prayed, eyes wide and mouth open for gasping breaths, protect me!


    ¡°The voivode¡¯s here!¡± the man yelled, spittle flying a gap-filled, hungry grin.


    Laczlo¡¯s struck and met shield, stabbing into the wood, sinking there before he pulled his weapon back. In this fashion, they exchanged blocked blows. Close to death but too well-protected by shields to kill. And then the ship lurched, and he found himself pressed against this stinking raider, shields grinding together, their weights and strengths at odds. It was a match Laczlo quickly found himself losing as he tipped back. He nearly shouted out, but Oiir beside him shoved forward suddenly, slammed his shield boss into the serpent¡¯s exposed weapon shoulder, then pulled back and continued his own fight. Laczlo, still pressed in close, found his footing, dropped his spear and seized his axe. He chopped down hard upon the man¡¯s helmet¡ªnow exposed by his floundering. And since their shield wall was weak, the man was exposed. Unlike all the druzhina, the raider did not have a helmet of steel and mail but one of quilted linen. Laczlo¡¯s axe blade was aimed true, and it bit down with all the force of a Greyskin of Neapoli. The man went limp, eyes staring out and face frozen as he tottered, then toppled over, blood squirting out and spraying Laczlo¡¯s face from shattered bone. He grimaced and spit the foul, metallic tang out. He would have emptied his bowels then and there if Oiir him had not shouted out as a long bearded axe pried down his shield. A second raider stood straddling the railing, aiming a spear thrust over the exposed shield rim.


    Laczlo threw himself forward, half-falling, half-jumping as he caught the axeman¡¯s face with the edge of his shield. It crashed into his chin, eliciting a wet, muffed grunt. Oiir ripped his shield away from the axe¡¯s grip and brought it up in time to stop the spear thrust, then attacked as Laczlo¡¯s wild momentum kept him hurdling toward the railing. His side hit it hard, cracking into his hip bone and stomach. The air in his lungs left him in one violent wheeze. He tried to stand but could hardly move, his chest feeling like a coiled snake held it hostage. Pain festered, dimming his vision.


    Just when he nearly had his bearings about him, something crashed into his side, and he felt his feet go high and the world spin. The sky, the sea, carefully crafted lumber¡ªa ship? He fell upon the deck hard, though the air did not escape him this time. Still, he shoved himself to his feet as his head swam, his body thumping with a deep, unsuppressed ache.


    Men were before him. One was right beside him, bleeding from his neck and fumbling with a sword. Laczlo went to chop the arm off but found no axe in his hand. He blinked, then grasped for his sword, tried to draw it, but his arm was tangled in something. He yanked, wrought his limb away from some grasping strap or rope, and swiped down. He missed the arm but caught the hand, cutting halfway through it and sending the held weapon flinging off the ship into the roiling sea. Before the bastard could attack further, Laczlo retreated a pace and bumped into something. He turned. There was a man there trying to climb Laczlo¡¯s ship. He looked over with a flash of annoyance, then surprise, then anger, his yellow teeth gnashing and eyes alight. He took a deep breath and went to yell, but Laczlo moved first. He stuck his sword into the serpent¡¯s gut, but he wore mail, so it only made it a few inches in before stopping. The man still screamed and reared back, raising a two-handed axe. Laczlo¡¯s breath caught in his throat, and before his eyes, a glimpse of the past, quick and blurry. I¡¯m going to die! But he was not dead yet. So, he lept in once more, but this time not to strike. He got under the raised arms of the raider and buried his shoulder into the man¡¯s stomach, shoving for all he was worth.


    ¡°Agh!¡± The raider tripped back and toppled over the side of the ship, big axe disappearing with him.


    But Laczlo was no fool, so with a glance around to make sure no one was sneaking up on him, he threw a foot to the ship¡¯s bow and looked over the edge. Indeed, the raider was scrambling, a hand grasping for something to hold onto as his armor pulled him down. With a cry equal parts hatred and light-headed madness, he thrust his sword into the man¡¯s face. It cut off a long track of skin, then jarred down and sliced along the neck. The man screamed, taking in water, and Laczlo stabbed out again, sending him below with another deathly wound.


    When it was done, he turned around, chest heaving and falling, burning sore hands gripping shield and blade. Another man was before him. With wide eyes, he found the ship of his enemy empty of anyone else but the wounded, leaving them alone. The man stepped over the abandoned oars and twitching bodies with ease, holding bloodied handaxes in each fist. His eyes were wide and red and full of battle rage. His face was red, bruised, and cut up, likely from a fall.


    Laczlo wanted to say something to ward the warrior back, but no words came to him. His mouth was dry and limbs shaky. He wanted to run but there was nowhere to go. Slowly, he raised his shield, still somehow in his hand, and pointed his sword forward.


    ¡°Voiya,¡± he whispered, trying to summon his courage once more.


    The man crept closer. A predator stalking his prey in the night.


    Laczlo swung at him, trying to ward him back. The man caught his blade, knocked it away, and whirled his axes about like a dancer might spin, attacking fiercely. Laczlo¡¯s scream never left his throat as he brought up his shield and retreated, weathering the storm of blows. One caught the edge of his shield, knocking it aside, another screeching off his helmet, battering against his armor. Ears ringing, skull stinging, face alight. Laczlo gasped for air as he swiped out and forced the man to sidestep his blade, but it was a temporary, shallow victory, and the raider quickly resumed the offensive. His left axe smashed away Laczlo¡¯s sword, then the right swung for his arm


    Then he turned quickly and stumbled. Twisted. Tottered.


    Laczlo seized good fortune and lept forward, chopping into his shoulder. The raider barely reacted, still floundering. An arrow was in his face, just below the eye socket. The serpent turned, searched out Laczlo with wide eyes, and tried to chop down upon him. The blow was weak and one he deflected easily. He kicked the man in the chest, knocking him down. Before he could get up and attack again by some miracle, Laczlo lept forward and thrust his sword into his stomach. He twitched and struggled as the blade entered him, but there was no more fighting. He was dead.


    Laczlo swayed where he stood, staring, waiting for the next foe, but the boat simply rocked in the water, quiet as a fisherman¡¯s vessel on a lake. His arms felt heavy, knees weak, shoulders sore as if they¡¯d nearly been wrought from his body, but most of all, he felt tired. Dead tired. As if he could lie down then and there and sleep the rest of the day and night.


    ¡°Voivode!¡± came a yell.


    He looked up, blinking against the sun. Oiir was leaning over the railing.


    ¡°Is it done?¡± Laczlo asked.


    The druzhina grinned, his face bloodied but unmarred by pain. ¡°It is. Need help climbing from their little river¡¯s craft?¡±


    Laczlo laughed. His chest hurt, his face ached, but still, he laughed. It, everything, was just¡­ He shook his head and sheathed his blade, then climbed aboard with the druzhina¡¯s help, still grinning and chuckling like a madman.


    Oiir didn¡¯t cast him an odd look but simply smiled along beside him. ¡°Going to be a good scar, Voivode. A strong one.¡±


    ¡°Eh?¡± His laughter died, and his face began to hurt more. Tentatively, Laczlo felt his cheek where the pain radiated. Below his right eye was a bloody wound as long as his pinky finger. The flesh there was cut back, with part of it hanging off slightly. It should hurt more, he thought, stunned and horrified. Deus, I¡¯m scarred forever.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a bad wound. Strong, as I said.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± he muttered. It didn¡¯t hurt. Maybe it wasn¡¯t so bad? A good scar. Right, just a good scar.


    Laczlo looked around the deck, attention pulled away by the blood and guts and severed pieces of flesh. There had to be at least a dozen dead men there. He frantically scanned through his own ranks. Two druzhina were hurt, others tending to their wounds, while one other was down, not moving. He ran over to the man.


    It was Afonas, the young druzhina who¡¯d been at Silene¡¯s apartment. He had a few pieces of broken mail and a bloody wound in his chest, which still rose and fell but in a wheezing, sputtering cadence.


    ¡°Took the spike of a hammer,¡± Isak said, standing beside him, looking over the young druzhina. ¡°Fought well¡ªRotaal knows.¡±


    Laczlo¡¯s mouth was dry, his head hurt; he blinked, vision swimming, and had to turn away, leaning over the railing. The cool sea breeze washed over his face, making the blood splattered there feel cold. Already, it was drying on his skin, making it stiff with red crust.


    ¡°We captured two of them, Voivode. They¡¯ll admit to the scheme. It was a good fight.¡± When he didn¡¯t reply, Isak stepped up beside him. ¡°And it was a good death. One any druzhina would be proud of.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Laczlo could only think of sour apologies and weak excuses, so he settled on silence.


    ¡°And you whetted your blade with raider blood.¡±


    ¡°I did¡­ Yes, I did.¡±


    The druzhina nodded, satisfied with that, then slapped his hand against the railing and leaned back. ¡°It was a good fight. He was a good lad and died with honor and pride. Nothing he¡¯d be ashamed of, so don¡¯t bear that for the man.¡±


    Laczlo felt like saying that he was dead, and being dead with honor or pride didn¡¯t matter nearly as much as being alive, but his heart wasn¡¯t in it. So he just nodded and let Isak walk away to direct the cleanup efforts. Laczlo watched the sea for a moment, how it turned and roiled and went on without them, then he pushed away and went to help.

 Mountain Pass – Chapter Twenty-Five

    We awoke in the small cabin, exhausted and shivering. The fire had died, and no one wished to retrieve more firewood, evidently; thus, the room had turned bitter with the outside world¡¯s frost. I would have had my Soulborne do it, but I had slept soundly and deeply. It was a rare thing to pass through the night without waking, gasping, and sweating, staring around as if the horrors of my nightmares had infested reality. Yet, for this respite, I still awoke cold and stiff, wishing I were home again. It was not always nightmares of that which I¡¯d lost that haunted me, but the memories surfacing in the quiet twilight of morning. Daydreams of small things¡ªdetails glimpsed through the murk. Demetria¡¯s hand in mind as we walked through the grasslands beyond the city¡¯s limits, escaping it all. The days before her departure. A certain dread in the back of my mind I refused to acknowledge, refused to validate. Her soft persuasion in finally convincing me to pursue the arts, for the world had enough Sorcerers and generals. But not nearly enough people offering their voices for the weak. Be their voice. Guide them. How wrong she ended up being. How wrong we all were.


    We left the cabin, entering into the frozen highlands with sighs of sufferance. I kept an eye on Emalia as we went, but the deathly grip that held her so tightly the night before had loosened tremendously, and she moved along without much issue. Minor frostbite and a cold were all she seemed to be struck with after her fall and burial in the snow, miraculously enough. And yet, she kept her distance from me. At first, I assumed it was shame for risking our lives, but quickly enough, I caught the way her eyes flicked to mine, then Protis, then away, and knew it had to be more.


    When we were trudging our way through the high snows of a summertime shepherd¡¯s trail, I caught up with Protis at the front, huffing with the effort. It strode in silence, not even turning to register my presence, though I knew it was foolish to believe it didn¡¯t realize I was there.


    ¡°When you carried Emalia back to the cabin, did she say anything to you?¡±


    ¡°Do you order an answer?¡±


    I squinted up at the creature. ¡°Why would you require something so direct?¡±


    ¡°Promises and oaths of the living.¡±


    ¡°You believe it is beyond your comprehension.¡±


    ¡°No. Beyond my¡­ belief.¡±


    ¡°Belief.¡± I smiled. ¡°You are something else, Protis. I wish I would have wrought you into this world sooner.¡± When Protis did not respond, which was all but typical of the intelligent yet utterly distant Soulborne, I answered, ¡°Yes, consider it an order.¡±


    ¡°She says you have made a promise with her, and she with her god. This promise of the truth has been learned and will be later revealed. The end comes then.¡±


    ¡°Emalia knows the truth of my people?¡±


    ¡°It seems so.¡±


    My shoulders dropped, and a horrible knot of hate welled in my gut. ¡°She knows, and she does not tell me?¡±


    Protis kept forward at a steady pace, but its head turned, and its eyes were deep and black in the bright of the snowy world around us. ¡°I can read scents in the sky, dangers in the dark, taste fear in flesh and relish it. But the workings of the living allude my teeth.¡± Its gaze turned towards the thin trees to our west. ¡°She smelled of Spirits. Like you.¡±


    ¡°Her god, then.¡± I made myself remain forward, for I wished to turn and find the priestess, grip her, and demand answers. I wanted to menace her, but that would be hasty. First, it would be prudent to understand. She claimed visions from Raizak, the Vasian god of Souls, the mind, and cunning¡ªand also the one who supposedly betrayed Rotaal to gift humanity its consciousness. A rebellious diety, certainly. I cannot rule out divine visions, not entirely. Her god may exist, and it may speak to her, but this is not something I can verify. While the others said she had a seizure of sorts and smelled of Soul magic, that was not confirmation of any religious significance. Many Sorcerers struggle to control their abilities, and thus, they seep out in the oddest ways. Sometimes, however, the inflicted have no capacity with magic at all, and it is something beyond them. Up until now, I¡¯d taken for granted that she was a priestess and one with particularly fervent beliefs that merely manifested in a persuasive manner, but if she was learning information from these visions¡­ That changed everything. And I wasn¡¯t exactly sure what it could mean.


    ¡°Do you think her a threat?¡± I asked, finally.


    ¡°She may be.¡±


    ¡°You seem indecisive to a simple question.¡±


    ¡°No teeth for killing.¡±


    I bowed my head, staring at the ground. Emalia was smart, cunning, and one for plans and grand schemes¡ªwe were not unalike in this way¡ªbut Protis was right: she was not a killer. It seemed entirely outside her nature. Only in fear, desperation, and to save the life of one close to her could she muster the courage to lift a blade to kill. And in this, the difference between us was utterly irreconcilable. Does this make me a horrid person? A villain? I would hope not. I would hope it simply reflected on the differences in our experiences, for my moral fiber had been tested and stretched more thoroughly by the darkness of my time. I could not be blamed for this. I was not wrong, but simply different.


    The question of Emalia would haunt me, and I spent the day churning questions over in my mind, weighing possible avenues of solutions. None seemed appealing, so in the end, I resigned myself to setting the issue aside. When we reached Drazivaska, I would reassess, perhaps, and remain on my guard. For as much as I wished to find the truth of my people now, it would put my life at risk. In the end, I did not wish to kill her or Sovina, even if that meant remaining ignorant about that which I cared so deeply.


    Feia must have sensed this foul mood overtake me, for she walked by my side during this frigid hike through the peaks of these western lands. We eventually found ourselves summiting a craggy mountaintop far above the tree line, and though our breaths were short and minds fogged in a dull ache, the sights unveiled before us were beautiful things. The grand mountain range all around, the valleys filled with trees and curving rivers, and west, beyond the mountains, I could see the leveling of hills and beginnings of the land of the Kosicans.


    ¡°You nearly gifted your Soul to Hazek¡¯s High and Low for a Column slave,¡± Feia said eventually, when we were far from the others.


    I sighed and looked away from the landscape, facing her. She was sharp and focused, like a couched spear, aiming through me. She¡¯s been thinking on this, stewing in it. ¡°I took a risk, but it was not one I feared would seriously endanger me.¡±


    ¡°Did you need to have gone, Daecinus Aspartes?¡±


    ¡°My Dead become difficult to control at a distance.¡±


    ¡°So you say, but my question still remains.¡±


    I, unlike most men, would not bow under even her harshest gaze but met it evenly. ¡°I judged it was necessary. And while it is a kind thing that you care so for my health and well-being, I can assure you that the dangers posed were not severe.¡±


    ¡°And how can you know this? Are you so ancient, so wise that nothing escapes you?¡± She leaned forward, pressing against me, eyes daring mine with a defiant heat that seemed both petulant and knife¡¯s edge sharp. But also passionate. ¡°You could have been wrong, Daecinus. For all your confidence, you might have died like any other man, and no one would sing of your name and deeds again.¡±


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    I reached out and held her by the shoulders, looking down into her eyes. ¡°Do I seem a man who cares for the words of others after I die?¡± I let the question linger, and because it was one she clearly didn¡¯t expect, I managed to afford a brief stretch of silent consideration before I continued, ¡°I wanted to help, Feia, for she has been a friend to me when, for many reasons, she should not be. And it put me in danger, and for that, I apologize to you, for I do not wish to frighten you with my perishment nor wager my life casually. I am truly flattered that you care for me so.¡±


    She regarded me dubiously, but the anger in her previous glare had waned, and so she pursed her lips and frowned away. ¡°My anger is a righteous one, but when I wield it, you make me feel like a fool for questioning you.¡±


    ¡°It is not my intention to make you feel foolish.¡±


    ¡°Not as a scolded pupil,¡± she said, squinting back at me. ¡°But¡­ for doubting you.¡±


    ¡°Do not feel ashamed. Many others come to the same realization.¡±


    My smile did not seem to dissuade her from punching me in the chest, and this did not dissuade me from pulling her close to me and leaning down till our faces were but an inch apart. ¡°We will be spending more days in these mountains walking through the cold. How would you like to pass the time discussing Sorcery with me? I would wish to learn more about the current state of Soul magic. But more, I would like to awaken the potential within you. It stirs, begging for nourishment and release. Would you like that?¡±


    She grinned, and her teeth were white and shown hungrily. ¡°I would.¡±


    Through the long, arduous day, we spoke of Sorcery and the finer details she was ignorant of. Though it¡¯d been evident to me from the beginning, it was further clarified how drastically different the state of the world was from when I had left. In Pethya, we had large constructions imbued with Sorcery, but Vasia had pursued its policy of grand Wonders with far more fervor, but this was a past thing now. Vasia¡¯s borders had shrunk, leaving a legacy of abandoned Ruins that blighted the lands with leaked necromantic power. The Fallen Cities of Rotaaland and Elansk were examples of such Ruins, though there were more, including Drazivaska. It was a city of a kingdom that had emerged in the early days of Vasian dominance, though now the civilization was a wasted, feeble one well past its days of glory. Drazivaska had been home to a Vasian folly of the most dangerous kind¡ªan attempt to construct a portal of direct access to the Lower Spirits. This, evidently, had been tried before, with a city called Neapoli in the southeast, near a mountainous region dubbed the Silver Peaks for its richness in precious metals. Neapoli had scorched the land with curse horrid enough to render the entire island it was built on as inhabitable and the land around it threatened by Dead incursions. Such folly was underscored by a relatively recent increase in Sorcerers going mad and violent, which, when paired with the general deterioration of access and control of Soul magic, led me to believe that there was some fundamental, metaphysical shift occurring that inhibited Sorcerous efforts on a grand scale. Uncontrolled hordes of Dead ravaged the frontiers on a constant basis, with further-reaching incursions recorded and whispered about¡ªincluding multiple battles against significant Dead hosts. Some were even paired with uprisings, though none succeeded past eliciting more chaos and death.


    But the general weakening of Sorcery led me to believe that Vasia had stumbled its way into ruining the foundations of Sorcery itself. This folly, as horrific as it was, did not surprise me, for the Vasians had always been a hasty, ambitious people who thought themselves gods among men, incapable of blunder. When I mentioned this, Feia grinned and cackled, and went snickering on about my speaking the webs of fate. I paid little mind to her oracular gestures. Sorcery, for her, was bound up in mysticism and the hazy arcane. It was an escape from the mundane, which was likely intertwined with the trauma she had suffered long ago.


    I had tried to withdraw some details of her past in our moments of quiet and privacy, but she was a guarded woman, and my attempts were met with stiff resistance. So I did not press further. And she hardly made an effort to press me, and for this, I was grateful.


    The same could not be said for Sovina, however.


    It was late, and I sat in my thin clothes upon an outcropping boulder and looked over the moonlit turnings of the landscape. And that was where the warrior found me.


    She was still in her battle gear, which alerted me to her arrival with the clinking of mail. I watched her navigate the icy stones with care. She had dark hair always hidden away, but now it was out and spilled around her face in a rather unkempt, curly mess, though she was beautiful enough in her sturdy, determined way that she looked the warrior even with the hair of a maiden. A strange time this was indeed. I looked on, amused at such thoughts. She had threatened me in many ways, oftentimes with my death, and yet I was judging her features as if we were friendly acquaintances. The rough times of fighting and adventure certainly spun up the oddest relationships.


    She stood at a rock next to my own, one hand on her saber¡¯s pommel, the other holding a thick wool blanket over her shoulders. ¡°How do you ignore the cold nearly naked?¡±


    I chuckled, not bothering to pull the linen tunic¡¯s sleeves further down my arms to hide the lines of Corruption there.  ¡°It does not bother me.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°What if it was a serious matter? One I did not wish to discuss?¡± Her brow raised, and I smiled despite myself. Sometimes, I wondered if the world had become more crude and direct or if that was simply my company after waking. I leaned toward the latter. ¡°I had learned long ago to master my senses¡ªthe articulations of my Sorcerous efforts demanded it. But Corruption has altered my already variant biology, so the cold affects me differently.¡±


    ¡°So you do not feel the bite of ice and snow? Is the air warm to you?¡±


    ¡°Hardly. Now, it pains me some, but there will be no damage. My lineage is more naturally resistant, though it does nothing for the senses.¡±


    ¡°Your lineage. What are you, anyway? Human?¡±


    ¡°You are the first one to ask so directly. I am¡­ adjacent to human, I suppose. In ancient times, portion of Pethya¡¯s population seemed particularly capable of Sorcery, so hierarchies were established, and only those with such abilities were allowed to practice Sorcery. A positive feedback loop, as potential is somewhat inheritable.¡± I studied Sovina and found her frowning, perhaps in disproval but more likely in impatience. It was difficult to remember that some were not naturally curious. ¡°Then they discovered how to stymie corruption and enhance Sorcerous capacity in one¡¯s body¡ªthis also affected biologies fundamentally. I am the result of many generations of optimization, intentional and otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Inbreeding, then.¡±


    ¡°Hardly, the population sizes were too large.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡± She nodded brusquely, looking out. ¡°Emalia had a vision. She won¡¯t speak of it, though.¡±


    ¡°Why come to me, then?¡±


    ¡°Do you know anything?¡±


    ¡°Why should I tell you if I did? Are we not enemies under a pretense of temporary peace?¡±


    She shrugged, pulling out her saber to check if it stuck before sliding it back in its scabbard. ¡°This is fair. But as the days have passed, I¡¯d like to think the chances of us sacrificing you have shrunk. I¡¯m thinking Emalia¡¯s path forward has changed, perhaps¡ª¡±


    ¡°You would be wrong.¡± I stared into the darkness so I would not glare at Sovina. ¡°She has learned of my people from her so-called visions. She holds back the truth for fear of inciting violence.¡±


    Her breath caught. ¡°How do you know this?¡±


    ¡°She told Protis, for some reason. An admission of guilt in a time of weakness, perhaps.¡±


    ¡°Gods. Raizak issued his commands to her, truly.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s what you believe.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± she asked, and I looked over to find her brow furrowed over searching, almost threatening eyes.


    ¡°It means the origin of her visions may not be so spiritual after all. Or rather, a different sort of spiritual.¡± I stood, folding my arms across my chest, feeling tired and suddenly quite cold. ¡°She could be talking to Spirits, Sovina.¡±


    ¡°Impossible. She is a priestess of the Column.¡±


    ¡°When did she first have her visions?¡±


    Sovina squinted up at me. ¡°Upon visiting the highest floor of the Column. A place of divination. Of the most sacred worship.¡±


    ¡°Is it imbued with Sorcery?¡±


    ¡°The place is a mystery to all except the highest priest.¡±


    I stepped across from my boulder to hers, leaning over her, pressing into her space as an arena warrior might do to another before the swordplay began. ¡°Then it may be prudent to begin wondering why you have been set out to gather the heart of a Sorcerer more powerful than any in your time and bring it back to your Column for unexplained rituals. Perhaps it isn¡¯t your god speaking to her, but a particularly motivated High Soul. And you are but pawns to some creature¡¯s schemes.¡± I turned away and strode back to camp, not allowing her a moment of response.


    It wasn¡¯t truly possible, what I was claiming. According to Feia, Vasia hadn¡¯t pierced the layer of High Souls, accessing the collective consciousness of all the Dead, where capacity for reason was kept. My Soulborne Protis was born of the moment, called forth from the sacrifice of the living all around it. But access to far greater powers of intellect and thought without relying on sacrifice? That was locked behind the vaults above, where my Grand Observatory had been focused, keen for breakthroughs never to happen again, for it was surely destroyed.


    As such, it was nearly impossible for Souls to imbue themselves in Emalia¡¯s mind, even if it was a convenient argument. But it was a good question to set them to ponder, for it might save me from their sacrificial intent. Besides, there was the slightest chance that Feia had been wrong, and this Column, so oft-spoken of, had powers beyond her understanding, beyond the priestesses¡¯. A slight chance, yes, but one nevertheless.


    And that, while terrifying as it was in Vasian hands, made me smile. For if it did, then there was a chance my efforts with the Observatory could come to fruition after all.

 Vision – Chapter Twenty-Six

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 Outskirts – Chapter Twenty-Seven

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 Shattered Sorcery – Chapter Twenty-Eight

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 Demands for Dominion – Chapter Twenty-Nine

    In all honesty, battle didn¡¯t have much appeal to Oskar. If it needed to come to violence, let it be quick, sudden, and decisive¡ªand, of course, with him firmly in control and out of the way. A knife in the dark or a good ambush, if anything. But compared to the slow and agonizing climb through the Dead-infested dark? He¡¯d even consider a proper pitched battle over this.


    He gripped his blade tight and squinted ahead to where the Column women and Soulborne led the way up. Why do you do this? Things weren¡¯t great, sure enough, but to follow a Column priestess? To come here, of all places? Before, the glint of rubies made the idea seem grand. More than grand. Damn near undeniable. But now? Oh, how the doubt crept in. He had to force himself not to glance around at the others. Were they second-guessing like he was? Maybe questioning him and his decision-making? His authority? By all the damned gods above, if his commander had ordered him into this place, he¡¯d be fingering a dagger with a twist in his lips right about now. But that¡¯s why he was the one giving orders and now following them, he supposed.


    ¡°Running will be hard with these numbers,¡± Nifont whispered.


    ¡°Aye. We had, what, around half a dozen in the sinking city?¡± Oskar shook his head, trying and failing to push away images of slaughter should his band get caught out in the open. ¡°We go at it slow and steady, is all. If it comes to a fight, we¡¯ll play it smart.¡± That was why he¡¯d left three men to guard the tunnel at the base of the stairwell that opened to other rooms. If they were to encounter any Dead coming after that they couldn¡¯t handle, they¡¯d run up and find him. No use worrying about escape if a bunch of corpses stumbled their way up to block their only clear exit. Still, that left more than a dozen under him now, not even including the newcomers.


    Oskar puffed out his cheeks and sighed through his teeth, then looked back and caught Stanilo¡¯s eye, nodding him forward. The big warrior shuffled past the others, taking three of the narrow steps at a time and making it look entirely normal to do so. ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Take the rear six if things get messy, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Understood, sir.¡±


    ¡°Stanilo.¡±


    He thumped the butt of his spear on the ground, offering an apologetic smile. ¡°Blood¡¯s pumping is all. Won¡¯t slip up again.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. But what I¡¯d give to fight some bleeding, breathing bodies for once, eh?¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t bite as much, do they?¡±


    ¡°No, they do not.¡± Oskar spat a wad of thick, sour spit on the old stone walls. Idly, he wondered if this was the first time the dark stairwell had a person in it since the whole place went to shit. ¡°If it comes down to it, we hold for what we can. Regroup in the forest outside the breach if not. Then the hovel we had a fire in, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡±


    Oskar nodded, glad he had steady hands and minds around for a shit day this was going to be. ¡°Good. Let¡¯s earn our coin.¡±


    He nodded, eyes flicking up to Emalia, then back. ¡°Even if that means¡ª¡±


    ¡°As we discussed, Stanilo.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± He drifted back down and spoke to the men behind.


    Oskar watched him for a breath, then continued facing upward, continuing in stride. For all the disparate personalities and ideals in the band, he never truly worried about his men¡¯s loyalties. If getting fucked by the boyars and voivodes had any upside, it was that now he¡¯d lost that shiny notion of idealism to reality. Give it to betrayal and utter failure to make a man open his damn eyes. And now, with little more than some coin and good mail to his name, he wasn¡¯t about to toss it all away in some dead wasteland for no good reason.


    As a druzhina, it paid to be honorable, consistent, loyal¡ªor so he had thought. But in truth, the only thing that ever really paid was pragmatism.


    Up ahead, something croaked and then crashed to the ground. He exchanged glances with Nifont and held his shield a little higher. Turned out, after another minute of stair climbing, it was just some unlucky corpse that had found itself in the Soulbornes¡¯ way, torn and broken into mushy, inanimated pieces that the men kicked aside with sick frowns and nervous chuckles.


    After a series of landings along the spiral stairwell and at least ten more minutes of solid climbing, leaving the legs heavy and needled in pain, they stopped rather suddenly. He shoved his way forward to find Sovina and Emalia facing an open doorway coated in brown, ancient blood. Ahead, darkness clouded the way for the most part, though rays of dusty sunlight eeked out of holes and crumbled sections of walls.


    ¡°We near your portal?¡± he asked.


    ¡°This is the floor,¡± Emalia replied, staring ahead. She turned in a quick spin and faced him, eyes wide and severe. It reminded him of a statue he¡¯d seen long ago. One of the goddess Flaael, overseeing a bay, eyes almost human in their unnerving gaze toward the waves. ¡°Once we secure the portal stone, your men will be free to scour this floor. There are treasures here, but also dangers.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t think we¡¯ll be getting close to that portal,¡± he said.


    ¡°There may be more Sorcerous threats here than that.¡±


    ¡°Certainly.¡± He leaned in closer and whispered, ¡°You¡¯re not going to do anything hasty with Daecinus here, are you? I don¡¯t think it¡¯d be a wise idea¡­¡±


    ¡°I will do what Raizak wills.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Of course. But say his will is a bit, hm, unclear? Figure you can interpret some caution in there as well?¡±


    Sovina interjected, ¡°Do not insult her devotion.¡±


    Oskar put his hands up, sword awkwardly in his grip, betraying the clear sign of peace. He tried cracking a grin. ¡°Just offering my insight is all. Figure you¡¯d want that, given that you¡¯re paying me to take you here and all that.¡±


    The swordwoman¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°And to return to civilization safely.¡±


    ¡°Ah, technically, that was not part of the arrangement.¡± His smile widened, though it was just for show, for in truth, his stomach was doing all sorts of nasty flips. ¡°So, I ask again, maybe reconsider any hastiness with our tall friend, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Is this a threat, mercenary?¡±


    Emalia added on, ¡°We made a deal in good faith.¡±


    ¡°And I made a deal with a sane partner. But my faith has been shaken.¡± He shrugged, looking to Sovina, whose jaw was clenched so tight it seemed her teeth might crack. ¡°I¡¯m not making any threats, just laying out the situation. And if we find enough gold and silver here, as you promised us, we¡¯ll take you back to a city, sure enough. And far on past that.¡± His amiable smile dropped, replaced by a glower that had served him well for years. ¡°But see, we veterans have never really been friends of the Column. And especially not the kind of sick shit they excuse in the name of the gods. We¡¯ll protect you and get you where you need going, but there¡¯ll be no violence against Daecinus.¡±


    The priestess¡¯s eyes were already sharp, but during his speech, they only grew sharper. ¡°You would intervene in the manner of the gods? Do you even understand the weight of what you say?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t ask a warrior the weight of taking a life. I know more than you ever could.¡± She didn¡¯t respond to that, so he waved ahead. ¡°Get your stone. My men will get their due. Then we can leave this damn place alive and not give the Dead the infighting they¡¯d want.¡±


    Sovina was on the edge of violence, as he expected, but Emalia was deadly calm. Her breathing wasn¡¯t fast and angry, nor were her hands near her dagger, but held straight by her sides. She looked like a damn statue again. After a long moment, she gave him a nod and said, ¡°You¡¯ve made it clear before you would not condone such sacrifice, no matter how necessary. I cannot hold it against you for standing by your convictions.¡± She let out a long breath, some sort of strained indignation dissipating along with it. ¡°Let us continue.¡±


    To her credit, Sovina didn¡¯t even argue, but turned with her and pressed into the dark hall. It was just then that Oskar noticed the black gleaming eyes of Soulborne ahead, their pale forms hunched in preparation. Would they have interceded if she didn¡¯t agree? he wondered, but there was no reading such inhuman expressions, so he glanced away and let out a breath of relief. With a glance back to Daecinus, heads and shoulders above the rest, murky red eyes holding his and a slight nod of recognition, Oskar continued in Emalia¡¯s footsteps.


    As much as he didn¡¯t want to draw blades on Emalia and Sovina, he feared Daecinus far more. Only a fool wouldn¡¯t. And he was no fool. That was all there was to it, after all. Feia would have preferred to kill the Column women regardless, but he was no murderer.


    The hall ahead was, like the rest of the grimy tower, eerily close to the Sinking City. He figured oppressive stone and grand intimidation were simply all the architectural rage in those days. Now, new buildings were simply scavenged from the old with hopes they might last long enough to reach the end of Vasia. Not a grand hope, if you asked him, for with all the greed bound up in the empire, it was bound to eat itself alive sooner rather than later. Either way, the shadowed sightlines and dark rooms had him gripping his blade and hissing reminders for vigilance amongst the men. The first chambers they passed had buckled doors, half broken, with old blood and scattered bones just inside. Many more were the same, white ivory lit by the occasional smidge of sunlight or waning torches. He had his men wrap pitch-soaked linen and relight before continuing. Down the hall, something glowed. It was green, faint, and pale.


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    ¡°Figure that¡¯s it, then,¡± he muttered to no one in particular.


    They walked in silence, all eyes on that faint glow. It was coming from what used to be a doorway, though the stone was crumbled and bits of wood broken out into the hall. More old blood too. He could imagine the Dead pouring out, ravenous and hate-filled. Did the Sorcerers become Corrupted and turn? Or were the Dead summoned? Gods above, did the Dead come through?


    He licked his dry lips and cracked a crooked, wrenched smile. ¡°No kicking in doors today, at least.¡± It brought a few chuckles, which was about all he could hope for. ¡°Say, Daecinus, you want your Soulborne in there first?¡± He nodded to the half-blocked entrance, glow doing little for the shadows inside, naturally. Why should some evil glow actually light shit up?


    ¡°No,¡± Daecinus replied, suddenly close by. He was quiet for such a tall bastard.


    ¡°No? Are they afraid of the dark?¡±


    He squinted forward, lips pressed tight together. ¡°It strains my control here. Further proximity would be risky.¡±


    Oskar scowled at that. He¡¯d have to send men in to clear it, then. And that meant risking them to Sorcery. ¡°Fine. What should we expect from this? Soul-wise and all that.¡±


    Daecinus came closer, passing by two Soulborne that stood guard a few paces away. Oskar glanced back but didn¡¯t see the other Dead creations. The fact sent a spark of worry through him, though he knew it shouldn¡¯t. Daecinus knew what he was doing, after all. Demonstrating this, he stood an arm¡¯s length from the rubble, motionless, back to everyone. He was frozen there for at least ten seconds. Oskar opened his mouth to ask what was wrong when Daecinus turned with tension-wrought features and hands clasped tight around one another.


    ¡°Feia will remain outside. Bring only your strongest-willed.¡± When Feia went to argue, he cast her a harsh glare that quickly quieted her. ¡°This place is a bane to Sorcerers, only I am strong enough to survive it. Even the mundane will struggle inside.¡± He faced Emalia and said, ¡°The Spirit in you, whatever it is, of Sorcery or divination, will become powerful here. More than you may control. You should feel it already, pulling, demanding for dominion¡­ Guard your mind, Emalia. Our differences aside, our conflict aside, hear me when I say this. It is all too easy to lose yourself to the hunger of such Sorcery.¡±


    ¡­


    I was taking a risk¡ªI knew this. The sheer weight of power in that room bashed upon me with the fury of a summer hurricane. My Corrupted veins pulsed under my skin, straining against my skin like thin serpents buried in flesh. Yes, I knew this broken portal would endanger everything I had worked to build these last weeks. And yet, much like I had been so long ago, I could not keep myself from being drawn to the temptation of such potent, foundational Sorcery. Nothing in Pethya had felt like this. Nothing was so pure and unbridled in power.


    Needless to say, after Oskar¡¯s men cleared the way, I was the third inside after Sovina and Emalia.


    The green was the color of a still pond, of dead lichen, of tainted Soulfire. As I entered, that glow fell over me, unobstructed, and I felt my eyes light with the Soul magic-flush air. Potential. Pure potential! But more. I held my enthusiasm at bay, sharpening my awareness. It would not do to get lost in it. That was the trap. The danger.


    I stared around the chamber, for it was a large one, perhaps fifteen strides wide. Part of the far wall was collapsed and left the room exposed to the early afternoon sky beyond, its light oddly distant and murky. The ceiling was tall and domed, reminiscent of a grand temple. In the center, a dias three strides wide, and in the center, what might have once been the portal. However, it was no stone but made of ivory. It had once been a continuous piece but was now shattered into smaller rubble, scorched with the vein-like patterns of Sorcerous fire and combustion. The glow seemed to originate from these pieces, from between them, where the shadows should be. I went forward slowly, squinting at the almost unassuming collection of broken ivory shards. If they were once part of an attempted accessway to the Low Plane of Sorcery, then what could that mean now? Could they allow a streamlined, unbarred access to a far greater pool of Souls than the current, material world we lived in? I hadn¡¯t thought so before, but standing here before the portal, I was unsure. Perhaps not access to the Low, but it was undeniable the broken portal held power far beyond they should, given the material. Maybe the Souls escaping the Low in the explosion of Sorcery had resulted in a deep imbuing that left them reeking of magic. If so, it would be like my use of the inquisitors outside Levanska¡ªimmense power concentrated into an immediately employable, overwhelming degree. What could I accomplish with such a tool? What barriers of this broken, faulty world could be surpassed? And more, would I¡ª


    My excited line of thought was interrupted by the cold point of a blade pressed into the small of my back. I turned to face my aggressor.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± Sovina hissed.


    I paused, halfway facing her and the entrance, halfway towards the broken portal.


    ¡°By the fucking gods¡­¡± Oskar groaned, stumbling into the room, pausing a few strides away when Sovina cast a warning glare his way. ¡°We just came to a bloody agreement!¡±


    Emalia stepped between him and me. ¡°We did. And to break it¡­ I am sorry. But this is larger than us.¡± Her eyes narrowed past him. ¡°The others need not be here, Oskar.¡±


    ¡°Yes, well, here they are.¡± Yet, he lifted a hand, and Nifont and Miras stopped.


    ¡°So they¡¯ve drawn blades, finally,¡± Miras said, mouth curled in a furious twist.


    ¡°Oskar,¡± Emalia said, nearly pleading, ¡°you understand I have no choice. He is demanding I listen. Demanding I obey. And where I was weak before, I will not be now.¡±


    The mercenary leader snorted, shaking his head. ¡°The fact Daecinus hasn¡¯t turned your insides to dust is a damn blessing, Priestess! Let him go before you damn us all to his Soulborne.¡±


    ¡°He cannot reach his Soulbornes here, nor can he cast Spells.¡±


    Oskar¡¯s eyes widened, flicking from her to myself incredulously. He expected it to be a bluff, of course. Unfortunately for him, it was not. From the moment I set my sights on the city, I knew it would be so. As such, I nodded slowly, careful not to cut myself on Sovina¡¯s obsidian-sharp blade.


    ¡°Fucking shit.¡± He went to step forward, then paused. He¡¯d had his sword out before, but now it was wavering at the floor. ¡°What of his Soulborne once he died? They¡¯ll kill all of us!¡±


    ¡°Your men will handle them.¡±


    ¡°We will? Have you seen the fuckers take on Dead? We¡¯ll lose a score at least!¡±


    ¡°They will not be a threat to you, Oskar,¡± I said finally.


    He stared at me, mouth working at words he was surely at a loss for. ¡°What? Why?¡±


    I looked at Emalia. ¡°I¡¯ve surrendered my weapons to you, offered myself precisely as you want. But before giving an order for my death, I want you to listen to this voice demanding your submission. Has it grown louder here as I suspected?¡±


    My question made her swallow, and the mask of determination wavered, even if only momentarily. ¡°He is close here, yes.¡±


    ¡°The only thing that is close are the Souls warring for control of your mind.¡±


    ¡°I have no reason to believe you.¡±


    ¡°I let you take me unhindered precisely to earn your trust that I do this in good faith.¡± I lifted my head, staring down at her not in spite but as a father might do to an unruly child. ¡°I could have killed you both without difficulty. And yet, I stayed my hand. I let you live. Emalia, I see humanity in you, goodness in you, and I will not fall to the easier path of unbound violence.¡± I turned my gaze to Sovina, hoping her caution and care for her partner would outweigh her blind, violent obedience. ¡°The tallest floor of the Column¡ªthis place she had her first vision from Raizak¡ªyou admitted yourself you knew little of it, did you not? The whole structure is a Wonder of this world¡ªthis much I know from talking with the others. And Wonders such as the Column are forged with Sorcery, fueled by Souls. I didn¡¯t think it possible, but look here, look at what all feel in this very room.¡± I paused, licking my dry lips, closing my eyes, dancing along the boundaries of truth. ¡°It pains me to say it, but Vasia has surpassed Pethya in this regard, at least. I did not think such direct access to the High or Low was possible, but perhaps your Column is the closest humanity has gotten to touching the High. Then is it not possible that a Soul latched on to Emalia¡¯s mind, attempting to bend it?¡±


    ¡°But why?¡± Sovina demanded. I expected the blade to thrust through me with her anger, but it remained frozen there. A good sign.


    ¡°It demands my heart, a piece of a broken portal, and something more beyond this¡ª¡±


    ¡°A relic in Luteleia,¡± she finished for me. ¡°Though I do not know what that is.¡±


    Emalia¡¯s face went white, and she said, ¡°It contains something. Ashes, perhaps, though I know not of who¡­¡± She looked at me, and in her eyes I knew there was truth. And for it, she would pay. ¡°Perhaps¡­ Gods. Perhaps it bears the Vasian priests of old¡ªthose who presided over the destruction of Pethya. You were to find truth of it here.¡±


    ¡°Destruction? What do you mean destruction?¡±


    ¡°They are dead, Daecinus¡ª¡± She fell to her knees, gasping, hands upon her head. ¡°Something is¡­ Gods!¡±


    ¡°Emalia!¡± Sovina moved to help her, then whipped around and pointed her saber at me, but I had not moved.


    Dead. Destroyed. My eyes, red as crimson blood with the Souls in the chamber, were pried open wide in shock, my whole body motionless, muscles taught and tensed. ¡°Dead,¡± I repeated, the word like ash on my tongue. ¡°All of them¡­ No, it could be but a convenient lie. It¡¯s impossible!¡±


    ¡°I¡ªI can''t,¡± Emalia was saying, begging. ¡°Please.¡±


    An ambush upon Pethya¡¯s greatest weapon: me. Once I had been taken out of the situation, they proceeded against my country, my people. It was retribution for what we¡¯d done, for what I¡¯d done. Where was I? At the Observatory, toiling in my own ambitions for a hope never to come. And when they were all slaughtered, I would have been paraded around, sealed away. Then, when it was no longer convenient, Pethya faded into myth and legend, renamed, repurposed. Vasians couldn¡¯t be mass killers and destroyers forever; no, they would need to be heroes against some unnamed barbarian force. Nameless. Gone. And I? Used as fuel.


    Sovina was helping Emalia, soothing her, but the priestess¡¯s eyes were no longer her own. And so, it seemed, my guess was right insomuch as this place might best her.


    ¡°Em?¡± Sovina asked, shaking her. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°Kill him.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Kill him now!¡± whatever had the priestess in its grips demanded.


    Sovina stood at a stumble, shaken, head swinging towards me, then back to her companion. ¡°Are you¡­ in control?¡±


    ¡°I gave you an order.¡± Emalia stood on uncoordinated feet, hands feeling for her dagger before pulling it. ¡°Kill him!¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Before Sovina could finish, Oskar moved.


    He launched forward, tackling Emalia to the ground, pinning her arm under a knee, and prying the dagger away. Sovina went to intercede, but Nifont and Miras were already guarding Oskar, warding her back.


    ¡°What is this?¡± she demanded.


    ¡°Open your fucking eyes,¡± Oskar grunted and fought down a frantic Emalia, kicking the blade away. ¡°It isn¡¯t her!¡±


    ¡°Sovina!¡± Emalia screeched. ¡°Kill him! Kill them all!¡±


    Sovina winced. ¡°This isn¡¯t you.¡±


    ¡°Do it, or our bond is broken!¡±


    ¡°This¡­¡± She closed her eyes, then opened them, defiant and determined. ¡°This isn¡¯t you! Begone Soul! Leave her!¡±


    My body was still as I watched this exchange, this desperate and futile struggle. I felt cold and hollow as if I¡¯d been emptied out and filled with marshy drainage. What cruel joke was this? What sick humor? I swept my eyes from Sovina¡¯s pleading and demanding with Emalia to the broken portal, to the caved-in wall and stretching sightlines of the city beyond, and, as planned, Protis, crouching amongst the rubble in the shadows, dark eyes barely visible, huge form obscured. I gave my creation a nod, and it loped inside in one fluid motion. The ground shook. Everyone turned.


    ¡°Daecinus?¡± Oskar asked, a distant threat to his voice.


    I ignored him. My plans for vengeance, locked and stowed behind caution and care, were now fluttering like loose sheets of parchment in a storm around my mind, strategies weighed, tactics tested. But first, necessities.

 Spirits – Chapter Thirty

    Protis reached me before anyone could intervene. My Soulborne stood over me, powerful, muscled, intelligent. The broken portal¡¯s effects, as I had predicted, would interfere with control of my lesser creations I¡¯d safely quartered away from any conflict, but Protis, infused with its own complex mind and capacity for independence? It withstood the barrage of Soul magic without any visible effect. Its hand extended, offering the Artifact it had sought out as we¡¯d entered the room, one of Sorcery tangible as a blazing light to the Soul-sensitive perceptions of the Soulborne.


    I took the small chest and lowered it to the floor. Gently, carefully, I opened the lid and peered inside. Sitting upon a time-worn, yet still luxurious padding of silk, were two engraved ivory arm rings with bronze edging, each about as thick as two fingers. Encircling them, of similar material and design, was a diadem. All three had precise carvings not entirely dissimilar to that which I had prepared in the ground for the ambush against the inquisitors. They were tools for Sorcerous expansion, Soul access, and they reeked of power and Death. I picked up the arm rings and felt their potential course through me, that sick swamp water replaced by that of melted glaciers and sharp awareness. I put them on without another moment¡¯s hesitation, then the diadem.


    The room, already thick with Sorcery, exploded in an onslaught of stimuli, each detail thrust into my skull and burrowed into the meat of my mind along with the hating, overpowering strength of the Dead. My Corruption-wrought flesh strained against my will, stretching to meet this external force, this usurping power. I held on with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, flaring red as a fire is fed oil. Spittle sprayed from between my bared teeth, muscles taught, contracting tight in horrid effort, in impossible defiance.


    Voices beyond. Outside.


    I pushed through the initial hurdle, though more was surely to come, and looked back at the others.


    The thing that held Emalia was still, observant. Perhaps hoping for my failure, perhaps simply in wonder of such blunder. Sovina crouched protectively over her, saber ever-ready. Oskar still had the priestess pinned though with little attention to her, for he was watching me with the kind of look a child gives a predator that had strayed too close to the village in the night, lean with hunger. The other two kept their distance and seemed to be waiting for Oskar¡¯s command, faces taught in concentration against the portal¡¯s influence.


    ¡°Do you want her cleansed?¡± I hissed out, words like sputtering smoke.


    Sovina met my stare. A courageous thing in itself. ¡°Is this a threat?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I stood on wobbly feet, then righted myself. ¡°I can help her. But you will have to trust me.¡± The possessed Emalia began thrashing again, forcing Oskar to return his focus to holding her still. ¡°I want to destroy the intruding Spirit inside her.¡±


    Sovina opened her mouth in protest, then closed in, considering. ¡°We¡¯re not your enemy.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    Her eyes went down to the creature that seemed so distant from her Column-sworn sister and gave a nod. ¡°Very well. Do what you must, Daecinus.¡±


    I would not become the monster. I would not devolve into reckless violence and hatred. Years of that had taught me enough already that such a path was not meant for me. I was meant for more. And so, with the power of these scavenged Artifacts, I approached Emalia and stood over her animalistic thrashings, my red-flaring eyes tearing through the mortal illusions with Soulsight. The world, green and sick, became monochromatic, and the woman¡¯s Soul emerged visible and clear as any physical object. But it was not alone. Something else wrapped around it. If only I had looked. If only I had the power to see what lies inside! I thought with a sword-sharp scowl at my own failings. Regardless, Emalia¡¯s Soul was held by another, strangled, coiled within this interloper¡¯s clutches. This third party was not just one but many, with an unclear separation of the various entities that reminded me of a pit of snakes, their forms entangled such that they appeared one in the same.


    I knelt down, wincing against the onslaught of the chamber, fearing its power, yet needing it all the same, and reached out with the touch of Sorcery, tentative at first, testing and probing, then assertive. Before me, a serpent¡¯s strangling. It would not be possible to cut the thing from her, not as entangled as it was out of need, but I could do something else. While unaccustomed to such things, yet fueled well enough to succeed, I pulled this outside entity¡ªwhich fought so desperately, so violently I feared it might kill her Soul¡ªand sequestered it. An isolating, restraining position that would hopefully choke it out in enough time without another Soul to eat.


    But it was stubborn. Hungry. Even pulled apart, it was still attached to her as a source of sustenance. I chewed at my lips, staring at the malignant entity. The overtaker, the consumer. My plan would work, but Emalia would be weakened near death. I reached forth again, trying to pull it apart further, harboring some hopes of separation, but as I tugged, Emalia screamed. Quickly, I released and she also stopped her cries. Forceful separation will mean death. It needs her. I tried from a different angle without any luck. Not her. It needs someone.


    And already, my sequestering was slipping. The entity was pulling in her Soul again, beginning to wrap its sick tendrils tighter. How long before it would take more than temporary control? How long before it absorbed her?


    And in a place such as this, it was too great a risk. My plan was simply too imperfect a solution. Too temporary in resolution.


    She deserved better.


    ¡°If I turn,¡± I said to Protis, ¡°kill me.¡±


    Before anyone could stop me, I reached inside and offered a piece of myself to the hungry Souls. As I expected, they acquiesced. The last thing I felt before I blacked out was the sensation of something sliding into my flesh like a knife into the brain, a child into the womb, intestines stuffed back in place.


    And then I was gone.


    ¡­


    Emalia gasped, sitting up. Her head thumped with each angry pulse, light flared and burned her eyes, and even her skin prickled with the cold like they were in the mountains again, freezing to death amongst the snow and ice. She stared around the room, fighting through the pain.


    Oskar was above her, holding her down. He squinted in her face and let go, squatting back. Nifont and another were close by, also on edge. Sovina leaned down and pulled her into a tight hug before she could even read her companion¡¯s expression for a sign of what she should be feeling.


    ¡°I thought you were lost,¡± she said, voice cracking. ¡°I thought you were gone forever.¡±


    Emalia blinked, and the pieces of her recent memory became more tangible, more contextually sensible. She went to speak, but her voice was not with her, so it came out rasping and unintelligible. Her throat stung. So she simply hugged Sovina back, holding her tight, afraid of letting go for she might be alone again, trapped in darkness as her body moved and mouth said words that were not hers. Could it truly be? she thought during that all-too-brief moment of reprieve. Could my visions, my orders¡­ Was it all a lie by some wayward Souls? Her stomach felt empty and small, tight with pain, sick with monumental loss. She clung to Sovina. Fingers splayed and dug to feel as much of her as possible, to meld with the real, with the sane, the comforting. There, she was safe, and the truth of her loss was not so severe. So¡­ all-damning.


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    But finally, Sovina pulled back, and Emalia had to hold down a cry at the loss. ¡°We need to help Daecinus,¡± she said.


    Emalia looked over and saw him through her tear-blurry eyes. He was on the ground, seemingly unconscious. Protis loomed over him, still as an ancient statue that might just come to life in sudden ferocity. ¡°What happened?¡± she rasped out, feeling like she¡¯d swallowed sand, wincing.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Sovina admitted. ¡°He said he was helping, then just went unconscious.¡±


    ¡°Doing some Sorcery, he was.¡± Oskar nodded back to the entrance. ¡°Maybe we should get him out of here? Have Feia take a look.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Protis said.


    ¡°No?¡±


    ¡°Daecinus requires the Souls.¡±


    ¡°Fine then.¡± Oskar sighed. ¡°We don¡¯t move him. But this place is getting to me.¡± He rubbed his head to emphasize the point, and Emalia could not blame him.


    Even with her control back, she felt like something was pushing against her skull, drying to worm inside. That¡¯s when it struck her, and she sat upright as she might after a night of reading that had led to an epiphany. ¡°He has it.¡± She could scarcely say more. She gestured to herself, then Daecinus with rapid, waving movements.


    Sovina was the first to understand, then the others, eyes and mouths widening in a dreadful realization.


    ¡°Fuck.¡± Oskar looked to Protis. ¡°So that¡¯s what he said to you about turning?¡±


    The creature did not reply but simply kept watching its creator with vigilant intent.


    She was about to suggest the others leave so she could stay with him and Protis when shouts boomed in from outside. Sovina stood and moved between her and the entrance as Oskar nodded the warrior beside Nifont to go check. Miras, was it? He jogged outside to the hall, so oddly distant from the room, and reappeared a moment later, ducking in over the strewn rubble.


    ¡°We got Corpses!¡± Miras shouted.


    ¡°How many?¡± Oskar asked.


    ¡°A fucking lot! The men holding the tunnel abandoned the position¡ªtoo many of the fuckers."


    ¡°Son of a whore.¡± Oskar cast one last glance to Daecinus and then her. ¡°If he dies, we¡¯re fucked here. But if he becomes possessed by your Soul friend¡­ Well, just don¡¯t let that happen.¡± He nodded to Nifont and the two of them joined the others outside.


    ¡°Go,¡± Emalia whispered to Sovina.


    ¡°I won¡¯t leave you here. It¡¯s dangerous.¡± She glanced at Daecinus and Protis.


    ¡°Trust me. Him.¡± She put a hand on her companion¡¯s arm, then slid it down to hold her hand, squeezing it with as much confidence and strength as she could muster. Holding her hand, however, she didn¡¯t feel like she had to fake it. Putting on the brave face felt¡­ natural. ¡°Go help.¡±


    Sovina closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ¡°If you feel yourself losing control, leave.¡± She stood hesitantly, facing ahead, then after a moment she turned back and met Emalia¡¯s eyes. Their hands were still intertwined. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m happy I didn¡¯t lose you.¡±


    Emalia felt her chest tighten. What was that feeling? Her skin tingled where their touch met. She squeezed Sovina¡¯s hand and tugged on it, pulling her close. And before she could rationalize and consider and persuade herself to stop, she leaned up and kissed her. It was brief, their lips dry and cracked, and both breathless. Emalia¡¯s stomach swirled and her lungs filled with thin, head-fuzzying air as she pulled back, eyes stuck to the ground before she pried them up, making herself look Sovina in the eye. She was afraid of what she might see there: horror, disgust, hate. But her companion¡¯s face was painted with surprise, a frozen sort of shock that slowly melted into a smile that could warm any heart.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Emalia whispered.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be.¡± Sovina paused there, breathing heavy, eyes flickering up and down, but then a shout filtered in of the Dead arriving and she stood, pulling back with a grimace. ¡°I need to go.¡±


    ¡°Be safe.¡±


    She nodded, blinking, shaking her head, turning to face the entrance, setting her shoulders and regripping her Column blade. She strode forward to the entrance and glanced back at the last second. ¡°Protis, let nothing happen to her.¡±


    The creature, silent and still, did not even look up to her, but they¡¯d be fools not to think it heard and understood all. When Sovina left to join the fight in the hall, Emalia felt something in her wither and tighten in the squeezing pain of loss. She will be fine. It¡¯s nothing they have not handled before, she reminded herself, finding her dagger strewn about on the floor and holding it tight. She looked over to Daecinus and crawled closer. When she got within arm¡¯s length, Protis grunted with the sound of a stone set down within some great structural foundation.


    She stopped and looked up to it. ¡°I will try and help him if it comes to it.¡±


    It gave another grunt of what she hoped was understanding.


    So she paused there, blade ready, carefully observing the man the color of marble, tall and aristocratic, with strange new arm rings like that of an old warrior and a diadem of similar make. She sat there, trying not to think of what was lost, of what was gained, just the task ahead, of helping him as he¡¯d helped her, however she could.


    ¡­


    Oskar¡¯s leg was bouncing something fierce. His gut felt unsteady and twisty too. But standing with the others, back to the broken portal room, that old surge of fear and panic was held at bay long enough to keep his feet planted and weapon ready. There¡¯d be no running today.


    For better or for worse, he stood along with his men, facing the darkness. The few he¡¯d posted at the bottom stairs were at the flank of the wall, gasping with hands on their knees, staring at the shadowed hall with fear. He wished they weren¡¯t so open about their terror. Wasn¡¯t good for morale. Regardless, Oskar had his line march forward, so they were about halfway down the long hall, offering enough room to retreat if the pressure built. Behind them, Feia stood with shoulders hunched and arms wide, fingers twisted like claws. She¡¯d been demanding details on Daecinus when he joined the wall, and the few words offered to her weren¡¯t exactly comforting ones. And yet she remained outside. At least whatever worry she had didn¡¯t outweigh the ancient Sorcerer¡¯s warnings.


    The floor shook. Moans of the Dead rising like the tide. He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulder a few more times, twisted his lower back. The hall was short, so Nifont was behind him with a bow. The telltale sign of the stave creaking under taught pressure with a strong draw. Stanilo to his left, Miras to his right.


    ¡°Some damn day,¡± he muttered, cracking his neck.


    ¡°We hold till Daecinus is up?¡± Stanilo asked, not seeming concerned or worried as any normal might be, just curious.


    ¡°Aye. That¡¯s the hope at least.¡±


    He grunted and nodded.


    ¡°Here they come!¡± Waker shouted, his voice cracking.


    Oskar couldn¡¯t see them yet, but they were getting louder. Loud enough it meant they were close. ¡°Ready yourselves, boys.¡±


    Suddenly, Sovina was joining in the shield wall. There wasn¡¯t much space, but a bowman gladly ceded their spot to prepare an arrow from behind. Oskar looked over and met her gaze from across the shield wall. She nodded and looked forward. Given all that¡¯d happened, he didn¡¯t know how to feel about the woman, but anyone willing to join him with blade in hand against a wave of Dead deserved good enough favor, he figured. Just wish we had the bloody Soulborne for this. But they were nowhere to be seen, Protis aside. The men said the two near the entrance had loped off down the hall. Maybe they¡¯re in the rooms, waiting to ambush?


    Hard to say without eyes on the scary fucks. Either way, they were on their own for now.


    The groans and stamping feet became louder now. Nifont¡¯s arrow shot past, disappearing into the darkness. A moment later, Oskar made out their forms¡ªa big mass of them, all charging in that loped, awkward shuffle of Shamblers after fresh meat.


    ¡°Steady now!¡± he shouted. ¡°We¡¯ve fought more than this. Worse odds too!¡±


    A jumble of cheers, mostly just screamed threats at the Dead.


    ¡°Got a nice narrow hall! Make the rotting fucks pay for every step!¡±


    Another cheer, firmer, in unison, mean and determined. He scrunched up his face and shouted out hateful, blood-pumping nonsense. The kind of noise you hear in animals ripping at eachother¡¯s throats. The others echoed. Oskar¡¯s vision swam in a haze, the details fuzzy, yet so clear and vibrant. Immediate. He roared again. Something about killing. Even Stanilo was shouting. Another few arrows loosed. The wall of Shamblers. Dead, stinking, decaying flesh. Open mouths and broken teeth. Hands outstretched. Leg bouncing, bouncing.


    This was it. The final battle. This was the end.


    ¡°Voiya!¡± he screamed, then swung his sword and hacked into the wall of Dead.

 Chained by the Past – Chapter Thirty-One

    At first, all I could tell was that the chamber was dark and I was alone. I stood with some hesitance, my gut doing twists and head thick with the sludge of new consciousness. As if I¡¯d been locked away for centuries again. But as I straightened and observed my surroundings with cautious trepidation, I saw that this was no mere room but my own Grand Observatory. The massive, sweeping bronze rings above, the platform docked at the ground, the lingering taste of power. But it was a faded power, an ancient power. It was not the Observatory of my memory but one of a later, more time-worn age. Years after the attack? Decades? Centuries? I couldn¡¯t tell. All I knew was that it was no longer mine, but belonging only to memory and the elements of the world around it. Coarse, dark sand and dust lay in windswept drifts across the floor, joining dark, empty puddles like something from a subterranean cave system.


    ¡°What Souls have brought me here?¡± I asked aloud, turning on my heel to survey the interior.


    For a moment, silence. The kind of an empty temple when you cock your head, listening for a whisper of divination that will never come. I¡¯d killed and created long enough to know the gods never intervened for or against me. And here, in that sacred moment of pause, the eternal silence, an answer was provided.


    ¡°WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, SORCERER?¡± came the dark hiss, deep as grinding earth fissures, furious as a godly reprisal. A great shadow loomed over me, one of power and strength.


    I looked up at it, withstanding its impossible pressure and influence with a squinted glare. ¡°Do you feel it? The cold?¡±


    ¡°WHAT IS THIS?¡±


    Ah, there it is. Fear. I took a step toward the being. The costume. ¡°What is your true identity? What Souls are present in this monstrosity before me?¡±


    The thing lashed out at me¡ªnot with physical force, but one that was temporal, gravitational. I felt called to bend and prostrate myself.


    ¡°The arrogance in you. Vasian priests, then? Old princes, perhaps?¡± I wheezed in a new breath, straining against the weight, glaring up. ¡°You will no longer have Emalia to torment, and for the time you can survive within me, I shall be your new vessel.¡±


    ¡°RETURN US TO HER. RETURN US NOW!¡± it demanded. Its voice was fraying, separating into the fragments of identities that originally made up the mass of Soul influence.


    ¡°Who were you? And how do you know of me?¡±


    Again, it applied an impossible pressure upon me, and it took all I had not to collapse under the weight. ¡°You cannot make demands of me, of us, Pethyan.¡± Its voice shifted from one of a god to that of a discordant group, each vying to be heard, their message all the same. An illusion broken.


    ¡°Oh, but I can.¡± I smiled with gritted teeth and bulging, dark veins. ¡°See, I let myself become your vessel, and in your greed you took it, but this new home of yours is a tainted one, a Corrupted one. Specifically, the part of me nearly destroyed by your people here, centuries ago. Do you appreciate the irony of your predicament?¡± I began to laugh.


    It went to bark something imperious and demanding back, but seemed to stop in horrified realization that I had not bluffed. In fact, the very disintegration of its collective self made my claim¡¯s truth evident enough. ¡°You will free us?¡±


    ¡°I will, but only if I am satisfied with your thoroughness.¡±


    Though I expected greater resistance, it seemed desperation was an effective motivator. ¡°We are High Priests from a similar age, it is true. All of us bound and sealed for our knowledge of the Reaving.¡±


    ¡°I am not familiar with this Reaving. Enlighten me.¡±


    ¡°You should be,¡± a distinct voice said, momentarily separate from the whole. ¡°You caused it, Daecius Aspartes.¡±


    Another said, ¡°And it was us who organized, coordinated, and executed the spearheading mission. Who did what so many others could not.¡±


    ¡°Explain!¡±


    They did, in a torrent of voices, each following the other in rapid succession. ¡°Your Dead killed our priests, half our army, and destroyed the western coastline.¡±


    ¡°Your buffer kingdoms, tribespeople in the mountains, our border territories, Pethya itself.¡±


    ¡°You ravaged it with more Dead ever fielded, all without the caution and humanity of a human general. All without bindings of political and humane sensibilities!¡±


    ¡°They slaughtered and ruined. Are you proud of yourself, Daecinus Aspartes? Are you proud of your grand defense of Pethya? Your resistance to us?¡±


    The voices, many, the same, few, they struck like fists against a cracking skull. I stood there, still, not breathing, staring. ¡°Impossible,¡± I whispered. ¡°They would have been chained to my intention, to my orders¡­¡±


    ¡°Were your orders for the destruction and ruin of more land than has ever been brought by war or famine? For a spiraling madness that required Sorcerous blight brought on by dozens of circles of priests to put a stop to?¡± It groaned, somewhere between a great tree in a storm and a hungering Shell. ¡°Now free us! We have answered your questions!¡±


    Even in my absence, such Dead should have been bound to instruction. But I hadn¡¯t died, had I? I was Corrupted, muted, sequestered, rendered unconscious and nonresponsive¡ªdid this change things? Could that change have fundamentally altered my control of the Dead? To this day, perhaps Dead still roam, once under my will, roaming on frontiers as the Dead seemed to do now? Regardless, it didn¡¯t matter anymore. I had failed in more ways that I could have ever feared. Even if they were lying, stretching the truth to their ends, I believed their tale of Pethya, and even if I didn¡¯t, I would soon find such information here in this city to say otherwise. I was sure of it.


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    ¡°Free us now!¡± the voices boomed.


    I looked up at their mass, at their acts of intimidation. These priests. These enemies. ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°You will feast on Corruption and boil away like rot under the desert sun.¡±


    They screamed, howled, and protested like frightened, angry children, but I pulled myself from their vision and stopped holding back the waves of destructive Corruption. In one decisive crash, the Souls withered, died, and the black-veined stretch of my flesh should fade to a far more manageable state. I sat up and yanked at my sleeve, staring in the green glow of the portal room, head swimming with boiling water and rusty nails. There were only traces of Corruption now. I pulled at my tunic to study my side. The original point of contact was still dark and sinister, but the flesh around it was nearly healed. So the gambit worked, then, I thought, an empty smile upon my lips. It was hardly a true victory. Or, at least, it was soiled by the undeniable and crushing truth of my people.


    ¡°Daecinus?¡± a voice rasped.


    Emalia was beside me, looking hardly better than I felt. She was on her knees and quite close. Then I realized why. She was bent over, hovering over me as if to shield me from Protis, though my creation was still and watching. Its strange, deathly face, pallid and still, was a visage of patient attentiveness with a distant threat of violence buried beneath.


    ¡°It is I,¡± I said to Protis.


    Its head cocked, and for a terrible moment I thought it might decide differently. And then it grunted and swiveled to face the hall. Sounds of battle echoed in.


    Though I wished to sit there and let it all fall away, people were depending on me. Real ones. Alive ones. ¡°Go. I will call the others.¡± Protis went, and I did just that, pushing past the portal¡¯s influence with some effort. With my empowered Sorcery from the bracers and diadem, I spread my will out, ensuring all four Soulborne rushed to the livings¡¯ aid. My control was no more fine, but it was far more potent. The previous limitations of raw Sorcerous power were shackles upon a warrior¡¯s wrists, and with them, possibility was constrained. But now, I flexed the extent of my range and strength like thick, powerful muscles. My Corruption, stymied as it was by my scheme with the priests¡¯ Souls, would still be a problem should I push too far. But I was familiar with the sensation, and so I would be careful. Risks were necessary, yes, but survival was paramount to accomplish anything.


    I stood with Emalia¡¯s help and hobbled to the edge of the chamber overseeing the city, shambling like a Shell. It was still day out, though the sky was clouded.


    ¡°Did you see him?¡± she asked, voice quiet and probing, rough from her possession.


    ¡°I saw the Souls. They failed to hold a consistent form.¡±


    ¡°And they told you of Pethya?¡±


    ¡°They did.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Her supportive hand squeezed my arm comfortingly. ¡°The Souls¡­ what happened? Do you feel them?¡±


    ¡°I fed them my Corrupted half,¡± I replied, staring out over the city, feeling my physical strength returning. ¡°Given that the Corruption is still present, I can only assume it destroyed them.¡±


    ¡°Raizak above.¡±


    ¡°A bold move¡ªI know.¡± The festering courtyard of the keep had hundreds of Shells shuffling inwards, funneling into the tower. An impossible fight, even in a narrow hall with Soulborne aid. It was only a matter of time until the defense was lost. I would have to make my move soon.


    Emalia must have seen it too, for she gasped and stumbled back, turned, and made for the chamber¡¯s exit to the hall.


    ¡°You will not be able to assist,¡± I said.


    She stopped, shaking and pale. ¡°We need to do something!¡±


    ¡°We will. Tell me all you know of this broken portal.¡±


    ¡­


    Oskar¡¯s shield wall had retreated a good few paces, yet more Dead were coming. Even with the Soulborne ripping and tearing at the mass of them, it still wasn¡¯t enough. There were simply too many. They piled up in front, creating a mound the others scrambled over to attack down upon his men. They bunched up and pushed, creating a wall with enough strength to break his own. Fortunately, the archers behind stopped flinging arrows and drew blades to assist, adding their weight to his crumbling wall. Oh, what he¡¯d give for another score of professionals right about then. His own left hand, probably.


    ¡°Another step!¡± he shouted. ¡°On three!¡±


    The men gave a few more ferocious hacks as he counted out loud. Then on three, they all stepped back a full pace to let the pressed Dead stumble forward into hand-forged death. At the same time, Protis, knee-deep in gore and bisected parts, roared something out, then leaped out to slam into a mass of Dead just before Oskar. He nearly stumbled back in surprise but barely held himself there. It took some fucking balls too, if you¡¯d ask him. Wasn¡¯t every day you fought side-by-side with a Greyskin-look-alike.


    ¡°Soulborne take middle,¡± the towering thing grunted.


    Oskar nodded and shuffled back, letting the other Soulborne fill in his place. Though Protis lacked a shield to protect itself and others, it was big and strong enough that one would probably just slow the fucker down. Soon, the other three Soulborne joined in, filling out the center so his men could transition into two proper ranks, the injured and exhausted taking the rear. But everyone was tired. Tired to their bones. Even Feia, usually of little help in times like this, where a hard press and sharp iron were the only ways of doing things, had joined in with a pike she¡¯d scavenged from somewhere, jamming it over the heads of the others, thrusting Dead flesh with unsurprising ferocity. She wasn¡¯t a soldier, but damn him to Neapoli if she wasn¡¯t a mean fighter. Of course, he already knew that though.


    ¡°Emalia!¡± he hollered over his shoulder, voice cracking partway through. ¡°How¡¯s Daecinus doing? Up and breathing?¡±


    ¡°The Soulborne are fighting, so he is conscious,¡± Feia replied with a wicked grin¡ªshe¡¯d not taken the news of what the crazy bastard had done quite well, but then again, she didn¡¯t seem too worried he¡¯d actually die.


    Still, the man himself responded quickly enough from the portal room, ¡°Working on a solution. Keep up a fighting retreat.¡±


    ¡°I hear you there.¡± Oskar pulled one of his men back and took his place, hacking off a Shambler¡¯s arm with a chop so clean he nearly grinned. But he was too tired, too sore, too fucking scared to smile. The hall was full of Dead. They were losing ground, and soon, would be losing numbers.


    We could retreat to the portal room, he thought, then dismissed the idea. Only thing worse than a last stand was one where hungry Souls were trying to burrow into a frightened, desperate mind. He shivered and bashed out with his shield, creating some more space for his blade to do its gods-praised work. Something he¡¯d done a dozen times now, but if there was one good thing about fighting Dead, it was that they were predictable.


    He expected a whole cluster of Greyskins to appear at the stairs just then, barrelling down the hall just to spite him. But none did. This time, he did grin¡ªeven if only for a moment, looking like a corpse with rigor mortis more than anything. But still, it was good. It meant the fear was still weak. Still a distance away from overpowering. It was when that old friend took over that he found it near impossible to do anything but run. Not a good trait in a leader. Not honorable or glorious. But those types never lost a battle and saw what happened to the loser.


    So Oskar held firm and cut and stabbed and shouted nonsense murder words, buying time until fear took over again. Until the constant wave of Dead was just too much to handle. Until one of the men was pulled down and torn to pieces and everything went to shit. Because it would. He knew it. And to the screams of his dying warriors, he knew, somewhere in his worn, pessimistic heart, he¡¯d run.

 Faith and War – Chapter Thirty-Two

    ¡°So, inactive as it is, we might treat it as a deep well of Souls?¡± I asked, studying the old ivory shards of the portal. It appeared as if it¡¯d been broken by pick, how the once-great disk was fragmented into chunks no larger than my head.


    Emalia nodded, glancing over to the hall nervously. ¡°I assumed Raizak¡ªor, the Souls, rather¡ªneeded it to merge a connection with the material world. Like a fuel source.¡±


    ¡°Was my heart not enough?¡±


    She did not meet my eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It was always a creature¡¯s heart, a sacrifice of a monster. I thought it had something to do with using an object forged of Sorcery as a focus for whatever ritual was planned. It was not my place to question.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡±


    ¡°Daecinus, I¡ª¡±


    I stopped her with a raised hand and said, ¡°You were deceived by Spirits far older and more insidious than yourself. It is impressive you managed to retain much control and awareness for as long as you did. In fact, there was likely no worse host for them, in that sense.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ Thank you.¡± Her expression, broken by regret, brown eyes burnished with unshed tears and wavering in their effort to meet mine, faltered between grief and determination. She wore the look of immense loss¡ªthat of her own free will, her own conscience¡ªand bore it as I had when I awoke in Rotaalan. ¡°I wish,¡± she said, ¡°to do right by you. To make use of what these voices have led us to.¡±


    My heart sank, for I did not wish to deceive her nor to betray her, and so I was faced with the hideous, unavoidable conundrum of repeating past mistakes. Of following in the ancestral footsteps faded from the sands of time once left by my own feet. ¡°I cannot let it rest, Emalia.¡± I closed my eyes and decided that, at the very least, I had to save those who¡¯d fought to save me, to bring us here. My friends of sorts. ¡°If you wish to do right by me¡­ then keep out of my way.¡±


    Using the broken portal as an immediate source of fuel, I wrought an immense volume of Soul magic through my body, capable only with the circlets and diadem, and released it in an expanding web of dominion. The effort would have killed me if I were as Corrupted as I was before, for the latent Soul decay might have grown beyond control, feeding off the excess magic in my blood. It pained me, it tore at me, it even began the Corruption that I¡¯d labored so ingeniously to do away with, but it was a minor inconvenience, a minute setback. For within a moment, the hundreds of Dead swarming the tower, infesting the courtyard, assaulting the warriors who¡¯d brought us here¡ªthey were all mine.


    Immediately, I had them halt, then sent orders for Protis to stop the fight and prevent any more destruction of my future vessels. With the same rush of power, I pushed through and took complete control of my other Soulborne, leaving one to defend the mercenaries from any unforeseen threats as Protis and the rest searched the top level. I needed Artifacts. I needed advantages. As is, I was still a fraction of my former capacity. I doubted Soulfire would even form properly, for the innate feebleness of some more complex Spells was near-insurmountable.


    ¡°Daecinus, I know you want justice for your people, but whatever you have in mind cannot be the solution,¡± Emalia said, snapping me from my reflections, already grasping the beginnings of my intent. ¡°For you, it was months ago, but most don¡¯t even know of Pethya. The ones who will suffer do not even know their ancestors¡¯ names who lived during those times!¡±


    ¡°Then who is responsible?¡± I demanded, barking suddenly, viciously. It was all ending now. The fa?ade of peace. The calm before the storm I was always going to bring. The inevitable. ¡°Who pays for the crime that¡¯s gone unanswered? Who? Me? I did my share of terror, and I suffered imprisonment for centuries. Abuse and exploitation unparalleled in history.¡± I stepped forward, towering over this priestess of a people whose glory and strength were built on the destruction of mine. The Souls of the broken portal shrieked into my mind, adding to the screeching protests of the Dead futilely struggling against my will. A cacophony of mindless hunger and violence, chewing, eating away. But they would find no freedom from my iron grip.


    ¡°We gave Vasia fair treatment when it was still in its youth, floundering and turbulent,¡± I said, glaring down at her, memories sharp and vicious, resistant to their resurrection. ¡°We avoided a war with all efforts possible as they barked and howled. We sent dignitaries and envoys in peace with gifts and promises of treaties. And what did they do? The curs impaled them! Our messengers of peace upon stakes along our border. Our Sorcerer guards imprisoned and tortured. My love, my life partner, murdered by savages and left to the gulls!¡± I was shouting, nearly screaming, the dam broken, voice cracking, and tears trickling from my narrowed eyes; the fire and rage and torment finally loosed from years of buried focus at the expense of all else to bring her back. That sacred quest, stolen away by Vasian arrogance. ¡°I could have burned your cities to ash and made thralls of all I came across; I could have marched my Dead through your streets and did to them what they did to my love. I could have done worse¡­ But I was lenient. I let your people live. I gave them a second chance because it was what she would want. Because I hoped they might live up to her dreams of a peaceful, prosperous future. And what did they repay my kindness with? Her¡¯s? Betrayal! My peace. My moderation. Burned with Soulfire when they killed my sister and imprisoned me before the destruction of my home! And you ask for reconciliation? You ask for forgiveness?¡± Despite the whisper of humanity, the repressed notions of forgiveness and peace, I felt my face twist into a snarl of hatred, as sinister as any monster¡¯s. My people are dead. The Vasians killed them all. And only I am left with the charge of justice. ¡°If I were not bound by my conscience, I would march south and end your civilization! All reduced to whispered stories of fear and terror that¡¯d create a mythos of despair for generations to come!¡±


    I took a deep breath, straightening. I looked from her to the mercenaries in the hall, watching me with wide eyes and open mouths. ¡°But I am not the monster your ancestors thought I was. I will not destroy Vasia and all within her borders. I will not give my people the thorough vengeance they deserve. I will merely cut off the head, and whatever dies with it shall. This will be my justice, my moderation.¡±


    In that moment, I could not read all the faces turned my way. Horror, perhaps, but it was not directed at me as much as it was the reveal of the truth¡ªthis, at least, was the hope of my distant, agreeable mind. Rather, I focused on the few I was most familiar with. Oskar watched me with a tight mouth and narrowed eyes, attentive and analytical, perhaps; understanding and predicting, certainly. I did not know what to make of him. Of what he might do. Stanilo was the picture of concern, his brawny features bent in care¡ªhe would want to talk, to understand before any judgment or dissuading. It was what I admired about him so. Feia stood shakily, mouth open, arms rigid at her side, eyes bearing tears. This, perhaps, is what alarmed me most of all. Not once had I seen her cry. I went to take a step forward, perhaps to see to her, but I held myself still. She had experienced loss of her own kind. My story, brutal and extreme as it was, had to resonate with her. She¡¯d lost a partner of her own¡ªthis, I was already confident about¡ªbut here, seeing her reaction, I knew it to be true. Perhaps she¡¯d even had a family. Children. She understood as no one else could.


    ¡°So what will you do?¡± Sovina asked, inside the chamber near Emalia. Haggard and soaked in the black, stinking blood of the Dead, she was not afraid as others were, nor in shock.


    My response was quick and decisive, steeped in the certainty of long contemplation and foregone conclusions.¡°I will march on Nova and break your Column. I will demand the heads of the tsar and all the voivodes and priests who reside there. Then I will leave your people in peace.¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t work,¡± Oskar said, laying his ichor-stained blade over his shoulder as he stepped inside the chamber with a grimace. ¡°They won¡¯t surrender. Not to you. Not to anyone. That''s not how things work.¡±


    ¡°That is their choice.¡±


    ¡°Will you fight the whole tsardom then?¡±


    ¡°I will do what I must.¡±


    ¡°Not some monster, eh? Yet you¡¯re willing to kill whoever gets in your way.¡± He snorted derisively, looking me up and down. ¡°We should have left you in the ruin to rot.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps.¡± I bowed my head, for he was not wrong in his analysis. ¡°For the good of your people, perhaps you should have.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just like them.¡±


    ¡°If I was like them, you and yours would be captured and used as Soul vessels for stronger Dead in a total war against Vasia. If I was like them, I would seek complete destruction.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t concede to this so quickly, Daecinus,¡± Emalia pleaded.


    ¡°Concede?¡±


    ¡°To this violence, no matter how justified. I was raised in the Column, an expert in its workings and influence as few others are¡ªmaybe there is another way. Maybe somewhere, out there, your people''s descendants still live!¡±


    ¡°Is this hope something I should follow in blind faith? Something I should stay all action for in the slightest possibility of Vasia¡¯s genocidal failure?¡± And my own Dead army¡¯s lack of thoroughness in slaying my people? The thought shamed me, but it was no less true. If the Spirits spoke accurately¡­ No, why should they? It was optimal to lie, to sway me from any goal but their own resuscitation, which required my sacrifice. It was them who were to blame. ¡°No. I shall not hesitate a moment longer. Vasia shall face my reckoning.¡±


    ¡°How many times has his Soulborne saved you and yours?¡± Feia interrupted, standing at the doorway, gesturing to everyone else. ¡°Has he not earned respect? Fair treatment? Daecinus Aspartes requires justice. His people require justice. How many must be slaughtered by the harsh hand of Vasia before they receive equal treatment? How many villages torched and states extinguished? In your hearts, you know his words are true. In your Souls. He requires justice! Will all only oppose?¡±


    ¡°We know, Feia. Few of us here lack a good reason to put a torch to the imperial flag, but there¡¯s more to it than that. There¡¯s death. A lot of it.¡± Oskar dropped his shield, grabbed her arm, and pulled her away from the threshold, glaring at me as if I were evil. ¡°No matter how many bodies you throw at the empire, it doesn¡¯t die, and it doesn¡¯t change. Fighting it¡¯s a fool¡¯s errand.¡±


    ¡°Then put your mind to it, Oskar,¡± she replied, jerking away from his grasp. ¡°You were once a druzhina of a voivode, no? Is this the extent of your scheming? Are you so easily stymied?¡±


    ¡°Do not speak of that!¡±


    ¡°Are you so afraid of a past lost? Mine was slaughtered, hung, and defiled, yet I do not shake at the thought of confrontation! I yearn for it again!¡± She stabbed his chest with a finger, and I felt my muscles tense in preparation. ¡°You were a druzhina, now in disgrace. But this is merely a title¡ª¡±


    He grabbed at her tunic, catching a handful of bones and beads strung along a necklace. They clattered to the floor as he pulled her close, snapping the thread. ¡°It was everything. Don¡¯t you condescend to me, not after I saved you.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Imperious and domineering? How the Vasian in you lights ablaze when pushed.¡±


    His reaction was quick and sudden as he shoved Feia against the wall. He went to strike, raising an arm, but stopped himself. As did I, with a hand raised to a poised Protis. Emalia shouted for peace, her voice echoing in the silence of violence-wrought tension.


    Oskar blinked, squeezed his hands into fists, and took a step back.


    Feia ran a hand over her scalp and jutted a bloody finger pointed toward me, staring out at the mercenaries. ¡°Before you stands the messiah of your vengeance. Will you not take it? Will you not stand up for the bones in the fields of lost battles, sacrificed by the ones you called voivodes?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll not be a part of this.¡± Oskar took another step back, bumping into the wall, eyes darting around like a cornered animal¡¯s. ¡°Never.¡±


    ¡°Then run home to Vasia and kiss your masters¡¯ feet, dog.¡±


    That blade of his rose. It pointed straight at my chest, shaking slightly.


    ¡°Is this wise?¡± I asked, stepping forward past a still-pleading Emalia, her voice of reason a faint, distant thing. ¡°Your men are surrounded, pinned by my Dead. Even if you killed me, you would all be torn apart. Will you sacrifice your men for your pride?¡±


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    He blinked, looking to Sovina. ¡°We¡¯re leaving. This¡­ this isn¡¯t right. We need to go.¡±


    ¡°Please, Daecinus,¡± Emalia begged. ¡°The Column is my home! The sheer knowledge there! The potential for more!¡± Sovina grabbed her arm and began pulling her away. She fought to get loose, but Sovina was determined to see her out safely. For this, I was glad. ¡°You can¡¯t do this!¡±


    ¡°Leave in peace,¡± I said. ¡°Nothing I control shall harm you. But do not go to Vasia. This, I beg of you. There will be little I can do to safeguard you if you are caught in the violence.¡±


    ¡°You needn¡¯t forgive them, but you can¡¯t wage this war! We can work together! We can find the truth of what happened!¡±


    ¡°The truth.¡± I shook my head, staring off into the city. ¡°Perhaps when I take your Column, I will find records there that redeem some small sliver of your people¡¯s legacy of death. But there is no truth beyond this: they killed my people, and for that, they will suffer.¡±


    Emalia was a woman of resolve and purpose, and so she did not stop trying to convince me as she was pulled away. Even as they entered the hall lined with still, intentionless Shells, she shouted after me to reconsider, to give them a chance as I did to her. How if I could free her of the Spirits, perhaps more can be done for the misdeeds of Vasia¡¯s past. That, in the end, ancient sins should not be forgotten and buried but resolved through effort and goodwill. The arguments, varied and thorough as they were, rang hollow to my ears. I would hear nothing of peace. Not now. Perhaps not ever. And so her calls of reconsideration were met with silence as Sovina dragged her from this Ruin.


    Oskar, retreating, gestured to Feia. ¡°Don¡¯t stay here. You¡¯re one of us.¡±


    ¡°That is what I thought.¡± She raised her chin up high. ¡°But I have a purpose here.¡±


    He winced. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Feia. I¡¯m¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oskar, I am grateful for all you¡¯ve given me. Safety, belonging, courage in the heart of scared woman facing death¡­¡± she trailed off, then shook her head, looking at him evenly and without any dramatics or derision. ¡°You helped give me life again. But it is not something I will squander and let rot away. This purpose is in my blood as alive as the Sorcery I wield.¡±


    A long moment. He seemed to want to step forward, to reach out, to sway her, maybe even to force her to leave with him, but he pulled back and looked away. ¡°Alright. Fine. Just don¡¯t get yourself killed following some quest for justice. It never goes as you want it.¡± He shook his head and wiped off his sword, sheathing it. ¡°We came for riches of silver and gold. No matter how sick this makes me, I¡¯m not leaving till my men get what they deserve.¡±


    ¡°Understandable,¡± I answered, waving a hand past him, mental commands and responses already received and sent like an active pigeon post, all enabled by the circlet and arm rings. ¡°You shall find such treasure at the stairwell. You will be satisfied.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± He turned away and left. He¡¯d find old gold at the end of the hall in a chest big enough it¡¯d take two men to carry it. Few others spared a moment to say goodbye. I did not know if it was Oskar¡¯s concerns that silenced their words or an eagerness to leave. Either way, it hurt to be left so easily, and I imagined Feia felt it more harshly.


    There were a few, however, who lingered a moment longer. Waker was struggling to hold back tears in his apologies, Nifont hung in the shadows, and Stanilo stood at the entrance with a long look my way. ¡°Sure this is the way of things? It¡¯s never too late.¡±


    ¡°I am not changing my mind, Stanilo,¡± I said.


    ¡°I know.¡± He smiled softly. ¡°Just had to try. Can¡¯t let things be with half-effort, is all.¡±


    That old glint of prideful knowingness lit up Feia¡¯s face. ¡°We will see each other again.¡±


    ¡°Then I can rest easy.¡± He turned fully to face her. ¡°I hope you find what you¡¯re looking for, Feia. Hope it comes together. I really do. Deus knows the search is a difficult one.¡±


    ¡°To search is to deny the weavings of fate, Ekhenist.¡±


    ¡°To search is to fulfill His will.¡±


    She scowled at him for a breath, then nodded. ¡°I shall scan for your god¡¯s purpose.¡±


    ¡°Gods, I¡¯m so sorry,¡± Waker muttered, rubbing his face. ¡°I wish it didn¡¯t have to end like this. Everything was going well and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Move on,¡± she replied evenly. ¡°It¡¯s done. Oskar¡¯s mind is made up for the rest of you.¡±


    ¡°I just¡­ I wish¡­¡± His head bowed. ¡°Be safe. Please.¡±


    Nifont cocked his head towards the leaving others, making to depart himself. ¡°Listen, Oskar might act like he doesn¡¯t give a shit, but he does. Others too.¡±


    Feia¡¯s face went blank. ¡°Even if they are too cowardly to wish well partings themselves?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± He shrugged and turned to leave, then paused. ¡°If it were up to me, we¡¯d be joining you, Daecinus. Vasia deserves it all and more.¡± Then he left, shoving Waker along with him.


    Stanilo remained, giving us one last nod, then said, ¡°Do what you must, but don¡¯t forget about all the little people. A whole lot more than the ones wearing gold.¡±


    His words were a balm to the angry wound in my heart, though it was not nearly sufficient. And yet, he was soon gone, and despite what Feia said, I knew that I would not see his face again, or, if I did, it would be in vastly different circumstances.


    The fading padder of footfalls. The eventual silence of a stone tower, old and forgotten, still as a graveyard. I felt their absence immediately. It was the first time since awakening I was far from the others. And, if not for Feia, alone.


    ¡°You do not have to join me,¡± I said, exiting the portal room, watching her. ¡°You mustn¡¯t feel any holding obligation because of me, Feia.¡±


    She cast me a sharp look. ¡°Is that why you believe I am here and not scurrying off with the others?¡±


    ¡°Of course not.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± She frowned out after them. ¡°It hurts to separate after so long together, indeed. But I had to do it.¡±


    ¡°Even if it puts you at risk?¡±


    ¡°To live is to die. To follow fate is to die only in body.¡±


    To her words, I said nothing else. Death was death. There was nothing else to it. We liked to imagine a meaningful afterlife in all its permutations, but in truth, it was silence. The most grave loss. And fate? I had much to say about the concept of predestination. In reality, life was messy, chaotic, and unpredictable without any end goal or direction, and to believe otherwise was to assign humanity to random chance. No, my only beliefs were that of human will. To live was to carve your own way. To die was to disappear in all but memory.


    As such, I would make my way, starting with the tools here.


    Before the drums of war could begin, before my flames of retribution, I would need to prepare. I would need knowledge, tools, and, finally, an army.


    I turned from the disappearing forms of the others I¡¯d called friends and looked out the broken chamber toward the city cast in an evening glow. Here, my preparation would start. Here, the beginning of the end.


    ¡­


    Emalia stopped struggling when they entered the tunnel leading back toward the keep¡¯s curtain wall. In truth, she knew there would be no convincing the others to turn around nor any possibility of convincing Daecinus to change his mind. He was as set upon his course of action as she was upon leaving the Column. But how could she have known? How could she have expected such deception from those Spirits?


    And now, being pulled from what seemed like her found purpose, from what had been her life¡¯s purpose¡­ She felt empty. Lost within herself. So she walked beside Sovina in silence, far ahead of the others. And now, she couldn¡¯t even help Daecinus.


    There¡¯s still a chance, she told herself. I will run across him again before it is too late, and I can sway him. Maybe it was hopeless and foolish to think such things, but she did anyway, even as lethargy and a sort of heavy emptiness swamped her heart. Even if most of her felt like giving up, a small part of her fought for hope. Maybe it was her nature. Maybe she was just clinging to something for it all to make sense in a world that simply didn¡¯t.


    They reached the end of the tunnel and surfaced within the wall, climbing to the top to stand on the battlements and gaze over the city. It was still so quiet. The courtyard was as well, but in a far more eery sense. All the Dead were just frozen there, facing the tower¡¯s broken open doors, staring like statues. It made her shiver.


    Sovina looked back the way they came and gestured further down the wall, so Emalia followed her to stand a few dozen paces from where the others would emerge. They stood facing each other in the shadows of a tower.


    ¡°You were brave in there,¡± Sovina said.


    Emalia scrunched her face up, squinting at her companion, who¡¯d just dragged her away. ¡°What do you mean? I failed. I failed myself, you, everyone else¡ª¡±


    ¡°We were tricked. And I almost¡­ You were almost lost to that thing. And still, you fought for what was right. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d have the courage.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that.¡± Her voice wavered, cracked. She swallowed and rubbed at her eyes, suddenly wet with held tears. ¡°You don¡¯t have to lie to me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t feel brave. I feel foolish. Stupid.¡±


    ¡°Em,¡± Sovina said, holding her shoulders and staring at her with such intense fervency that it was almost alarming. ¡°I knew this journey would be hard. I knew we might not find what we were expecting. From the moment you told me of your vision in the Column, I had my worries about the future. But for all the world frightened me, I felt sure of one thing: you. And now, after all we¡¯ve been through, I feel the same way as I did then. You had your very beliefs shaken with this Sorcerous lie, yet you still tried to help Daecinus, to help those in the Column who might not deserve it. That¡¯s brave. That¡¯s strong.¡±


    Her heart squeezed and stomach churned, some sort of sorrow threatening to take over. She wrapped her arms around Sovina in a tight embrace, burrowing her face in her companion¡¯s neck, trying not to cry. Failing. Body shaking with the tears. Her head swimming, chest hurting.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Sovina murmered, holding her tight.


    Emalia sniffed, wiped her face on her own arm, and looked up. She took in Sovina¡¯s face, every detail, every impression. Her sharp and determined jawline; dark, messy hair, falling around her face in rebellious waves free from the confines of her helmet now held at her side; and eyes like hot coals, like a warm night. ¡°You¡¯re so beautiful.¡± It escaped her lips almost on accident, but she did not take it back. She thought of their kiss earlier, and her body tingled, head filling with static.


    Sovina¡¯s eyes widened slightly, though she did not pull away.


    And so, before her emotions could calm and reason got the better of her, Emalia craned her head up and leaned in, closing her eyes shut as she pressed her lips to Sovina¡¯s. Everything stopped. Even her heart, pounding away like a drum, seemed to go silent. Just the warm, flooding sensation of the kiss. Something snapped her out of it, and she pulled back and stared at her companion, feeling nervous but unable to avert her gaze.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Emalia whispered. ¡°Again.¡±


    Sovina¡¯s lips parted as she took a deep, unsteady breath. Then she shook her head with a grin and squeezed Emalia tighter. ¡°I already told you: don¡¯t be.¡±


    Her face hurt from the smile that erupted there, but before she could lean in for another kiss, the sounds of footsteps made her pull back and glance to her feet. Was it shame? Embarrassment? She couldn¡¯t say. And yet, Sovina¡¯s hand found hers, strong and safe. Skin tingling, she gripped it tightly.


    ¡­


    Oskar stomped his way through the crunchy forest floor like a plow team turning up soil. Branches, twigs, bushes, and ferns all went underfoot without half a mind to the noise as he scowled on ahead. Give a woman some bread, feed her for a fortnight. Teach her to tend the fields and grow her own grain, and she tells you to fuck off and goes to fight the bloody world. He wanted some shambling corpse to stumble upon him so he could tear its damn guts out, he was so bent up with frustration. Not that there¡¯d be any Dead around with what Daecinus was doing. Stealing ¡®em all for his bloody army. By all the selfish, manipulative gods, why did it always come to men¡¯s greed and vengeance? Why was it always some personal quest? Was Oskar the mad one? Was he?


    The rest of the band was more-or-less in a good mood, voices returning with grins and muted laughter, likely at all the riches they left with. He should¡¯ve been smiling himself. Money meant finally retiring, putting the sword aside, and all that. It was what he swore he wanted for the last few years now, after all.


    So why was he still feeling like a gutted fucking horse?


    ¡°She¡¯ll be alright,¡± Stanilo said.


    Oskar squinted over at the man, who had somehow snuck up beside him. ¡°What could possibly make you think that?¡±


    ¡°I just feel it.¡±


    ¡°You feel it? Well, I feel like she¡¯ll get herself tortured and executed for opposing the tsardom with Sorcery.¡± He hawked up a wad of spit and shot it to the side. ¡°I knew he was fucking mad. ¡®Don¡¯t judge the man by how he looks,¡¯ is what I thought. Yeah, well, that¡¯s what I get for not following my gut when I saw a man grey as stone emerge from a damn coffin and suck the language from Sadoch¡¯s walking corpse. Now he¡¯s gonna wage war on Vasia.¡±


    ¡°Fuck ¡®em,¡± said Nifont, also at hand. ¡°We got no love for the empire. They¡¯ll get what¡¯s coming.¡±


    ¡°A lot of Dead in there, but this is Vasia we¡¯re talking about. Daecinus will get a few steps across the border and find the Western Army on him. A horde of Shamblers won¡¯t do much then.¡±


    ¡°What if he makes more Soulborne?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡±


    ¡°And knowing him, he won¡¯t make his attack obvious. He¡¯ll try to sneak across.¡±


    A hundred of those creepy creatures in Nova? Shit. ¡°Yeah, maybe. Easier said than done if he¡¯s got an army to move. Can¡¯t sneak an army anywhere, can you? Especially Nova.¡±


    Stanilo shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think Daecinus will go that far¡ªattacking a city.¡±


    Oskar scoffed. ¡°When they refuse his demands, he¡¯ll wage full-on war.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a good man. An angry, lost one, but still good.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen a look in his eye, Stanilo. He¡¯ll do whatever to win.¡±


    The tall man sighed, shield slung over his back, spear held across the back of his neck, elbows dangling down, arms thick as legs. ¡°Maybe alone. But if there was one blessing of Feia leaving us, it¡¯s that she can sway him. Alone, a man with a mind like his might spiral down, but with her? Even as determined as she is? I think you¡¯re underestimating him, Oskar. Both of them.¡±


    ¡°Underestimating? The poor bastard had his civilization fucking destroyed. His envoy life partner or whoever put up on a stake. His sister killed in front of him, and himself locked away in a floating city to use as fuel or some sick shit. By the High and Low, if it were me, I¡¯d be raging mad trying to kill every last person who¡¯d even heard of Nova.¡± He shook his head, then continued, ¡°What he wants to do is evil to me, sure enough. But if I were in his place, I¡¯d be aiming for much worse. Feia being helpful to his sanity or not, they¡¯re bent on violence. And it¡¯ll get them killed.¡±


    He wanted to think they¡¯d change their mind and pursue a more peaceful plan, but maybe Oskar was just too jaded for that. A man like Daecinus, a woman like Feia¡­ Well, they¡¯d only ever stop at self-annihilation, maybe leaving a lot of bodies in their wake.


    ¡°I lost everything in the war,¡± Nifont said suddenly, breaking their silence. ¡°I hate every last voivode, boyar, priest, and druzhina in Vasia. This is fate or something. Justice as much as one can ever see it. Maybe bloody justice, but a righting of wrongs enough.¡±


    Oskar grunted noncommittally and glanced at Stanilo. ¡°Your thoughts?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But maybe the whole thing can be avoided if Vasia knows.¡±


    ¡°Let them know? By all the gods, you really think they deserve that?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. Maybe not. But there¡¯s more than boyars and voivodes in Vasia, Oskar.¡±


    How did I get here? From wanting to overthrow the proper voivode for a better one, bringing about civil war, to considering saving the old guard that¡¯d done nothing but betray us? ¡°Damn it. I¡¯m not about to tell Vasia, and no chance I¡¯m getting in Daecinus¡¯s way. I¡¯ve half a mind to leave them to sort it out,¡± he said, knowing he was stalling. ¡°Let¡¯s head south, spend some coin, and talk it over later. In the end, if it comes to the two of them versus Vasia, well¡­ I don¡¯t know. Not exactly an easy answer here.¡± He sighed and wished for a better solution, preferably one that didn¡¯t require much risk on his part. ¡°First, let¡¯s bring Emalia back to civilization and finish this shit show of a job.¡±


    They didn¡¯t argue with him, so he nodded to himself and continued, feeling like he was treading water and just beginning to fail. And something was lurking underneath.

 The Baldric – Chapter Thirty-Three

    The rise and fall of the ship¡¯s bow became the new beat of Laczlo¡¯s existence. The stormy afternoon and evening of the second day following the battle was particularly brutal, with waves that seemed as tall as their mast and winds that forced them to lower the sail or risk being blown hull-up. But now, the sun was high and unmarred by clouds, the sea calm, and their destination close.


    Following the attack, it had been quiet. That was when his wound started to hurt quite terribly. It was a minor thing compared to one of his druzhina who¡¯d caught a cut across the arm that almost killed him with infection. No, Laczlo was just weak, and such a wound shouldn¡¯t nearly bother him so. Still, Mikha had fussed over him and put stitches in it before his adrenaline had faded and they¡¯d even tossed over the bodies. That night, he drank with his men and handed out trophies from the raiders¡¯ hold: gold armrings, bracelets, and necklaces¡ªmost of which were likely pillaged. There was also undamaged mail; good weapons; much silver and some gold, likely from Voivode Gorodenski to kill him; a few surprisingly well-made wool shirts that were also likely plundered; and a set of fine ivory carvings. In all, his men made quite a nice sum from the battle, as did Laczlo, having his men row the raider¡¯s ship to the nearest safe harbor to sell. The captain had reservations about landing in Rodezian land, as did Silene, the spy with a lordly father from the Dynasty, but Laczlo gave the order anyway. Without raiders behind them, he wasn¡¯t as worried about a rushed exit or fears of local antagonism. He figured they could take it slow and breathe. So they sold off the sleek ship for a tight sum to an enterprising freeholder that knew when to not ask questions and went on their way again. When it was all done, and they were sailing north again, he had to say that things felt different with his druzhina. They looked at him differently, he thought. And after fighting beside them, Laczlo admitted he no longer saw them as so threatening. It was refreshing. No, it was more than that¡ªit was heartening, a most inspiring relief.


    Violence didn¡¯t make you a new man. If it did, he would have become one long ago. But this fight, where he¡¯d killed with his own hands and bled alongside his warriors¡­ well, it changed something. Something small, perhaps, but something nonetheless.


    However, the two newly captured raiders were not as benevolent and accommodating as his men. At first, they did little more than cast baleful glares and spit at whoever asked them questions. Then Isak set Oiir upon them, who had taken Afonas¡¯s death the hardest, and wrenched answers with their screaming pleas to stop. Laczlo, for all his newfound pride, hid in his small cabin and spoke to Mikha about the path ahead during such sessions. He¡¯d told the druzhina and Mikha the truth, as far as he understood it, about what they were investigating¡ªthey deserved to know after almost dying to another voivode¡¯s orders¡ªand they¡¯d taken to it with no small enthusiasm. Vasia, as Isak explained it, was a thing to protect from external and internal threats alike as a druzhina. It was their duty alongside the defense of their voivode. He, and many of the others, cast curses at the thought of rebellion. Whatever scheme was at work in the north through the exploitation of Deus¡¯s name would be stopped. Mikha was hardly of a different mind, but he encouraged caution and patience far more than the rest, naturally.


    The captured men told them little they didn¡¯t know. They were paid by a man of the keep¡ªa druzhina, he suspected, but wasn¡¯t sure. They were hired to kill Laczlo and Silene and to make the boat disappear. Oiir asked why they sent only a few score of ill-equipped raiders to do a navy¡¯s job, and they said no one else was to be had at that time. Their contact wanted it to be quiet. Besides, they didn¡¯t expect the bulky merchant cog to turn about and make to ram them. Laczlo smiled when he heard this retold by Oiir. It was, after all, his idea that had foiled the rogues¡¯ plans. Still, for the lack of new information, it was hard enough evidence. Once he forced them to sign pleas of confession upon quickly drafted notes of imperial law from Mikha, Laczlo felt all the better whenever they might return to the Kostuveskis. Already, he¡¯d done his duty, he figured, but cautious thoroughness was the only thing that had saved him years ago during the succession crisis, and he was not about to stop short so close to the end.


    Now, they were approaching the mouth of the Baldric River of the Crown of Armagne. It was the thoroughfare of the kingdom as much as the Kastalec was old Vasia¡¯s when its borders still encircled the sea like lions around an oasis. The weather was pleasant, with a steady breeze to keep the sail full and oars stowed as they cut through the almost imperceptible waves of the tide. He stood at the bow, hands on his hips, one at the hilt of his sword, finding the sturdiness of it comforting, especially out at sea, exposed and vulnerable as they were. Silene lounged against the stempost nearby, a lazy gaze out toward their starboard, away from him. He¡¯d long since let her free to roam the ship as she pleased, though she usually chose to be alone. It irked Laczlo at first¡ªadmittedly, it still did to a degree¡ªbut after speaking to her through their journey, he realized she was still feeling isolated, afraid, and somewhat guarded. He didn¡¯t blame her. After all their verbal sparring, he saw that underneath her thorny exterior was someone just as alone, overwhelmed, and desperate as he.


    Praise be that He has granted me insight to balance my folly, he thanked in a silent prayer as he watched the strange woman.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been staring at me an awful lot lately,¡± she said, glancing his way. ¡°If I didn¡¯t know you, I would say you were reconsidering my proposal from Goroden.¡±


    His cheeks flushed. ¡°No! Of course not. I was just¡­ I was reflecting on this journey.¡±


    ¡°And my place in it?¡± she asked with a smirk.


    ¡°Yes, more or less.¡±


    She nodded, looking off again. ¡°As have I. We will go to Delues and find the source of the coin, their motivations, and their allegiances. Once that is done, I will no longer be of use to you. The question of what will become of me once it is over is worrisome. If it ends so neatly, of course.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Well, there is the likely chance that this fruit of success rots in your hands and you find enemies that were once allies. Chaos looses, and all is war.¡±


    Laczlo sighed, gripping his sword a little tighter. ¡°There is that.¡±


    ¡°So my worries are somewhat offset by the unavoidable potentiality of our mutual demise.¡± She shrugged. ¡°If this works out in your favor, will you abandon me to Rodezia?¡±


    ¡°I would not like to.¡±


    ¡°That is so very reassuring.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t make you a promise,¡± he said roughly, frustration seeping through. ¡°But I have no plans to betray your desire for freedom, as na?ve as it is.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Combative and cynical now, are we?¡±


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    ¡°One day you will face your responsibilities and¡­¡± he trailed off, throwing a dismissive waive to the air. This won¡¯t get anywhere. ¡°What do you want, Silene?¡±


    ¡°A dangerous question. A good question,¡± she muttered. Throughout, she¡¯d barely looked at him, and now, as her dark eyes held his and sun-touched complexion gave contrast to the lack of warmth in that stare, he felt scrutinized. Weighed. But it wasn¡¯t just that; there was something else there. But what? ¡°I¡¯ve been obstinate. I know this. But ever since Iarek Kostuveski found out about me and blackmailed me for information¡ª¡± she took a deep breath, flushing away some animosity in her voice ¡°¡ªI¡¯ve been¡­ drowning. You must understand that I wanted to help my family, even though I ran away. I still wished to be the good daughter. But then I was failing, and miserably.¡± She smiled a self-pitying, sad smile. It reminded Laczlo of himself. ¡°But then Iarek Kostuveski called in his favors, and, well, here I am.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°That sounds difficult.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t just difficult; it was infuriating, depressing, and it made me feel hopeless. Your men dragged me on this ship and set sail from my last chance of success, whatever deformed state that was in.¡± Again, she took a forced breath and twisted her head as if swallowing something unsavory. ¡°But¡ªwith great emphasis¡ªI am trying to come to terms with my situation. And in so, I am recognizing that I have not been cooperative, given your perspective. For that, I apologize.¡±


    Where is this coming from? he thought, looking into her brown eyes, not so cold, not so harsh, but tight with strain. He¡¯d had a hard time understanding this woman before, but now? ¡°Thank you for saying that. But I still want to know what it is you want. And don¡¯t say it is to be left alone. I know that is not true.¡±


    ¡°What makes you so confident?¡± she shot back quickly.


    ¡°Because I¡¯ve felt the same way, and it is not the solution.¡±


    ¡°Have you considered that we may simply be different people?¡±


    Laczlo rubbed his face, then jerked his hand away when he touched his stitches on the wound. ¡°You came here to escape your situation, and yet you still strived to help your family with information when you could. You want to feel important, helpful, like you¡¯re making a difference in the lives of those you still care about and feel an obligation towards. Tell me I am wrong.¡±


    She stared at him, then shrugged and stared at her clasped hands. ¡°You¡¯ve an accurate sense for others, Laczlo, I will concede that.¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t know what you want yet, that¡¯s fine, but help me. We can stop a civil war here. I know you don¡¯t care about Vasia like you do Rodezia, but it¡¯s still people¡¯s lives at stake. Innocent ones.¡± He bit his lip and risked it, putting a hand on her shoulder. Her head jerked up, eyes flicking to his in a moment of unguarded surprise. ¡°I¡¯ve seen it before. I see what it does to people. The battles and sieges, yes, but the chaos that comes after, the instability. Famine and disease¡­ We can¡¯t let it happen. We simply can¡¯t.¡±


    She looked at him for a long moment, considering. And then she said, ¡°A sense for others and a way with words. I underestimated you.¡± A slow smile grew on her face. ¡°I¡¯ll help, but nothing dangerous, you see? Nothing that might risk my identity being exposed.¡±


    ¡°That is a fair request. Thank you.¡±


    She turned and left the bow of the ship, breeze catching her dark hair and throwing it to the side. Each strand dancing. She didn¡¯t sway like a fool as he did with the waves, having evidently already found her sea legs. Maybe she sailed much before all this? It would explain her comfort aboard the vessel, even in storms. But that could be due to her stubborn belligerence and strength. He admired that in her, even if it had proved frustrating. And yet, he couldn¡¯t keep his eyes from her body as she went, her long legs¡ªthe image of them bare and welcoming from Goroden still fresh in his mind¡ªleading to a tight, tempting behind. Knowing how beautiful she was almost naked only served to make it harder to look away. Would she even accept if I asked? No, probably not. Before it was about manipulation. She wants nothing to do with me. He pulled his gaze away with some effort and stared out at the vanishing sea and approaching land. It¡¯s for the better. Kapitalena¡­ she deserves¡­ His mind trailed off, images dancing through, distracting. He shook his head. Enough! I can¡¯t fall to this temptation, Deus above! Be stronger! Laczlo gripped the railing and took in a deep breath, thinking of battle and the sharp fear of it to push all else away.


    To these thoughts, they sailed into the mouth of the Baldric.


    The land was dry and silty, with colors of tan and grey dominating the landscape around them. Even with the Baldric¡¯s constant flow of fresh water from the Kosican mountains did little to feed this starving land. Trees were thin with craggy arms that reached out like skeletons, grass hardly the tall green and gold of his home, but short and withered. It seemed a place where no one could thrive. And yet, for all the apparent near-death of the environment, villages and towns sat all along the river, bustling and active. Small docks for fishermen and small traders¡¯ vessels lined the river, and the sounds of commerce were active in even the smallest hamlets. Armagne was truly a kingdom of trade. But the riches, and the intrigue, wouldn¡¯t be present here. So they kept going, rowing up the river with no breeze to speak of. Hard work, he imagined. Not that he or his druzhina would ever join in¡ªit was what they paid the sailors an almost inordinate sum for in the first place, after all.


    Other vessels filled the river, passing them by like pedestrians upon a road, each giving them a wide berth, perhaps because of the druzhina¡¯s shields hung at the sides like that of a warship. After a little while, as the sun bore down on them from a hot late afternoon, searing the deck and the dry land alike, they spotted the unique outline of a Armagnian war ship. It was sleek and low, not too dissimilar to the raider¡¯s he¡¯d sold off, but with an elevated front and rear called castles like Laczlo¡¯s own cog. Its oars plunged out at tight angles from covered outrigging, the deck above more a narrow strip than the kind he stood on, and the sail was a triangular slice of undyed linen, pale and taught, even in the almost breezeless air. Laczlo squinted at it and tried to figure out how it captured the air while theirs didn¡¯t. He was still puzzling it out when he noticed the men aboard looking his way, and their rowing took them closer as if to meet.


    ¡°Ah, toll,¡± he muttered, ¡°of course.¡±


    Whether a ship from Delues or a different, closer town, it made sense to collect what one could from foreign ships, shield-bearing or no. Likely those with shields more than anything, just to be safe.


    It took only a few minutes to reach the other vessel, and oars thrust in the water to slow, they glided to a stop just close enough to speak. A man with a pointed helmet adorned with a rather ostentatious horsehair plume addressed them in their foreign tongue. Laczlo frowned and looked at his captain; the man squinted, saying, ¡°It¡¯s not my mother tongue by any means, but he¡¯s asking from where we hail.¡±


    ¡°You may¡ª¡±


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Silene interrupted, ¡°but he¡¯s technically asking from where we hail and whom we serve.¡±


    ¡°You speak Armagnian?¡± Laczlo asked.


    She raised her brow at him somewhat amusedly. ¡°Would you like me to translate for you?¡±


    ¡°Tell him this is a ship on Vasian business holding a boyar of Nova.¡±


    She answered back, her voice, sweet and melodic as it had been in his chamber, now echoed across the water like that of a siren¡¯s.


    The official nodded slowly as he scanned the ship. Laczlo figured this an opportune time to approach the railing and pull his chest up high with the pride a voivode should bear. The man locked eyes with him and shouted back. Silene took the initiative to immediately reply, to which the man scowled and spoke in a lower voice to another on the ship before responding. This time, she smiled and said to Laczlo, ¡°Delues merchants and toll takers¡ªalways known for their schemes. I told him his asking was absurd and he should treat a boyar better than that, lest he face harsh consequences from Vasia.¡±


    ¡°Harsh consequences?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°He needn¡¯t know what those are exactly, of course.¡±


    He paid a toll that felt high but not outrageous, and their ship continued upriver into the late afternoon, with the crew toiling away and Laczlo¡¯s gaze wavering from the water to Silene, rich and tanned skin gold in the harsh sun, hair like dark velvet, lithe form bent against the railing and catching the rare, faint breeze with a soft smile and craned neck. He looked at her and despised himself for it, yet he simply couldn¡¯t stop. And something worrying told him she didn¡¯t quite want him to.